Blood Codex- a Jake Crowley Adventure

by David Wood

  Sometimes Crowley wished he was still in the army, so he could slam them down and give them fifty push-ups on the spot, while he yelled at them about respect and not being smartasses. But as a teacher, main force was not an option. His military training often helped. The voice he had developed along with his impressive physical presence meant he had a much easier time keeping his students in line than many teachers did. And there were other ways he could make these two boys suffer later on.

  “Aw, Sir, I was just joking,” Jenkins complained, his outrage slightly marred by the cracking of his puberty-stricken voice box.

  “And you know very well I won’t stand for that kind of talk, in class or out of it,” Crowley said. “When we get to rugby training after school this afternoon, the three extra laps of the pitch and subsequent push-ups will be down to you. You’ll be kind enough to let the rest of the squad know that, won’t you?”

  “Sir, that’s not fair!”

  “Life isn’t fair, Jenkins, but it’s a lot easier if you don’t act like an animal. You’re smart boys underneath all that testosterone, so maybe the extra rugby training will help to reveal it, eh?” He enjoyed being their rugby coach as well as their history teacher for the variety of influence it provided him. They weren’t bad kids. Just teenagers.

  Jenkins and his friend screwed up their faces in disdain but were smart enough to keep their mouths shut. Crowley pushed them back to the group as the guide was finishing up her talk.

  “No matter what superstitions and stories are told around subjects like these,” she said with a smile, “here at the Natural History Museum we focus as much as we can on facts. But check the information panels by the exhibits as there are some fascinating stories that have been corroborated and are well worth your time.”

  “You’ve all got fifteen minutes,” Crowley called out, his strident voice ringing in the large space. “Do not leave this area and we’ll gather by the blue whale at exactly eleven forty-five. Off you go. Try to learn something!”

  The students drifted away in their cliques and groups, chattering about anything except the exhibition and what they had just heard. Crowley approached the guide, offered her a warm smile. “Thanks very much. Great talk.” He saw her name badge read Rose Black. She noticed him glancing at her chest and he quickly lifted his eyes, offered his hand to shake. “You’re Rose,” he said lamely, trying to explain why he had been looking down. “I’m Jake Crowley.”

  She flashed that subtle half-smile again, and shook his hand. Her touch was soft and warm, a tingle of something quickly passing between them. Or was that just wishful thinking on his part? “Nice to meet you, Jake.” She nodded back toward the milling students. “I’m really never sure how much attention any of them pay.”

  Crowley was pleased she had smoothly changed the subject from his embarrassment. “You know what, the ones who are genuinely interested take it all in quietly and the others do tend to absorb more than you might imagine. Either way, this is a particularly interesting special exhibit. I never realized there was such a history to something as simple as birthmarks!”

  Rose nodded and glanced around the space. “They’re anything but simple, really, in a historical context. And as part of the greater history of human biology they’ve had some interesting effects on society.”

  “You have any birthmarks of your own you’re hiding?” Crowley asked, and instantly felt like a fool. Who was the idiot teenager here really?

  A strange expression flitted across her face, partly concern, partly curiosity. Then that soft smile was back. “You know, you should at least buy me dinner before asking a question like that.”

  Relief flooded Crowley that she wasn’t offended and he took a deep breath and dove all the way in. Fortune favors the bold and all that. “That’s a tremendous idea,” he said. “It’s a date. Are you free tonight?”

  Chapter 3

  Bluebird Restaurant, Chelsea, London

  Rose Black watched Jake Crowley head off across the restaurant floor toward the bar. He cut a tall, strong figure through the crowd as he went. She leaned back on the sumptuous red vinyl couch under arched white ceilings, pleasantly full from a fine dinner. It was strange furniture for a restaurant, one long couch shared by several tables, with curved wooden chairs on the other side. But the place had a great vibe, the food was good, the cocktails excellent. Crowley knew how to pick a place for a first date.

  She watched the people eating and talking and laughing. One couple sat deep in a serious conversation that had all the hallmarks of a break-up while another couple, only two tables away, stared into each other’s eyes, lost in the early throes of all-encompassing love. The rich variety of life endlessly fascinated Rose. Crowley returned only a minute later with two drinks and sat in the pale tan chair opposite her.

  “Told you it would be quicker than trying to catch the waiter’s eye again,” he said, handing her a tall, condensing glass of caprioska, ice rattling against the rim. “They’ve got really busy all of a sudden.” He raised his bottle of Corona beer in a toast.

  She clinked, took a sip, enjoying the sweet sugar and tart lime behind the taste of good vodka. She’d developed a taste for the drink several years ago while dating a Brazilian. These days she drank it long, with soda water. “It is busy. I’m surprised we got a table on such short notice.”

  Crowley grinned. “I know people.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, it’s true actually. Nothing very exciting. The head chef is an old army buddy and always gets me in. But I rarely have reason to take him up on the offer.”

  Rose could see the military bearing in Crowley’s demeanor; he wore his strength and confidence plainly but without pride or swagger. “Were you in the army long?”

  “Long enough. Quit after my second stint in Afghanistan.”

