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

“I can get into this building, you know.” Cora was not defiant, she had seen a way in.

Nancy took a minute to consider what her friend had said. “You mean to say that you can access Viro-Tech from another building?”

In the semi darkness a smile showed on Cora’s face.

“If that’s the case, we need to plan your visit a bit better than this.”

Cora’s smile vanished. “You mean …”

“I’ll help you.”

Chapter Twenty

His hand crept towards the source of the noise. Pole’s fingers tried to make sense of what they were touching before finding the right button to press. He placed the phone against his ear without speaking.

“Rise and shine mate …” Harris’s East End accent was a little more pronounced than usual.

Pole blinked, finding it hard to focus. He rolled onto his side towards the bedside clock.

“What time do you call this?”

“Time to get out of bed and meet for breakfast … and before you complain, I’ve been up since 4am.” Harris was almost cheerful.

Pole sunk back into his pillow. “Why should I?” Even though he was playing hard to get, Pole knew he would meet Harris. Harris was not a time waster. Still, Harris could not expect to ask and be granted.

“Cause I have some information about your case and because the CIA got a beating. Normally I couldn’t care less but he is a pal and he’s getting close to something people don’t want him to find.”

Pole threw the covers away. “Where?”

“Small caf, not that far from you … near the Oval cricket ground. It’s called Kennington Lane Café.”

“Seriously?” Pole was gathering his clothes in the darkness of his room. He remembered he was home and alone, sadly … and switched on the light.

“What’s wrong with a greasy spoon at 6am in the morning anyway?”

“Everything …” Pole grumbled.

“And Pole.” Harris chuckled. “Think twice about bringing that fancy motorbike of yours.”

“It’s true that if you park your shitty car next to it, it’ll look a lucky prize worth nicking … Just leave your rust bucket on the corner.” Pole killed the call and moved to the bathroom for a much needed cooling off shower.

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 …