He parked his Ducati along one of the steel bike racks. Pole removed one of the spark plugs, a trick he had learned from his father a long time ago when he had bought his first motorbike aged 19. The thought usually made him smile but today he resented having to go through this extra safety measure.
Pole looked around. The busy junction was starting to come alive; cars and lorries had begun to pile along its complex road system. The pavement was wide, grey stones that looked surprisingly clean. The black and white frontage said simply Kennington Lane Café – all day breakfast, accompanied by a row of pictures intended by whet the appetite by displaying burgers, fries and various other breakfast options.
His phone rang. “Don’t be shy … I’m in already … what would you like? I’ll order for you whilst you brace yourself.”
“Toast and tea.” Pole pocketed the spark plug.
“Whoa’ … choice is between full English with or without black pudding and tea with or without sugar.”
Pole rolled his eyes. “Without on both counts.”
This was a really bad idea. His stomach would regret it for the rest of the day.
Harris had chosen a table near the window yet tucked away in the corner of the room. A cup of tea was already in front of his seat. It can’t have been there long as steam from the hot liquid was still moving in hazy circles above the mug.
Pole sat opposite Harris, dumping his leather jacket as well as his helmet on the seat next to him.
“It’d better be good”
“So grumpy and it’s only 6am.”
“Cut the bull … what is it you have to tell me?” Harris’ lips kept the humorous curve but his eyes had grown serious.
“We spoke about the CIA interest in Ollie Wilson …”
“How can I forget?”
“The agent who is following the case just got jumped by three men last night … actually this morning to be precise.”
The breakfast plates and tea arrived. Pole lost focus for an instant. He had not had a full English for a while and it smelt more than tempting.
Harris stopped to let the waitress lay the food in front of both men.
“Anythin’ else lads?”
“Nah luv, that’ll do,” Harris nodded.
Pole picked up his knife and fork and let them hover for a moment over his plate … eggs – sausages – bacon – tomatoes – mushrooms – baked beans and two pieces of crisp white toast.
Harris was already tucking in. “My CIA contact doesn’t think it was a mugging attempt … These guys were trained in some form of martial art.” He shovelled in a piece of sausage and some beans, munched and smiled … heaven.
“And what is it your contact thinks he’s getting close to?” Pole drank some tea, letting the tempting smell of bacon whet his appetite.
“He’d gone snooping around …” Harris grinned. “… the offices of Viro-Tech Therapeutics yesterday afternoon … managed to get in after the delightful Ms Wu.”
Pole had cut into a piece of egg and was about to eat it. He replaced the fork back onto his plate with a small clunk. “He got in? How?”
“Just the old trick of not letting the door slam shut after someone goes in.”
“Did he find anything of value?”
“Confirmation that the place is worse than Fort Knox … to quote the man himself.”
Pole’s face darkened. “It is a biotech company. I presume they will want to keep under wraps whatever it is they are developing … and isolate their research.”
“Are you out of touch, Pole? Tech companies like this one don’t do any dangerous stuff … I mean the viral stuff … on their premises anymore. They do research through other techniques, but when they come to the in-vivo phase, injecting mice or some other poor animal, they do this elsewhere … usually on a research campus dedicated to the purpose.”
Pole still hadn’t touched his food. “But surely they must be protecting data … That sounds reasonable.”
“There is reasonable and reasonable.” Harris didn’t mind Pole pushing back. “I agree that the protection of research is essential, but this is done through cyber security, not necessarily through upgrading the security systems of an entire building. The property is fitted with anti-spying kit MI6 at Vauxhall Cross would be proud of.”
Pole swallowed the piece of egg and moved onto the bacon and toast. It was surprisingly good. Pole took a few mouthfuls, looking at the mounting traffic outside.
“You’d like me to get a warrant to take a look at the place? You’re not the only one …” He was still looking outside. His conversation Nancy still rankled. The day had become lighter despite the heaviness of the clouds. “I’d like to take a look around myself as well, to be honest.”
“That’s the spirit.” Harris raised his cup of tea.
“I don’t need MI6 to raise my spirits.”
“But a bit of extra information from the agency doesn’t go amiss.” Harris had almost finished his plate of food, chasing the last few baked beans with a piece of toast.
Pole faced Harris again. “What’s in it for you in all this?”
Harris pulled away from the table and settled back into his chair. “Just because it’s you, Pole … I don’t mind telling you I’m being opportunistic here. China is increasingly on the radar of my agency and so is biotech.”
Pole was aching to know more but it would be pushing his luck. “Going back to the drugs side of the Wilson case, my DS is following up the original line of inquiry.”
“Regarding drugs?” Harris cocked his head.
“That’s right.”
“That’s not a bad idea. Search their offices for something less contentious than their research programme.”
“That’s the only card I have to play at the moment.” Pole finished his cup of tea. “I have absolutely nothing suspicious to go on otherwise.”
