Chapter 12 Chinese Whispers

The pattering of early morning rain against the windows with the low rumble of distant thunder woke Grey. Dr Walsh's voice filled the room as if he were still at the Aintree raceground. Julia sat cross-legged on the bed, a croissant in her hand as she watched the television. Dr. Karen Walsh and Chief Inspector Khan were holding a press conference. Julia noticing her Husband rousing leaned over and kissed him.

"It's so good to have you home again, my dear Thomas, OBE," she said with a smile, plastering buttered pastry over his lips.

"Good morning, darling."

Grey watched paying little interest to Dr. Walsh's remarks or Chief Inspector Khan's assurances. The investigation had become a dead lead dulling his interest. Their tranquil morning routine was soon interrupted when the twin girls burst into the room in pink fluffy robes, scattering colorful toys about as Julia resumed eating her croissant

"Daddy's going to the king's castle!" they squealed, clambering onto the bed.

"That's right, I am, Buckingham Palace," Grey said patiently, amused by their enthusiasm.

Grey caressed back onto the mattress with his daughters climbing all over him, listening to their high-pitched chatter, pretending to be annoyed, though secretly overjoyed by their energy.

"Alright, my loves. Daddy needs to get dressed now."

He scooped up the giggling girls and placed them on the floor.

"Why don't you go play while I get ready?"

Once the twins had scampered off in a flurry of flying blonde pigtails, Grey put on a brave face, pushing aside his doubts.

He squeezed into a too-tight suit, seeing wrinkles feathering from the corners of his eyes and gray strands amidst his dark hair—signs of aging he had somehow missed in front of the mirror. He sighed, at the weight of years that had settled upon his shoulders until Julia's hug brought him back to the present.

Julia's smile spread from ear to ear, and her eyes danced with gladness.

"You'll be the talk of London Inspector!"

If only she knew the truth, he thought bitterly.

Grey studied his joyful family feeling guilty. All he wanted to do was look into the monarch's eyes and receive the truth that tormented him. Then maybe he could finally lay his ghosts to rest, instead of this empty charade of celebrations and accolades. Slipping into his long flappy leather jacket, he hugged the giggling twins tight.

"Daddy will be home soon," he said gently.

He kissed Julia goodbye, wishing them a fun day together while he was gone. Julia smiled, but Grey could tell she wished they could accompany him to the ceremony. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I'll be back before you know it," he said warmly.

Part of him hoped to slip away unnoticed once inside Buckingham Palace.

He stepped through the door into the chilly September air, giving a parting smile and wave. A black sedan idled at the curb, its dark windows signifying the institutional anonymity that characterized his working life. Grey willingly resumed this role, once more donning the mask of a public servant as one might an old coat, comfortable yet outgrown. Lingering on the threshold, he looked back at his family home before closing the door and stepping into the car.

Detective Turner leaned forward from the backseat and clapped Grey on the shoulder.

"Well look at you, all dressed up Guv!" he said with a wink.

"'Bout time one of us gets an award. I could murder a pint or six after the week we've had, dodging all those stuffed-shirt bureaucrats giving us grief."

"I understand where you're coming from, Turner," Grey said sympathetically.

"Hopefully today's event will provide a welcome change of pace."

The divider between the front and back seats began to roll down, producing a low hum. First, Grey noticed the man's stiff posture and pressed uniform, then the driver's eyes appeared in the rearview mirror.

The man briefly eyeballed Grey before turning his attention back to the road. His eyes were almond-shaped and distinctly Asian.

"I'm afraid continued No More Oil protesters are blocking the direct route to Buckingham Palace," the driver informed.

"However, I believe an alternate route should avoid delays."

"That sounds wise," Grey replied evenly.

"We certainly would not want to become entangled in the demonstrations."

"Very good sir," the driver said. "Taking the Ring Road appears to be our best option."

"Good thinking. The last thing we need is to be late for this bloody ceremony," Detective Turner chimed in

Grey gave a polite nod. "Quite."

