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

“This is ridiculous.”

“But it’s true. I have been doing a little homework on Turner’s schedule. So perhaps a visit to his offices would not go amiss. I have sent you the list of visits he made, complete with the airline bookings. If your DS Andy looks a bit more closely, he should be able to find the same information. Don’t tell me I’m not a nice guy.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

She had been extravagant in booking two seats in business class for the sake of enjoying a little extra peace during the flight. Nancy moved the food tray to the adjacent table. She pressed the remote control and the seat started to slowly unfold underneath her. It was gradually transforming itself into a bed. Another hour of work and she would get some rest.

It was already 6am in Hong Kong and her experience of jet lag told her she was better off adjusting straight away to the local time of her destination.

She had connected her laptop to the onboard Wi-Fi system. A great improvement from a few years back when in-flight mode meant no internet access.

Her fingers coursed over the keyboard and the information appeared on the site she had discovered a few hours ago. It was a simple genealogy research tool, a record of family and ancestors. Something that had taken China by storm.

The previous site she had visited was of little help. But it seemed that this one, designed to be used by the middle classes looking to evidence their lineage was easier to use.

She had struggled to filter the large number of hits her father’s name had generated. It seemed that Li-Jie Wu was a rather common name, generating results in the thousands, but adding his birthplace and date of birth had whittled them down to a manageable number.

Nancy sat back on the comfortable bed, brought a cup of tea to her lips, eyes closed. She had ordered Chai without milk, since she doubted she could ask for traditional Sichuan tea. She inhaled deeply the scent of spices and let her mind wander down the alleyways of the past.

A few images slid into her mind. She caught glimpses of her grandfather. A small man, dry as a stick, so proper … he wore the typical round glasses encircled by a gold frame that most educated Asian men wore in the 1940s.

There was nothing else to remember, apart from the memory of the exquisite gift he had given her on one of her birthdays. She couldn’t recall which. She couldn’t remember his name either. She must have been told but it was just out of reach.

She returned to the site and continued narrowing the options, searching each possible name and, so far, following dead ends.

She had revisited the page that gave her a more in-depth account of Deng Xiao Ping’s life. The Sichuan and Chengdu connections were strong, despite a period of absence. Deng’s family had spent most of their lives there until he started University.

Nancy jotted down a few names that she needed to investigate further. The site was good enough, but the absence of pictures held her back. She had managed to find a way to translate the Chinese, but progress was slow.

She stretched her arms overhead and yawned without holding back.

One of the stewardesses was clearing the trays. She offered Nancy a fresh cup of tea which she accepted with a smile. She stood up and walked to the galley that stood at the back of the 747 bubble. A man in the last row had passed her a few times when using the restrooms at the front of the aircraft. She could have sworn he had leaned heavily on purpose over the back of her armchair during a spate of turbulence.

She walked past him, slowing down a little. The stewardess was coming her way with her fresh tea.

“I just needed to stretch my legs.” Nancy smiled again.

The man lifted his head. He looked at the interaction between the two women in a neutral way that displayed neither interest nor annoyance.

Nancy walked back to her seat. “Can’t become paranoid just yet … I’m not even in Hong Kong.”

She settled back in her seat, brought the blanket over her legs and sipped her tea. The light had gone off in the cabin. Passengers across the aisle were turning on their seat lamps. She lifted the window shade which she had lowered when the light had started to disappear. The aircraft had reached its cruising altitude a while ago.

There was not a single cloud in the sky and the starry night felt restful. She had kept herself busy until now, putting off the inevitable moment of reflection.

She had made a rash decision, using her intuition, judging it was the right thing to do. Unleashing the counter-terrorist squad against her was almost reckless, but she couldn’t let Pole down. She wondered why MI6 had been so keen to help Pole collect information about her father. But there was Henry Crowne’s escape from Belmarsh. How much had Pole known about that?

Yvonne had warned her that MI6 would want something in return for the information she had requested. It was clear that Pole’s own contact had already received his dues. Henry had disappeared over six months ago. But if they had wanted help only for Henry’s escape, then the flow of information would have dried up. But here they were, still feeding Pole information.

Whatever they wanted, she was somehow a part of it … she couldn’t fathom why the search for her father was still of interest to them. Had he been involved in something that continued to be worth their while investigating?

It would have seemed ridiculous only a week ago, but what Nancy had learned about his political involvement now made it more plausible.

She remembered him with a mixture of awe,