“I’ll see whether I can find out a bit more about the drugs aspect of your inquiry … You said you found it odd that the NCA was tipped off so quickly about Wilson’s whereabouts in Camden. I agree, it’s almost too good to be true.”
“I need to know whether someone else had an interest in making us find Ollie that quickly.” Pole stopped himself. Harris picked up on the idea and raised an eyebrow.
“The last incident at the hospital is also a huge issue. Someone managed to get in … and knew exactly what police protection he had.” Pole volunteered.
Harris placed his forearms on the table, leaning over them. “Another agency?”
“Perhaps … I need to know whether another agency or someone within that circle is involved.”
“Is your DS looking into Wilson’s background? … Uni, friends …”
“Why?” Pole frowned.
“You’ll find that the drugs element is going to come back … and for what it is … though I don’t want to tell you how to do your job …” Harris’s voice trailed.
“Spit it out.” Pole nodded.
“Wilson had a history … needed detox after finishing his PhD. Might have dealt a little too, but I don’t buy that.”
“Noted … anything else?”
Harris grinned and then grew serious. “As you know, Ms Wu has attracted the attention of the agency, not mine, the one across the pond, and my contact is gathering information about her. If there is something I need to know about her in order to manage the CIA, now would be a good time Inspector Pole.”
Pole arranged his knife and fork together across his plate. “Then you’d better watch your back, Harris … Ms Wu seems to have found an introduction at Vauxhall Cross.”
* * *
“Too early.” Nancy looked at her watch. Despite the late night, she had got up at 6am, made the first cup of tea of the day, settled in front of the Bloomberg news channel and ignored what the presenter was saying. She had convinced Cora
to return to her friends’ flat. Beth, Charlie and Johnny had sworn they would take turns in looking after her, vowing to do a better job than even Scotland Yard could.
Nancy had been curious about how they had escaped the police car parked in front of their building for protection, and the protection officer in their flat. They all shrugged and told her about the fire exit at the back of the building … the alarm never worked so it could be opened without attracting attention. Nancy had given them a mild bollocking and made them promise to arrange to have it repaired or else DS Branning would be told about it.
The fact that she was now contemplating using Cora’s idea to get into Viro-Tech had not been discussed, and Cora knew better than to ask in front of her friends. Perhaps she did not even believe Nancy was serious.
Nancy couldn’t help but smile. To the arty gang, she would look like a nicer version of their mums, a little funkier, a little more fun perhaps … but not someone that would take risks of the magnitude she was used to taking.
She moved back to her study, sat in the armchair at the desk and contemplated her handiwork. On the left-hand side, the details of their father’s case and on the right that of Ollie Wilson. The connection between the cases was tenuous and yet she had written China in bold letters on a sheet of paper at the intersection of the two.
Nancy picked up the yellow writing pad that she had left on the desk the night before and started jotting down the long list of questions she needed to focus on, the habit of a lifetime that had always paid off.
No question was too hard or too direct.
How far had Pole gone to source the information he had found about her father?
What would MI6 expect from her in return for their help?
How close had her father been to the Chinese Communist Party, more specifically Deng Xiao Ping?
As she penned the last question, she took a sip of tea. It relaxed her tightening throat. It was so much harder to remain dispassionate about a case that was so close to her. She stood up and walked back to the kitchen, refreshed her cup and gave herself a few moments before returning to her study.
She gazed outside into the gardens below. The trees stood naked and dark against the brightening sky. Another few minutes and she would call Pole’s DS.
She returned to her desk and decided to concentrate on the Ollie Wilson case before calling Andy.
Was Ollie working on unauthorised bio-tech research?
Where does the financial backing come from?
What is Jared Turner’s, Viro-Tech’s CEO, background and connections?
Nancy toyed with her pen for a moment but reluctantly added a final question.
Was Ollie Wilson still clean?
Her hand lingered over her mobile phone. She picked it up with a sharp move and dialled Andy’s number.
“DS Todd.” Andy’s voice sounded young and keen on the phone.
Nancy bade him good morning, amused.
“Good morning Ms W … Nancy … are you calling for an update on the case?”
“Excellent guess, of course, and to thank you for updating Inspector Pole on the particulars of my misadventures. I hope he did not shoot the messenger.”
“It got a little hairy.” Andy chuckled.
“Oops … I owe you one then. I hope it’s okay if you tell me a bit more about the Wilson case, though.”
“No problem … Inspector Pole is not around. He’s just been summoned to see Superintendent Marsh.”
“The Super is involved in the case?” Nancy asked candidly.
“I don’t think so.” Andy hesitated and Nancy didn’t push. There was very little Andy would not tell her and certainly Pole had not mentioned Marsh. Not unexpected in itself but the combination of Andy’s reluctance and Pole’s silence piqued her curiosity … another question to be added to the list.
“Never mind … what is the latest?”
“Still very little information coming through on the man in the mortuary. Yvonne, I mean Ms Butler, has confirmed that the genetics of our John Doe is Eastern European.