  Rose frowned. “You must have seen some pretty terrible stuff.”

  “Yeah. Most of it best forgotten, if only that were possible. But it’s okay, you know. A lot of guys really suffer with it, but I’m all right. In many ways I was pretty lucky, in service and out.”

  “So why did you decide to leave?”

  Crowley pursed his lips, thoughtful for a moment. “The real truth is that I probably shouldn’t have joined in the first place. My dad was a soldier, in the SAS, a real hero. But he was killed in the Falklands War in eighty-two, while my mother was pregnant with me, so I never knew him outside the stories everyone told me.”

  That cut somewhere deep in Rose’s heart. “That sucks.”

  Crowley shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s all I’ve ever known. The army was great to my mum. Afterwards, I was raised by her and my grandmother, my father’s mother, I was well looked after. I always idolized my dad, had his picture in my room in his uniform, all that stuff. I knew I was going to follow in his footsteps. Quit school first chance I got and signed up, pushed through. I was a good soldier. Started working my way toward the SAS and was about to move into it when I had this... I guess it was a revelation.”

  “It wasn’t what you really wanted after all?”

  “Exactly. I was doing it all for my dad, which was fine, but I had issues with the government, with the tight discipline, with the things we were being ordered to do. I saw things in Afghanistan that made me realize I was doing the wrong thing. Wrong for me anyway.”

  Rose sipped her drink, smiled. “So you became a history teacher.”

  Crowley laughed. He had an open, honest smile, no artifice. She liked that. “Not right away. I was in my mid-twenties when I demobbed, young and stupid, full of freedom and irresponsibility. I ran into a few London hoodlums, got into some dodgy stuff. Nothing really terrible, but when I nearly ended up in prison, I stopped and had a hard look at myself. I’ve always loved history. War taught me that people make the same mistakes over and over again because they refuse to learn from what went before. So I went to college, trained up as a teacher, and here I am.”

  Rose lifted her glass in another toast. “You�
��re a smart and driven man, Jake Crowley. Good for you. You’ll have to tell me about your dodgy hoodlum days some time.”

  “Let’s save that for another date.” He grinned cheekily.

  She flicked her eyebrows up, unable to resist toying with him. “We’ll have to see how this one goes first.”

  He actually blushed a little. “You’re pretty smart yourself; a historian.” He was clearly trying hard to change the subject.

  She decided not to feel bad about embarrassing him. He was a big boy. “But not nearly so interesting.”

  “I bet that’s not true. What’s your story?”

  She laughed. “I’ll give you the short version. My mother emigrated from Guangzhou with her parents when she was only a child, so that side of my family is very traditional Chinese. Mum married a London taxi driver, about as London as you can get, in fact, much to her parents chagrin, so that side of my upbringing is as English as it’s possible to be. I grew up loving it all, went to university reading history and ancient cultures, got a job at the Natural History Museum, then you asked me out for dinner.”

  Crowley laughed again. “Man, that really is an abridged history. There must be a lot more to you than that.”

  She smiled softly. “Maybe I’ll tell you on another date.” Before he could reply, she added, “Assuming this one goes well.”

  “You’re mean.”

  Rose checked her phone for the time, saw it was getting late. “I’ve really enjoyed tonight. I’m glad we had dinner. But I have an early start tomorrow.”

  Crowley’s face twisted in genuine disappointment. “I suppose that’s fair enough.” He gave her that cheeky grin once more. “Can I call you again?”

  “You have my number.”

  “Ah, maybe you’re not so mean after all.”

  He caught the waiter’s eye and mouthed, The bill, please? The waiter nodded and slipped away between the tables.

  “You going to let me pay for half?” Rose asked. She didn’t mind being treated to dinner, but equally she wanted to make no assumptions.

  “If you insist, I won’t be obtuse about it, but it would make me happy if you’d let me pay. I was the one who asked you out.”

  Rose tipped her head in acquiescence. “You’re very kind, thanks. Maybe I’ll get the next one.”

  Crowley grinned. “You have my number.”

  Outside the restaurant, Crowley looked up and down the busy King’s Road. “Loads of traffic and not many cabs, like usual.”

  She frowned, mock outrage. “Don’t let my dad hear you bad-mouthing the great London black cab!”

  “I wouldn’t think of it! But there are none right now, so you want me to wait with you?”

  Rose shook her head. “I only live about a twenty minute walk away, just near Fulham Broadway. I’ll enjoy the exercise. Especially after a big meal like that.”

  Crowley’s brow creased in concern. “If you’re sure...”

  Rose jabbed one forefinger playfully into his chest. “Don’t get a savior complex on me now. I can run fast and I’ve got a few years of Muay Thai under my belt. I’m more than capable of walking through Chelsea, mister!”

  Crowley’s frown melted into that honest smile. “Yeah, not exactly Kabul under fire, is it?”

  “Not until the weekend, anyway.” She pushed onto the balls of her feet and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “It’s been great, thanks.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  “Look forward to it.”