The driver raised the blacked-out partition. Grey noted the subtle scents clinging to the luxurious leather interior—polished wood, faint cleaning products, and the subtle vibration of the powerful engine humming beneath. As they drove, Grey took in the neoclassical buildings grouped around them. Buildings from the Georgian and Victorian periods blinked by, their tall columns topped with gold and their pointed white porticos disappearing into the haze of the distance.

Grey then began to lay out the full extent of MI6's involvement in the secret meeting he had—how even the PM herself had made an unscheduled appearance.

Turner sat frozen, gawking at Grey with dawning comprehension. Every new disclosure was a warning of the vast web they had unwittingly wandered into—a secret game of power permeating the deepest halls of government. The Sedan wound through narrow alleys lined with decaying tenements.

Boarded-up windows from buildings past their prime glared like sightless eyes. Smokestacks in disrepair protruded into the colorless sky from graffitied buildings.

"You know what, Turner, is it me or are we just a little bit further off the beaten track more than we should be?"

"I have to admit, Guv. It's been a while since I've been this far into the neglected parts of London. May I suggest you tell the driver he may be lost?"

The car lurched to a sudden, bone-jarring stop, throwing Grey and Turner forward in their seats. Grey's heart leaped into his throat as he felt the impact.

"Jesus Christ, bloody foreign drivers," Turner shouted under his breath.

Grey banged on the partition. "Hello, will you be bloody careful?"

The driver's voice crackled through the intercom, sounding oddly detached.

"I apologize for the sudden delay. It seems we have blown a tire."

Grey frowned, studying the tarmac outside the window. There was no visible sign of a puncture, no telltale signs of hissing or escaping air. It all seemed a little too convenient.

The divider lowered, revealing the driver's dark eyes staring back at them in the rearview mirror. An unspoken tension saturated the car. The driver lingered too long.

"My uncle's restaurant is close by. He has a spare tire we can use."

Though the offer seemed helpful on the surface, the nape of Grey's neck prickled with alarm.

Turner scrutinized the driver suspiciously.

"Who do you work for?"

"What do you want? This is a trap, right?" Grey inquired.

"Inspector Grey, it is not by accident that we have stopped here. We have been watching you."

Grey felt like somebody had just walked over his grave; his suspicions were confirmed—he was deeper than he had realized.

Grey and Turner exchanged a tense look, both aware that they were stepping into unknown territory. The driver's cryptic response only added to their sense of unease.

"Who are you working for?" Grey demanded.

"I can only tell you at my uncle's restaurant," the driver replied.

Grey's agitation was palpable as he stared at the driver.

"What happens if we don't want to go?"

"Inspector Grey, you are not being held hostage, I assure you. If you choose not to come with me, I will drive you to Buckingham Palace. However, if you do decide to come, I possess information on Sanderson's death."

Grey weighing his options, looked at Turner who was equally uncertain.

"What do you think Turner?"

"Well, I'm game if you are, Guv. We have some time to kill."

"Drive then. Make sure we arrive in one piece. If we end up as chop suey, I'll find ya." Grey warned.

"Don't worry, I'll get you to your destination safely."

Immediately after, the creepy Asian driver accelerated, leaving Grey and Turner to wonder about the journey ahead. Once they were out of the outer fringes of London, they drove through the narrow streets of Soho.

Grey couldn't help but feel like they were entering a different world. The rain beat down on the pavement, creating a steady, rhythmic pattern. Neon signs of sex shops and adult cinemas glowed a garish light over the pathways. In doorways, groups of men huddled together in seedy storefronts. Grey could smell the sharp scent of cannabis mingling with the smell of Caribbean food.

"Recognize this place, Turner?" Grey asked with a hint of dry humor in his voice.

"I used to frequent these places when I was a bobby, after work in my twenties," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Knowing you, Turner, that doesn't surprise me."

"Do you not remember your stag do, Guv?"

