Too late to worry now though. She moves slowly, trying not to strain the steps with her weight. She must climb down four flights. The stairs groan underneath her but they hold. Her mind is already racing ahead.
A thumping noise stops her. Someone is trying to open the back door. It requires a key and the door is of solid steel. This doesn’t seem to deter whoever is trying. The kick of a boot against the door frame reverberates around the iron staircase. Cora lets out a cry.
A gun discharge tells her all she needs to know … in a few moments they … whoever they are … will burst into the backyard.
Cora forgets about a cautious descent. She storms down now descending two steps at a time.
A second gunshot tells her the door is about to spring open.
She darts across the yard, chooses a large stone that has been placed for effect next to the storage shed and uses it to jump up higher. Her forearms support her as she lifts her body over the side of the roof. She rises, hits the flat surface and rolls over.
Something has slipped from her pocket … her phone. The door bursts open. No time to pick it up. Cora rolls again over the boundary wall and jumps into the street. She groans as a sudden pain shoots through her foot. She’s hobbling along the pavement of the narrow alleyway that smells of rotting garbage and body waste. She must find a cab before they find her.
Nancy stopped in the middle of the large lobby. The broad modern table at its centre bore a vase of freshly cut flowers, a winter display of white, red and green.
She stepped forward towards the main entrance. The large glass doors threw back her reflection as she approached. She pulled her mobile out of her back pocket and dialled the takeaway number.
She came back inside, walking along the side of the building that looked out on to the gardens. She stopped for a moment, waiting for someone to answer. She gasped, stunned by the shocking sight.
* * *
The suit and tie had come off, replaced by a pair of dark winter jeans completed by the obligatory black rollneck pullover. DCI Jonathan Pole walked out of his office, a light rucksack and leather biker jacket slung over his left shoulder, a crash helmet in his right hand.
“I feel bad leaving you alone, holding the fort.” Pole grinned at Andy … “Not.”
Andy grinned back at his boss. “How’s the new bike … sorry, Ducati Diavel 1260, behaving?”
“Splendid … and before you start making comments about my midlife crisis, I have ridden a bike before …”
Andy gave a sure-you-have nod and waved his boss off. “I’ll manage … otherwise … I’ll use this.” He picked up his mobile and bounced it lightly in his hand.
“Exactly.” Pole donned his jacket and slid the rucksack onto his shoulders.
“And if Superintendent Marsh calls …” Andy added as Pole was about to walk off. “You deal with him like the outstanding DS you are,” Pole said over his shoulder. He would not be running back to Scotland Yard for another debrief with The Super.
Pole rode his Ducati into the flow of light traffic as he arrived at the top of Northumberland Avenue. Victoria Embankment was almost deserted as the weather had turned much colder. Pole sat back, one foot on the ground, the other on the footrest, balancing the bike as he waited for the set of traffic lights to turn green.
The Thames’ waters appeared an inky black colour that reflected the lights of the buildings lining its banks. A few lights were still shining at the Royal Festival Hall … no doubt a crew of cleaners were making the concert venue ready for the next day’s show.
Nancy and he would soon be taking their seats in one of its concert halls for a performance of music by one of her favourite Russian composers, Stravinsky. Classical music was not always Pole’s cup of tea but he was making progress, appreciating more complex pieces just in the same way as Nancy was slowly warming up to jazz.
Pole accelerated, giving the Ducati a gentle push. The road curved gently and he and the bike leaned into the bend. The lights remained green for him almost all the way to Islington.
He parked his bike in a parking bay outside Nancy’s building. Nancy’s apartment was part of a restoration project that had transformed a grand old office building, once occupied by Metropolitan Water, into a luxurious accommodation complex. Pole jogged towards the side entrance.
He quickened his pace to a run at what he saw … Nancy was crouching on the ground holding someone in her arms.
Chapter Two
Logistics had called Jack as soon as the mobile trace had disappeared. One minute it was sending signals as expected from London. The next it had vanished, including the backup transmitter that was set up to operate even when the battery had been disabled.
“When did Wilson’s mobile vanish?”
“7.46pm local time.” Beverly had moved aside to let Jack take a look at the activity log. The route traced by the mobile had not shown any suspicious activity. From home to work, a quick break at lunchtime, from work back home to North London.
Jack grabbed the backrest of the seat next to Beverly’s with both hands. His head slumped slightly over his chest. No one, including Jack, had seen it coming. There were only two reasons why the mobile was no longer giving signs of life. It had either been completely destroyed or it had been placed in a special isolation tank that would not let radio waves penetrate its walls. Either way, this was a worrying development.
“Thanks Bev … let me know if the mobile comes online again.”
Jack stepped out of the maze of offices on the fourth floor, where the logistics and surveillance teams operated. The elevator took him to the second floor. People got in and out, as it stopped twice before reaching its destination.
