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

chest for a short moment. She slowly put the pictures on the table. Her father had again been photographed with Deng Xiao Ping, but this time another man was also present who looked the same age as Deng. The picture had been taken in China before they had left. There were characters written at the back, but she could not decipher the Chinese ideograms.

The second photo was of her father looking older than he did when he left Paris, an aged man photographed somewhere that looked like a public space, but she couldn’t tell where.

She looked at the first photo again, replaced it on the table and took a sip of coffee.

“The same man in both these photos is … was … my father, Li Jie Wu.”

Yvonne smiled kindly. “A trip down memory lane is sometimes hard.”

“This one is particularly …” Nancy hesitated. “… Challenging.”

“Is Pole helping you?”

“He is … but what can he do? It was China, 30 years ago.”

Yvonne nodded without asking more.

Nancy was glad her lie had been accepted so readily by someone as astute as Yvonne.

She resisted going through the other documents in detail, but speed read the conclusion in what turned out to be an article mentioning her father.

It had been written by a French academic 20 years earlier when China was beginning to open up and reveal the activity of its contemporary artists. A period when key people like Ai WeiWei were starting to emerge. It didn’t say whether the author Emmanuel Licot was still alive, or where he could be found. But the report indicated that what he had written had been well researched and rang true.

“The document I was concerned about has been validated. It also gives me the name of the author.”

“Any way of contacting him?”

“There is no address, or name of an institution or publication, but I could try a few contacts in Paris.” The final document looked more official. It was arranged in neat paragraphs and had been rubber stamped a few times. The photocopy was of good quality and one paragraph had been highlighted in yellow.

The Chinese language remained opaque to her. Nancy forced her mind to recall the construction of simple characters. She couldn’t. She was about to shove the document back into the envelope when she noticed some words written on the back of the page.

Two sightings of the man, Li Jie Wu, both in Hong Kong, on 27 July 1989 and 18 August 1989.

Nancy raised her hand to stifle a cry.

Her father had been alive after the massacre of protestors in Tiananmen Square in Beijing on 4 June of that year.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Jack Shield,” the man repeated into his earpiece. He gave Jack another look, neutral yet watchful. The heavy steel door, covered with a criss-cross linear pattern, was wide open, but the NO UNAUTHORISED ACCESS written in bold letters on the wall behind him was ominous.

Jack’s black eye and swollen lip didn’t do anything to enhance his credibility. Then again, would an ill-intentioned suspect turn up to the gates of MI6 looking so beaten up? The guard listened to the reply that came into his headset. He gave way to Jack, moving aside his heavy bulk of muscle clothed in a bullet-proof jacket.

Jack nodded his thanks and made his way through the entrance of Vauxhall Cross. He lifted his head to take in the view of the interior. The exterior of the building had always impressed him, with its mix of heavy cream coloured stone blocks, the towers and turrets, and the light blue steel that gave the place a futuristic look. He was not sure that Legoland was an appropriate nickname for the postmodern construction.

A second guard was waiting for him at the revolving doors. He repeated his name and the man went through the same procedure. The guard released one of the gates. Jack pushed against the bar and went through.

He had visited Harris before, but their contact had usually been in areas of conflict, working on joint Middle East operations in Iraq, Afghanistan and Syria.

The Far East had not been their bag but recent events had changed that.

Jack entered the main reception area. It was less imposing than the entrance might suggest. However, it was comfortably furnished with black leather sofas, glass coffee tables and a choice of that day’s newspapers. One could have been entering any corporate building in the City.

The receptionist stood up, printed out a badge and handed it to Jack. Beyond yet another set of turnstile gates, Jack caught a glimpse of two sets of lifts. The rest was solid stone blocks and blue steel again … a fortress, as might be expected in a building housing one of the world’s finest intelligence agencies.

Harris was on his way. Jack got out his mobile phone and dialled Langley.

“Not too early, I hope.”

“Just because it’s you.” The voice was not flirtatious, unfortunately, Laurie genuinely enjoyed working with him.

“What is it that you couldn’t write to me about?”

“I presume you are in a secure location?”

“The reception area of the MI6 building in London.”

“That sounds good enough … even if they listen in on our conversation. Wait a moment, I’ll switch us onto a secure line.”

Laurie’s voice returned. “I did a search on that company, Viro-Tech Therapeutics, and its CEO Jared Turner.”

“And …” Jack had started pacing up and down. He stopped and sat down.

“I’ve been told to lay off the search.”

Jack took a moment to comprehend what Laurie was implying.

“Yep, I know … so I did what I do best, not take no for an answer.” Laurie took her time. “This is totally off the books etc, etc … you know the drill.”

“Go on.”

“Viro-Tech is part of a group of companies helping the US government to put together a task force of virologists, epidemiologists and immunologists who will be tasked to fight the next global epidemic, or even pandemic. The countries involved include the Europeans of course, but also a number of other players such as China.”

“What’s the