“But otherwise, we have nothing, no dental records, some broken bones, but nothing like a plate or a medical implant that could help in further identifying him. The other matter of interest is that he had tattoos removed recently. We can no longer see what these were but we can see that the skin has regrown in places after the procedure.”
“Tatts, Pole mentioned this. Can you tell me more, or perhaps send me a picture of what you have?”
“Sure, but you’re not going to see much.” Andy sounded more intrigued than reluctant.
“I know … you wonder what it is that I might be able to see,” Nancy acknowledged. “I have met many villains in my time and quite a few of them came from the East. I’ve learnt a lot about what these tattoos mean and if you can still see some of their shapes … who knows?”
“Brill … I’ll send you what I’ve got right away.” Andy was already sending an email with attachments. As he did so, he kept updating Nancy on progress.
“I’ve also gone through Ollie Wilson’s bank accounts and apart from the usual standard current account and deposit account, I have found an account in Jersey, set up a couple of years ago. It had very little activity until recently and that’s when it becomes quite interesting.”
“You mean the regular payment and withdrawal of large sums of money?” Nancy inhaled, holding her breath until he answered.
“Not huge, but big enough, and ranging from a couple of thousand up to £10,000.”
“Have you been able to trace the funds and the payee or recipient?”
“An account in Panama for the incoming payments, an account in Switzerland for the sums going out … It’s a nominee account so we’ll need to do a lot more digging before I can get the name of the ultimate beneficial owner.”
“Typical money laundering structure.” Nancy mused.
“That sounds right.”
“How about the biker?” She had to ask and it was a welcome diversion.
“Well, I lost his trace in one of the underpasses in the East End. The camera had been smashed. By the time we could pick up his trail he had switched clothes and swapped number plates. I did a trace on ANPR … nothing.”
“Organised crime … and they were well prepared.” Nancy knew that. The question was where from and who was paying.
“Very much so.” Andy’s voice dipped a little. “I just can’t pin these guys down … frustrating.”
“I’ve got the pictures you sent me … let’s see what we’ve got.”
Nancy opened the shots of the man’s torso, arms and shoulders, back and neck. Andy was right, there was very little to see. She took her time to consider all of them.
Apart from the thoracic puncture that had caused death, the skin looked remarkably intact. Large patches of newly grown skin indicated where the tattoos had been removed. It must have been a long and painful process and the requirement for anonymity must have been obligatory.
There was nothing left on the torso or the arms. She moved meticulously to the man’s neck and shoulders. She enlarged a close up shot and considered it for a moment.
“Look at photo #37 … what do you see?”
The sound of fingers on the keyboard, a moment’s hesitation. “A long object perhaps … not sure … a rod?”
“Could it be a dagger …?”
“Perhaps … I could ask Ms Butler to take more pictures and I could play around with the pixilation …” Andy’s voice trailed off. His mind assessing whether this was a possible route to an answer.
“And I’ll pay Yvonne a visit. I’m sure she won’t mind.”
“Excuse me for asking, but what does a tattoo of a dagger mean?”
“It’s a typical tattoo used by the Russian mafia or by people who have spent time in Russian prisons … A dagger through the
neck means that the bearer has killed someone in prison and they can be hired to kill.”
“Wow … how did you …” Andy stopped short, hesitating whether to ask.
“I saw some pretty grisly things when I worked on war crimes in Eastern Europe. You learn to recognise who you are dealing with quickly.”
She promptly finished the call. She had enough time for a quick call with Pole before making her way to the mortuary.
Her mobile rang. Perhaps he was calling her first, but the number on the screen was unfamiliar. She hesitated, pressing the reply button as the voicemail was about to kick in.
She recognised the voice of Superintendent Marsh’s PA. They exchanged a few pleasantries before Denise asked her about availability. “He would like to see you on a rather delicate matter, I’m afraid.”
“It always is.” Nancy bit her lip. Marsh’s keen attention was not what she needed at a time when she and Pole were at odds over her investigation methods.
“For once, it actually is a tricky situation.” Denise meant every word she said. Nancy took note. Denise did not pander to her boss. Matters must indeed be tricky if she said so.
“What time did you have in mind?”
“Perhaps late morning … 11.30am?”
“I’ll make sure I am available. Any inkling ?”
“Perhaps you should speak to DCI Pole?”
* * *
“You’re not as bad as I thought you might be.” Jethro Greeney picked up Jack’s health record that hung at the bottom of his bed without paying much attention to it.
“I’ve got two damaged ribs, a black eye and a split lip … what did you expect, to find me brain dead?”
“No …” Jethro replaced the chart. “But they left my other agent in a much worse state, I can tell you.”
Jack straightened up in his bed with a wince. “The man that was having dinner at the same place as me?”
“Correct … I thought perhaps you needed someone to keep you company … I didn’t think my guy was going to be beaten to a pulp, though.”
“Those people knew exactly what they were doing.”
“Evidently. My operatives are well trained but so were they.”
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