Jack barely noticed them. Had it been a mistake to throw Wilson so quickly into the deep end? He was not a trained agent, not the way Langley people were trained before becoming field operatives. He was just a smart kid who had noticed perhaps a little too much for his own good. Jack arrived in his office.
It was only 4pm in Virginia but already 9pm in London. Still, Jack was certain that the CIA station chief would still be at his desk in the London office.
“Jethro … still around?”
“Just about to call it a day … what can I do for you Jack?”
Station Chief, Jethro Greeney, sounded suitably harassed after another day at the helm of London’s CIA team.
“A person of interest to us has, for want of a better word, evaporated very suddenly, or at least his mobile phone has. It is a matter of concern.”
“He’s not an operative I take it?” Jethro’s voice tightened a little … he did not appreciate having been left out of the picture, if there was indeed a new recruit in London. He would also rather avoid having to have a difficult conversation with his counterpart at MI6 about an operation he was not aware of, which was about to turn bad.
“Nope … nothing like that. He is a potential recruit, but for the time being he is providing information. It’s speculative but I believe there is something in it.”
“But you’re not certain yet … I get it. And you’d like me to send a team to check his whereabouts.” Jethro was fumbling with something at his end and Jack could only imagine it was his other mobile on which he had stored a list of available agents and intervention operatives.
“Is this guy a Yank by the way?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Good, that makes my life a damn sight easier in case it goes belly up.”
There was a short silence. Chief Greeney seemed to have found what or whom it was he wanted. “I’ll call you back when I have some news.”
Jack thanked him and sat back in his chair. His eyes re-focused on the file he had dragged from the depths of his filing cabinet. Its colour was a faded pink. It had a stain marking the top left corner, the sign a cup of coffee had leaked some of its contents on it a while ago.
The topic covered by the file had been of concern to Jack in the wake of 9/11. The weaponisation of pathogens was always going to be a temptation for smaller malign organisations and terrorist groups. Yet what Wilson had stumbled upon did not quite fit the bill.
In Jack’s experience, large countries which felt secure in their armament capabilities, showed interest in bioweapons of a more academic nature. They carried out extensive research to discover what chemicals or viruses were capable of … including how these could affect a population.
They sometimes also sought to enhance their preparedness at combating a rogue event with countermeasures in the guise of specialist teams or anti-viral medication.
Wilson had computing skills in the biotech sphere that were of interest to the agency. The job he had recently landed at a new biotech company in London, with links to Asia, was an unexpected bonus.
Jack leaned forward and opened the bulging file onto his desk. He knew the contents almost by heart. The details he needed to check were lying somewhere in the slew of papers that had spilled out in front of him.
* * *
“Help me …” Nancy was holding a young woman’s head in her shaking hands. Pole dropped his biking gear, knelt down and gathered the limp body of the young woman into his arms. Her face was a ghostly white and her breathing shallow. She was wearing only a light T-shirt over faded blue jeans. Yet the top looked expensive. Perhaps chosen carefully to express something about her identity. Oddly she had no bag with her.
Nancy ran round to the lift and pressed the call button. She signalled to the security guard not to be concerned as she returned to gather Pole’s rucksack and helmet.
“Who is she?” Pole asked once they were in the lift.
“The friend I was supposed to meet this evening.” Nancy pressed the top floor button.” I tried to call quite a few times but there was no reply and now here she is.”
The lift doors opened. Nancy hurried to unlock her apartment door. Pole followed carefully moving sideways to avoid the walls of the entrance corridor. He laid the young woman on one of Nancy’s sofas. She covered her friend with a blanket she kept in the lounge and started to rub her hands and feet to restore their circulation.
“She’s been hurt, too.” Pole pointed to the gash in her foot as Nancy took off her trainers. He disappeared into the bathroom to find the first aid kit.
Nancy nodded without looking at him. Her attention was solely focused on her friend’s face. “I found her like that, slumped outside … According to the security guard she didn’t ring the main entrance bell, so she must have walked in when a car entered the car park.”
Pole moistened a piece of cotton wool with surgical spirit and applied it to Cora’s wounds. She moaned a little, an encouraging sign.
“Cora …” Nancy called softly. “It’s Nancy … you’re in my flat … you’re safe.”
Nancy pushed aside a strand of hair that had stuck to her friend’s forehead. She returned to Cora’s freezing hands and massaged them gently again until she felt Cora’s left hand grabbing hers fiercely. The crush was almost unbearable. Nancy winced. Cora’s eyes shot wide open, unseeing. Her mouth gaped opened, as she gasped for air. Nancy squeezed back hard.
“I’m here … you’re safe.”
Cora half sat up. “Ollie …” She looked at Nancy and the memories came flooding back. She brought her fist to her mouth, her eyes glittered with tears. She wrapped her free arm around Nancy’s shoulders, fighting back a sob.
“They took him away …”
“Slow down … who took him away?” Pole had stopped tending Cora’s wound.
“We haven’t got time.” Cora tried to move and untangled herself from the blanket that Nancy had wrapped around her. She tried to place one foot on the ground, barely avoiding kicking Pole in the process and yelped.
