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

“That the document she was shown about her father’s links to art events during the Deng Xiao Ping era is genuine.”

“Don’t hold back on me Harris … I’m not in the mood.”

“And that her father, at least for a while, was in close contact with Deng himself.”

* * *

“Slow down … where are you?” The Aston Martin was now gliding smoothly through traffic. Cora’s breathless voice made it almost impossible for Nancy to understand her.

“I’m … back … at home.”

“You went to Viro-Tech?”

“Yes.” Cora’s voice changed and Nancy detected a tremor.

“I’m sorry I’m not with you. Call me back if you want to take a moment …”

“That’s okay.” Cora interrupted. “I want to tell you now, it’s important. Randy Zhang, Ollie’s colleague, no longer works there.”

“He was sacked?”

“Yes, I believe so … Nikki told me. She was Ollie’s PA. I could see she was not supposed to talk about it but she did. She also told me where we might find him.”

“Perfect … I’m on my way.”

Another call was coming through, Nancy switched caller.

“I have news for you.”

“You’re a mine of information, Yvonne.”

“First, I have found a couple of contacts at the Biotechnology Research Institute in Hong Kong. I’ll send their names via text, and secondly, my MI6 contact has come back with an address for Emmanuel Licot, the author of the paper that talks about your father. He lives in France but he regularly lectures in Southern Asia …”

“In Hong Kong?”

“Correct.” Nancy could picture Yvonne stabbing her desk with her index finger whilst she rolled her rs.

“It seems that all roads lead to one place at the moment.”

“Are you going to buy an air ticket?”

“Perhaps …” Nancy would play that card close to her chest. “I’m surprised how incredibly helpful MI6 have become.”

“Don’t be, she wants something … I don’t mind telling you it’s a she. There is an angle for her, but of course she won’t tell me what it is.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Nancy hung up. A set of traffic lights turned green and she pushed the car a little more as the roads were clear. Nancy found a parking spot and stopped abruptly. She took the iPhone off its cradle and typed in the name that had been surfacing in her mind too many times now for her to ignore.

Deng Xiao Ping’s profile materialized on the screen.

The traffic was now whizzing past the door of her car. She scanned his profile, scrolling down the page until she found a place name that caught her eye … Sichuan province, the same province her father and his ancestors had come from.

Nancy nudged the Aston Martin back into the traffic.

She accelerated, overtaking a few cars that objected, sounding their horns in protest. She kept going until she had to stop abruptly, barely avoiding the boot of the car in front.

The window of the BMW next to her came down. A bearded man was shouting insults that she, no doubt deserved.

She eased her clenched fingers off the wheel and sat back for a few seconds, numb.

When the traffic started moving again, she resumed the drive towards Cora’s flat at a more civilised pace.

* * *

The CIA Station Chief in London had called Jack. Jack had left Harris after he had gathered fresh information from his source.

Ollie Wilson had sent several documents to a contact in Hong Kong. He had squeezed as much as he could out of Harris. He could not expect to be given everything. After all, he too had been economical with the truth. He hadn’t felt able yet to discuss a possible research co-operation between the US and China. This was too sensitive to be entrusted to just anyone, even a close professional colleague and friend such as Steve Harris.

Jack hailed a black cab … One of the great joys of London. He loved riding in the back of these quirky vehicles with their cramped cabin for the driver and the spacious passenger compartment with five comfortable seats. He enjoyed even more the chattiness of their drivers.

“You on holiday?”

“That’s right.” Jack quickly surveyed the cabbie, an older man in his 70s, white thinning hair underneath a tweed cap. His leathery hands were relaxed on the wheel and his manner confident yet courteous.

“Did you enjoy the Tate?”

“I have to confess; I’ve only been to the restaurant … But I’ll go back.”

The old man nodded appreciatively. “I like to visit the gallery meself. We do that on Thursdays with me wife, Di … Not too many people then.”

They continued chatting. The cab entered Grosvenor Place. The tall garden walls of Buckingham Palace stretched on their right. Jack recognised the place he had once visited under very different and less relaxed circumstances. He changed seat, sliding to the left, ready to disembark when they arrived at Hyde Park Corner.

The glimmer that flashed next to the right-hand side window, caught Jack’s attention in an instant.

“Stop the cab … now” His shout worked. The cabbie applied the brakes as though he was about to hit an obstacle. Jack opened the door and rolled onto the pavement, sheltering behind the heavy metal frame of a van.

The sound of bullets hitting the open door of the cab, and breaking glass, made Jack crouch even lower. There was nowhere else to hide. The wide pavement was a simple straight line, anyone venturing there would be too exposed. He had counted five shots. There were still plenty more in the gun’s magazine, whatever its make. Jack crept around the body of the van in the opposite direction from the shots. He tried to open the rear door. It was unlocked. A shadow was coming towards him from the road.

He waited for his assailant to come nearer and slammed the door into his face. The figure staggered, Jack slammed the door closed and stood in the road to face the gunman. The man was wearing a helmet and the crash of metal against metal had stunned him.

Jack threw a back-leg kick into the man’s side. He