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

an impassioned plea in his research abstract. It was high time for animal to human transmission to be taken seriously. Human intervention in the food chain, the slaughter of endangered species and the trafficking and slaughtering of wild animals had to stop.

Jack dropped the paper on his lap … impressed. Ollie Wilson not only had views. He also had a way of putting them forward that was compelling and perhaps …

Dangerous.

A shadow loomed over Jack’s seat. “Is everything alright, Sir?”

The purser’s concerned voice surprised Jack a little. He gave him a smile … It was all absolutely fine. Jack had not touched his food and he thanked him for reminding him his meal was getting cold. The starter of lobster on a bed of curly salad and light lemon dressing reminded Jack’s taste buds what good food was all about.

He attacked the lamb, cooked pink to perfection. The burgundy, an excellent Romanée-Conti, also hit the spot. Still, despite the quality of the food and drink, Jack’s mind kept returning to Ollie’s papers.

He interrupted his dinner and returned to the last document. In the methods section as well as in the discussion paragraph, Ollie was making a powerful case for the use of bioinformatics to deliver the rapid solutions needed to combat the problems he perceived … Many people liked talking strategy without knowing what it meant. To Jack, Ollie Wilson had a strategic mind if he knew one.

Jack returned to his food and wine. He pushed his body into the comfortable back of the seat, moved the small pillow around to help his body relax in the large chair. One thing was now certain, Ollie Wilson had a knack for identifying thorny issues and championing proposed solutions. He would be a controversial employee who would not give up easily if he felt he was doing the right thing.

* * *

Pole’s attempt to make light of the forthcoming meeting with Commander Ferguson had fallen flat. Nancy let him return to Scotland Yard with a promise he would explain what was happening as soon as he came back, which she hoped would be that evening.

Nancy could not help but smile. She enjoyed raising a quizzical eyebrow at Pole when she knew she was in the right, yet a nascent sense of unease had crept into her mind. She knew Ferguson. She had been involved in the terrorism case alongside Pole. There was no reason he couldn’t mention Ferguson’s name to her unless something was amiss.

She stood in the lounge, still bearing the marks of last night’s visit and this morning’s rush. She started methodically clearing away cups, teapots, plates, rugs and pillows. For a very short moment she remembered an earlier time in which she had welcomed someone else, someone who had propelled her into the world of crime investigation.

Henry Crowne had entered her life unexpectedly and left it without a word. She understood it had to be that way, but she still often wished he had told her what he had decided to do to redeem his mistakes.

Nancy inhaled deeply as she loaded the last of the crockery into the dishwasher. Her new role as a Scotland Yard consultant was rewarding. She could finally use her talents as lawyer and renowned Queen’s Counsel to help the Met, rather than defend criminals of dubious character to satisfy her ego.

Her iPhone rang. Nancy snapped out of her musings.

Philippe’s voice sounded hollow. “It’s Amy … she’s not responding to her mobile. It’s been more than 24 hours.”

“I presume you’ve tried her hotel room and the Gallery in Hong Kong?”

“No sign of her.” Philippe’s voice wobbled.

“Are you still at the Gallery?” Nancy closed her eyes to steel herself.

“Yes, I’m still in Islington.”

“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.” She hung up. She ran to the bathroom to check the dressing over her face wound. It had bled a little but not enough to warrant a change. She returned to the lounge, stuffed her yellow ruled pad into a satchel and rang for a cab. Within five minutes she had hopped into it.

As she pushed the doors of the Gallery open, she found Philippe in the middle of a phone conversation. He was waving one arm in the air and for a moment Nancy hoped he had finally found Amy. The picture changed when he turned around. He looked dishevelled. His eyes were rimmed with red behind his round glasses.

He dropped into his chair, the phone fell from his hands, hitting the desk with a light thud. Nancy now knew Amy was missing.

“They found her bag and mobile phone on Victoria Harbour, near one of the ferry terminals from where passengers sail to Kowloon.”

“Could they have been stolen?” An unlikely explanation. Amy would have called to let them know.

Philippe simply gazed at her in silence. The realisation of what had happened had just started to sink in. Nancy shivered. She recalled the previous conversation she’d had with him. Amy had found an article about China during the Deng Xio Ping days. But who could be concerned about an article dealing with a bygone era? It had to be an accident … A robbery gone wrong.

Nancy reached Philippe and dropped into the chair opposite his.

“I’m going out there,” Philippe mumbled. His body seemed to have lost all its energy. “I’m going out there,” he repeated, hoping to convince himself he could spring into action.

“Is it safe?” Nancy stretched out her hand to reach his arm.

“Why should it not be?” He half turned his head towards her. His gaze still looked towards a horizon she could not reach. Nancy’s hand closed on his arm but there was no response.

“I don’t know yet.” Her thoughts felt disorganised. She tried to focus on that question. Why would it be unsafe?

“What was Amy working on? Was she meeting any artists … controversial people, dissidents?”

Philippe nodded. “We are continually meeting artists … and all artists are controversial … what’s different there?”

“No one new?”

“No … only the people we