“I know it’s difficult and you want to rush to help him.” Pole had placed a hand on her other leg to stop her from moving. “But you need to focus on telling us the story so we can help you.”
Cora noticed the man at the end of the sofa for the first time. She turned towards Nancy for reassurance. “Inspector Pole, he’s a friend … he will help you.”
Cora nodded but remained silent for a short moment.
“Shall I make a cup of tea or bring you some water?”
“No, Nancy please stay.” Cora reached out for her friend’s hand. “Ollie knew they were coming and I don’t know why.”
* * *
“They were looking for something specific.” Jethro had rung Jack back. “It was a professional job made to look like a possible burglary or debt collection of some sort.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The jewellery box has been thoroughly and obviously ransacked, there is no jewellery left and the high-tech equipment has gone … including of course any PC, laptop or even iPad, if they had them.”
“But the search was processed methodically?” Jack ran his stocky hand over his face.
“Exactly, no stone unturned.”
“Shit. That is not what I was expecting.”
“And what were you expecting, if I may ask.” Jethro suppressed a yawn. It was almost 11.30pm in London.
“Biochemical warfare allegations are always a bit problematic when it comes to credibility … Especially when the person making the allegation is a young guy who has barely started in his first job, in a new tech company.”
Jethro took a moment to reply. Jack could hear him swallowing something down. “Sorry, I haven’t had much food today.”
“No worries.” Jack carried on. “The problem for me is that Wilson was a little vague.”
“So why did you persist?” the Station Chief had taken a bite of something crunchy.
“Because when China is mentioned, I pay attention.”
“Now you have my attention too.” The munching had stopped.
“This doesn’t mean I believe what I have been told … but Wilson thought he had stumbled over some illegal transfer of technology, including the development of bio-agents.”
“You mean somebody developing a controversial bio-agent on the sly, without the executive of the firm knowing? How big is the company?”
“That’s the other point … not that big, 30-odd people.”
“Then with a company that size, its executives are in the know …”
Both men fell silent. The munching resumed in London. Jack in Virginia decided on his next step. “Keep me posted … Let’s hope your people find him before something nasty happens.”
“I have put a good team on the case. If he is still in the UK, they will find him.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. Jethro was right. Wilson might have been smuggled out of the country already, and was now being taken to a dark site for interrogation.
* * *
Cora was still shivering. She finally accepted the tea Pole had prepared.
“Why do you think Ollie knew they were coming?” Nancy asked, still holding Cora’s hand.
“He came into the bedroom as I was changing and asked me to hide.” Cora sipped at her tea. “He looked so … scared.”
Pole was listening to the young woman’s story without interrupting. Nancy had been her usual excellent self … once a Queen’s Counsel always a Queen’s Counsel. She had questioned Cora gently, subtly asking the right questions, making the account coherent.
Pole was now certain it was time to call the Missing Persons Bureau at SOCA, to report Ollie missing and a possible kidnapping. The next 24 hours would be crucial if they were to find him … alive.
As soon as she finished her tale, Cora slumped back on the sofa. She looked exhausted. Her attractive Asian features had lost some of their sparkle. The dark rings under her eyes created shadows that had all of a sudden grown deeper.
Pole took his mobile out of his back pocket.
“I’m going to call a contact of mine at the NCA. We need to issue a Yellow Notice for a missing person without delay.” Pole scrolled down his contact list. “Do you have a recent photo?”
“I lost it when I ran.” Cora hesitated. “It’s in the backyard … I mean my mobile. Perhaps I could …”
“You won’t be going back there tonight.” Nancy shook her head. “I’ll make sure the spare room is ready.”
Pole was already in conversation with his National Crime Agency contact. He had walked away from the lounge and stood in the kitchen entrance. He ended the call and turned back to the two women.
“Rob is on his way. He’ll contact someone at the Met.”
Nancy frowned, she seemed not to understand the links.
“The National Crime Agency is in charge of kidnapping these days. They’ll establish contact with the Met for logistical support.”
Pole took a few steps towards the sofa. His mobile rang again. His face froze and he turned away to answer. His voice had become tense, perhaps a little angry. He shook his head and took a short moment to face the two friends again.
“There is no easy way of telling you this, Cora. Your loft … in fact your entire building is on fire.”
* * *
“When did it start?” DCI Pole had found the Fire Brigade’s Senior Officer in charge of the incident.
“An hour ago, maybe less. We were called immediately by the other occupants of the building. I have the call log if you give me a moment.”
Senior Officer Lord consulted her laptop. “10:42pm to be precise.”
“I presume it’s too early to tell what caused it?”
“Arson … very plain. Probably triggered by something as crude as pouring a flammable substance all over the floor of the flat. The only saving grace is that the walls of this former factory have been treated with fire retardant paint. Otherwise, the other occupants might have had a tough time escaping.”
BLOOD DRAGON Page 2