Turner was referring to the night of debauchery that had taken place before Grey's wedding.

"Point taken, Turner. Let's just hope we don't have a repeat performance. Julia is still none the wiser."

The executive sedan came to a stop outside a dingy, rundown building.

"We're here," the driver announced.

Grey and Turner stepped out of the car and saw the driver for the first time. He was a small Asian man, impeccably dressed in a chauffeur's uniform that seemed almost too large for his slender frame.

"I want your name and identification," Grey said sternly.

"I am still a serving member of Scotland Yard. You do not have complete immunity yet."

The driver complied, producing a driving license that read 'Lo Chen'.

"Lo Chen," Grey repeated.

"I'm watching you. Make no mistake, I'll be reporting everything that happens here. If you fuck us over."

"I understand, Inspector. But please. There is much you do not know."

"We'll see about that," Grey said suspiciously.

"Keep your guard up, Turner. Something isn't quite right here."

As Turner walked around the car, an enormous rat scurried across his polished black shoes.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, dismayed.

He shook his foot in disgust at the surrounding decay and urban blight.

Chen brought them to a rusty metal shutter at a closed shopfront. A deteriorating sign above read 'Uncle's Chinese Restaurant' in discolored lettering. With a loud screech, he heaved open the shutter to reveal a dingy interior. They followed Chen through the deserted kitchen, assaulted by the smells of stale oil and spices. Planted on the wall was an aluminous blue flylight trap, its pull-out tray overflowing with dead bugs.

"Well, this is cozy," Grey muttered.

"I think I'd rather stick to fish and chips from now on, Guv."

"In here, please," Chen said.

They were in front of a door that looked like some sort of walk-in pantry.

"By all means Chen you go first," Grey said.

"Very well then."

Chen tracked down some steps to the basement, past cardboard boxes of cooking equipment. Grime-ridden tiles covered the floors, with cobwebs clinging to wooden support beams. Chen kicked a stack of empty boxes out of the way, revealing a walk-in freezer at the far end.

"You will understand the need for secrecy in a minute; please follow me."

Chen unclasped the heavy-duty lock on the walk-in freezer, releasing the suction from the vinyl seals around the edges. He entered with Turner close behind.

"Everything in here is just for show," Chen said, pointing towards the Peking ducks hanging from the butcher's hooks.

Turner placed his hands over the breasts of one of the ducks.

"Well look at that. They are made of plastic. You do have all your ducks in a row, don't you Chen."

"Keep your wits about you, Turner."

Chen slid open a secret compartment in the back wall, with Grey and Turner ducking under the ducks like boxers avoiding a speedball, until they wandered into a spacious, sound-proofed room, causing Grey and Turner to pause in astonishment.

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Groups of Asian men in neat shirts were congregated before banks of computer monitors. Cables and wires ran along a spotless floor in orderly bundles. Men spoke to each other in Mandarin Chinese. Some monitored live footage from streets and businesses around the city, while others scanned data and documents.

Screens showed images of government officials and political attaches.

In the center of the room stood a large circular table covered in detailed maps of London, marked with locations. Dozens of photos were pinned to a board, with individuals being monitored or recruited as the most likely assets.

Cool air pumped from fans, cooling down rows of data servers, and network switches.

"This place puts our setup at the Yard to shame. Can I make a request in the next budget, Guv?"

Grey stared in disbelief. "What the hell is this place?"

Before Chen could respond, the door to the intelligence cell opened from another entrance. A stocky, stern-faced man in a black overcoat arrived with an elderly Chinese man who looked at Chen and asked in perfect English.

"Is this the inspector you mentioned?"

"That it is, Uncle."

The Chinese elder flashed a smile at Grey, holding out his hand.

Grey took a moment to acknowledge the elderly Chinese gentleman with a polite nod, though his focus remained on the man in the black overcoat.

"Victor Petrov. What a surprise!"