  She turned and headed off down King’s Road. She could feel Crowley’s eyes on her as she went and smiled softly to herself, refusing to look back. Let him enjoy watching her leave. She was unsure how she really felt about him and was certainly in no place, mentally, to think about a relationship with anyone, not so soon after the debacle with Alison. But Crowley was an intriguing guy and she wasn’t lying when she said she was looking forward to him calling her again. No point in over-thinking things now. Just let events unfold as they will.

  She breathed deeply of London’s unique aroma. It was often fairly horrible, sometimes nothing but exhaust fumes, but as the evening wore on it gained that quiet, resting scent of a city settling down to sleep. Not that London ever really slept, of course, but as the night wore on and most people found their beds, it revealed a little more of its true self. All cities had something unique about them in that sense. Hong Kong in particular held something special in Rose’s heart, more even than her birthplace of Guangzhou. It had been too long since she’d been back for a visit. Much as she loved London, maybe it was time to set wings to her heels again and travel. She had some leave owing, so perhaps a few weeks off, take the long way around to Guangzhou via somewhere tropical and then Hong Kong before visiting her grandparents and extended family.

  A hand closed over her upper arm with painful tightness and dragged her sideways into a shadowed alleyway. She began to cry out, but the assailant’s other hand closed over her mouth and clamped the scream in. Two more men stood in the alley and the one who held her turned her to face them and wrapped his arm around her chest, pressing her back against his chest. His other hand remained over her mouth. The two waiting men stepped forward and Rose’s anger surged up from her gut like a red wave, battling with sudden fear for supremacy. But terrified or not, no way would she take this assault without a fight.

  She hadn’t lied about her training. After so many taunts at school – You’re half Chinese, do you know half Kung Fu? – she had eschewed martial arts until a friend a few years ago had got her into Muay Thai. It was a great supplement to her regular soccer playing and gym sessions. These guys had picked on the wrong girl.

  She lifted one knee and drove a front kick hard into one attacker’s stomach and, as he grunted and doubled over, she drove backwards against the guy holding her. She slammed him hard against the alley’s filthy wall, got a satisfying whoosh of air out of him, but he didn’t let go. She freed an arm and swung a punch at the third man as he closed in, scored a glancing blow across his cheek that made him take a step back, his eyes widening in fury in the shadows of his hooded jacket. She drove her elbow back into the gut of the man holding her and he lost his air again. This time he did loosen his grip and she pushed herself away, only to land in the grasp of the man she’d kicked.

  She swung more punches and elbows, felt several satisfying impacts, but the odds were against her. Three strong men outgunned her fury and whatever training she could call upon. One of them grabbed at her short black denim jacket and hauled up the back of it.

  “This is her!” the man said. “Hold her down!”

  Panic washed fresh through Rose and she screamed out, her voice high and terrified.

  “Shut her up!” the first attacker said, and then he grunted in pain and staggered sideways.

  Crowley, his face a mask of righteous anger, sprang into the space between Rose and her attackers, knocking the men left and right with a flurry of punches.

  The arms holding Rose slipped away and before that man could engage Crowley, she spun around and delivered her hardest kick across his leg, then threw a punch as he stumbled to one knee. Her punch missed and the man staggered up and backed away.

  “Abort!” he yelled. “Abort!”

  The other two attackers pushed back from Crowley, and all three ran back to the mouth of the alley, the one she’d kicked limping badly.

  “Get back here, you bawbags!” Crowley yelled and made to give chase.

  Still limping, the one Rose had kicked, drew a pistol from his pocket. The weak lamplight from the street gleamed on its surface, anodized a malevolent black. “You two ready to die?”

  Crowley stopped, held both palms up facing the gun. Rose marveled at his bravery as he stepped between her and the attacker. “Be calm,” Crowley said, his rage gone, his voice instantly level and calm. “Just leave us alone.”

  The man nodded. He and his companions disappeared out onto the busy street and hurried away. Crowley watched them go, then took one tentati
ve step forward.

  “Don’t follow them, Jake,” Rose said. She couldn’t bear the thought of him getting hurt after they had been left alone. “Let them go.”

  He turned to her, brow creased in concern. “Are you okay?”

  She took a deep breath and paused to consider the question. Despite the odds, she was unhurt. Shocked, scared, a little disheveled, hands and elbows slightly bruised from blows she’d struck, but essentially uninjured. “Yes, I’m fine. Thanks to you. Good thing you came along.” She raised her eyebrows in speculation. “Were you stalking me?” She added a smile to show she was teasing.

  Crowley smiled sheepishly. “You left and I realized I needed to go the same way as you to get the Tube. I didn’t want to seem creepy, like I was following you, so I let you get a head start then made my way along. Thankfully I didn’t wait too long, I heard you scream and came running.”

  “Did you know it was me?”

  “No, but I could tell someone was in trouble.”

  Rose tucked her shirt back in and pulled her jacket straight. She gingerly touched the knuckles of her right hand and winced. “Guy had a hard face.”

  Crowley nodded, a slight smile that she took for respect tugging at his lips. “Everyone does really. You handled yourself well.”

  Rose flexed her hand and realized it was shaking. “I’ve never had any kind of actual fight before. Not in the real world, anyway.” Her stomach churned and her knees began to shake.