BLOOD DRAGON by Freddie Peters (books to get back into reading .TXT) 📕

“You mean, why are the US and the UK governments tiptoeing so much around Turner father and son?”

“Yep … the word at MI6 is that a co-operation agreement between China and some other countries is due to be signed in the next few days.”

“Hunter hasn’t confirmed the date, but he is more prickly than usual … if that is at all possible.”

“DCI Pole is doing pretty well in building a case against Viro-Tech and Turner Junior. It would be a shame if he had to be told not to proceed.”

“Turner Senior has been backed up by some top-level politicians and senior business people in the US.”

“Turner Junior doesn’t seem to be as formidable as Turner Senior in the UK, but it doesn’t mean daddy won’t interfere.”

“Pole has got his hands on the USB key that we presume was concealed by Ollie Wilson …”

Jack interrupted his friend. “Randy has also stored data that should help to confirm that what they were developing could have lethal implications.”

“Wilson’s USB key has been through a fire though. There seemed to be very little left on the device … apart from a line of code … that’s it.”

“How well equipped is Scotland Yard to retrieve that sort of information?”

“You mean they’re not the FBI … but you might be surprised how good at it they are.”

Jack shook his head as though Harris could see him. “I didn’t mean it that way. But some additional help with complex technology could be a bonus.”

“If there is something there … they’ll find it.”

“But could you get me the line of code?”

“Possibly … what do you have in mind?”

“What if it is not a piece of code?”

* * *

A row of yellow and black taxis had formed along the taxi stand outside Chengdu airport. Nancy looked around at the crowd that seemed to be moving as one. People speaking loudly on their phones, jostling for position wherever they went or bumping into one another without noticing.

Licot gently took her arm and guided her towards one of the cabs. The driver took a quick look at his passengers, sizing them up. Chengdu was a large city, but not one that many foreign tourists visited.

Professor Licot gave instructions in Chinese and the man was surprised to understand what he was saying straight away.

Nancy’s sense of discomfort had just risen a notch. She hadn’t understood any of it, and would certainly not have been able to converse with the driver. A lump lodged itself in her throat. If her father were still alive, she would have to speak to him in English, or perhaps French, if he still remembered how.

The car turned abruptly into traffic and joined the throng of other vehicles leaving the airport. They soon came to a flyover that arched towards the East and rose in the air to overlook the suburbs of Chengdu. Endless rows of mid-height buildings, perhaps 12 or 14 storeys tall, kept coming like well-arranged dominoes. The uniformity of construction was staggering, the same rectangular shapes, pinkish-grey stone and small white-painted balconies. Though the city was leafier than she had imagined it would be.

The car veered right at one of the side exit roads, driving straight towards the lower ground. It turned right again to join another motorway. This time the surroundings looked more industrial, large buildings with sprawling car parks and rows of cars awaiting their drivers’ journey home.

Licot said nothing. Nancy also felt no need to talk. The re-acquaintance with her own country was more bemusement than shock.

The driver asked a question. Licot replied. Again, he didn’t offer to translate. She didn’t ask him to.

The vehicle slowed down as they were about to cross a bridge and Nancy edged her body towards the window to take a glance at the river. She tried to remember whether her grandfather’s house had even been close to one. The area they were moving through now was a mix of residential, small industrial … shops had started to appear. More people were going about their business. It could have been a typical UK High Street … A few restaurants, food stores, electrical goods shops and the entrance to a building that looked like a covered market.

The car slowed to a standstill, took a quick U-turn and stopped in front of a tea house. Licot paid and thanked the driver. Nancy got out of the cab. They both waited for a moment before they spoke.

“Where are we?” Nancy had tried to memorise the journey, but she doubted she would find her way back even if she tried.

“It’s a residential area, not very well off and in which we are going to stick out like a sore thumb if we don’t hurry.”

They walked through a few backstreets. Nancy felt helpless for a moment,. She tried to shake herself out of it by concentrating on her surroundings. It was not too late to go back.

Licot got out his mobile and made a call.

Within a few minutes a car appeared, an old battered Citroen. The driver didn’t get out. The journey started again towards an area that looked poorer and older. The car finally stopped in front of a squalid building that resembled a factory and, to Nancy’s amazement, she recognised a word on the sign above the entrance – ‘noodle’. She closed her eyes, making an effort to recall its Chinese pronunciation.

Miantiao …

Licot smiled at her. “That’s right. It’s a noodle factory.”

They walked along the lane that led round to the back of the building towards a smaller construction that looked like a canteen.

The place was empty as they entered. Licot moved confidently towards a smaller room at the back. Nancy took her time, cautious and yet intrigued by the smell of the food that pervaded the place.

There were three cups of tea arranged on the small table at the centre of the room. They were expected.

Nancy felt weak and she leaned with one hand against the wall. Licot