"Inspector Grey, you seem to turn up in unusual places. Do not be alarmed. This is an informal meeting with no documents to sign."

"Who's this then, guv? A friend of yours?" Turner inquired.

"Not exactly," Grey said, reaching into his coat pocket for his cigarettes.

"This is Viktor Petrov, Russia's special envoy to the UK."

He lit a match and took a long drag.

"The Russian ambassador himself?"

Turner cocked his head.

"What's he doing here, then?"

"Good question. I'd imagine Petrov here has some unofficial business to discuss. Am I wrong, Ambassador?" Grey said through a cloud of smoke.

"You have a keen intuition. I do have a matter of great urgency to discuss, in fact. One that requires your discretion."

"You'll forgive my confusion. Last time we spoke, your government wanted me to back off from my investigation."

"My Asian colleagues here felt a development warranted a more personal exchange of information. My superiors were curious enough to grant me leave."

Petrov's presence established an unnerving layer over whatever truth aimed to be disclosed. Yet Grey had no choice now but to play along and see how the cards fell.

"You Russians are always scheming and up to something, aren't you?" Turner said.

Petrov exhibited no reaction.

"Inspector, shall we proceed with the briefing? Or have the pleasantries satisfied your curiosity for now?"

Grey studied Petrov a moment longer. The Russian's air of calm superiority rankled him, though Grey gave no outward indication.

"Then, by all means, brief away. My curiosity remains quite unsatisfied."

Chen gave a deferential bow to the old man.

"Uncle was instrumental in establishing this safe house. You should listen to what he has to say."

Uncle smiled amiably at Grey and Turner.

"Please, come," he said in a gentle voice.

"Let us discuss things over a cup of green tea. We have very little time. The information you seek surrounding Chief Inspector Sanderson's death is a dangerous matter, Inspector, with implications that go far beyond this room. But you deserve to know what it is."

Grey and Turner took a position facing Petrov at the large circular table, declining Uncle's offer of hospitality. Chen left for a workstation, putting on headphones.

"Forgive my impatience. What truth related to Chief Inspector Sanderson's death are you referring to precisely? I have to be at Buckingham Palace within the next two hours."

Uncle poured green tea for himself and Petrov from a bone china ceramic pot, then sat back as if he was preparing for a leisurely chat.

"The man known as Sanderson was murdered by a group of people on our intelligence radar."

"Who ordered the hit and why?" Turner scowled.

"Because Detective Turner. He was about to get too close for comfort in the eyes of the people who lie at the heart of your investigation."

"What people!"

"Figures at the highest levels of British politics and the Royal Household. That is the who and the why."

"Do you have concrete evidence of this conspiracy?" Turner said.

"Surveillance transcripts, financial records, and photographs are all rigorously documented here."

Grey had let Turner take the lead with his lines of inquiry, just to test the waters for a moment. To consider Uncle's claims.

"Then let's see what evidence you have then," Grey said.

"Certainly. Then you should see this, then."

Uncle walked over to the corner of the room and opened the zip on a laptop bag. Then he placed a small but impressive-looking laptop on the table, typing in a password. Grey and Turner watched Uncle insert a drive, clicking through a folder titled 'Sanderson Surveillance'. He turned the laptop to face them while pressing play on a video file.

The footage began with time-stamped shots of Sanderson's estate. Grey and Turner leaned forward.

"It's in the later stages of the footage that things get more interesting," Uncle said, redirecting to a later timestamp.

Shapes sprung out of the dawn darkness, stealthy moving among the forest trees, creeping toward a bridge. A grim tenseness filled up within Grey and Turner. Uncle narrated what the drones had captured in a clinical, detached manner.

Grey stared, unable to deny the hideous reality of Sanderson's death. The sight of the merciless beating that had claimed the life of his former mentor sent a flood of rage through him. Then the screen went blank.

Grey was flabbergasted. "He never had a chance."

Turner's bewildered expression mirrored Grey's disbelief.

"Something's not adding up here. How did you obtain this video? And who are the men attacking Sanderson? And why does the footage stop dead right after his murder?"

Petrov smiled devilishly.

"Let's just say our intelligence operatives have found... creative ways to access your government's security systems. And the footage. Who knows?"

"You hacked into the British government's surveillance feeds," Grey said angrily.

"You looked me in the eyes, Petrov while having this evidence all along?"

"Suffice it to say, we have gained the ability to monitor certain surveillance feeds, including those that captured Sanderson's murder," Petrov said, sipping his tea.

Grey's expression darkened.

"Cut the smug act, Petrov. I know you're playing with me. Who is your source?"

"Be patient, Inspector. We all seek the truth that will benefit us all. Even your formidable Prime Minister, Aurelia Ironheart, has a stake in the satellite technology contracts."

Petrov placed two photographs on the table. One image was of a man, and the other was of several men resembling those in the video stream.

"This man," Petrov said, pointing to the photograph.

"Is your suspect in the Royal Box at the Grand National? He heads up an organization called the Bloodies, a secret society that operates under the protection of the royal family. This organization carries out sensitive operations on behalf of the King."

Grey was checking the man's profile.

"Do you have his name, Petrov?"

"That is something that I cannot give you. We have been trying to reach him for years, but he just slips through the cracks. The royal family is almost impenetrable."

"Well, you're not much help, are you? Where are your famous KGB tactics that everyone spouts on about? I have a whole montage of photos just like this one in my office."

"Hang on, boss, let's try a different tact here," Turner said as he studied the photos.

"You're wasting your time, Turner. They have nothing new to offer us here," Grey said.

"You believe these Bloodies, whoever they are, attacked and murdered Sanderson on the King's orders? It kind of makes sense why his Majesty knew who this bloke was in the royal box."

"Detective Turner, you are on the right track. Too bad your stubborn colleague doesn't have the same foresight."

"Piss off, Petrov; your hands are just as dirty as everyone else's!"

"Everyone, please," Uncle interrupted.

"Petrov, keep things polite. In front of our guests!"

"Sorry, Uncle. To continue. The very foundations of power in Britain...let's just say they're not as solid as they seem," Petrov said, lowering his voice for effect.

"What do you mean?" asked Grey.

"I mean, there's a lot of creative accounting going on at the highest levels," Petrov said cryptically.

"You're suggesting the royal family is involved in corruption and even murder. Is that correct?"

Petrov pointed a finger at Grey.

"The royal family! They are more crooked than the Italian mafia!"

Petrov finished his tea, setting down his cup.

"It pains me to be the bearer of such dark truths. But as an outsider looking in, the depths of corruption I have witnessed within your country is truly disheartening. Russia gets a bad press from the spin that is spewed out."

"I can definitely echo Victor's sentiments," Uncle said.

"China gets a bad rap from all this Western propaganda."

Grey had listened to just about enough of Uncle's zen bullshit and Petrov's riddled explanations.

"How do I know?" Grey continued, making exaggerated air quotes with his fingers.

"That this inflammatory evidence is truthfully obtained and not entirely fabricated to 'push the narrative', like that bumbling fool Roger Blackwell would say in one of his stupid storylines!" Grey said sarcastically.

"It could all be part of some plot intended to deceive me!"

"Very well, Inspector Grey. I have another hand to play; do you play blackjack?"

"Please cut out the James Bond crap," Grey said sharply.

"Let's speak plainly. Why have you brought me here?"

Like a deck of cards, Petrov laid out several satellite images on the table of a sprawling compound, showing submarines moored in massive docks.

"This is one of His Majesty's secret bases. Our artificial intelligence, as you call it, suggests that the King has been developing something there, something significant."

Uncle looked at his watch and waved at Petrov.

"You must finish your explanation now; we are running out of time."

Reaching into his pocket, Uncle pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Grey. Grey examined it; it was a photograph of him and Turner leaving a crime scene earlier that week.

"How did you get this?" Grey inquired.

"We've been watching you closely. Our observers have been monitoring your actions. We wanted to determine if we could trust you."

"So you've been stalking us?"

Uncle shrugged. "Surveillance Inspector Grey. Also for your protection."

"It's bloody creepy if you ask me," Turner said.

"How long have you been following us?"

"Long enough to realize you're a man of principle. One who prefers justice over politics."

"You haven't said how long," Grey demanded.

"Inspector Grey, we have been monitoring your investigation closely. Based on the psychological profile of your character, we knew you would pursue Sanderson's killers relentlessly, regardless of the risk.

We have evidence implicating these people close to the king. But getting hard evidence requires access to Buckingham Palace, which is almost impossible without detection."

"Let me guess: you want me to infiltrate Buckingham Palace under the guise of receiving my OBE. Become a mole while working as a spy for both the Chinese and Russian governments."

"It would be more of an association of common interests."

"Common interests? More like fulfilling your own agendas while hanging me out to dry as a traitor to the United Kingdom. Pull the other one, Uncle."

"Unfortunately, we lack the positional advantage of someone in your unique position.

To quote a Chinese proverb: The reed that bends in the wind will soon stand straight again. You came to the same conclusions as we did, Inspector Grey, but you have been told to stay in the shade. In time, your straight and true nature will bend no further."

His principles were being put to the test. He knew it too. Uncle had done his psychological profiling well, cleverly manipulating him in his quest for justice.

"You have sparked my curiosity. I give you that, Uncle."

Grey watched Turner's body tense like he was about to be swallowed by his chair.

"Guv, this is getting way too deep for me. Sanderon's gone now; nothing you can do can bring him back. Let's just go to the award ceremony. We have our paid holiday coming up soon."

"Turner, just hear them out first; this could be a new lead. If it's too risky, we'll leave it. I promise."

"Boss, are you seriously considering this? We are way over our heads here."

"Just hold on a minute, Turner."

Petrov and Uncle could feel Grey being reeled in towards them like a fish on a fishing rod.

"I need to understand exactly what you would ask of me?"

Grey's voice was calm but firm.

"Lo Chen, please come to the table. And show us the logistics for our guests."

"Yes, Uncle."

Chen came over with a pair of tweezers, carrying an ornate red velvet wedding ring case, placing it in front of Grey.

He pried it open, presenting a small, clear plastic bag. Inside was a translucent filament of some kind that would be hard-pushed to see without a telescope. With the tweezers, he lifted it like he was holding a pair of chopsticks for Grey to see.

"Within this bag is an implantable micro-tracking device," Chen explained.

"It's pretty cool, right?"

"Yeah, cosmic," Grey said dryly.

"Chen, can you get to the point? Time is of the essence," Petrov said impatiently.

"It is a compact camera module, microphone, and proximity sensor all rolled into one, designed to activate upon contact with human skin.

Once it is implanted and activated, it will transmit real-time encrypted audiovisual data to our secure remote servers, allowing us to passively observe and record whatever the carrier experiences from a first-person vantage point."

Grey and Turner looked skeptical.

"You want me to plant this device on the King?" Grey asked.

Chen tweezed into the bag, removing the thin, transparent film.

"Wait until you see this in action," Chen said.

He peeled off the sticky adhesive, then applied the filament to a plaster on his finger. Instantly, the screens lit up in front of Grey, displaying data patterns and a live point-of-view feed from Chen's perspective. Grey watched as the camera zoomed in on his face on one screen while bio read-out graphs fluctuated on another.

Through Chen's worldview, Grey saw himself seated across the table from Petrov and Uncle, with Turner alongside him.

"Blimey, this is James Bond stuff! I feel like I'm in a spy movie," Turner said jokingly.

"As you can see, the tracker is fully operational and watching you right now."

Chen's disembodied voice rang through the speakers, further demonstrating the audio recording capabilities of this snazzy device.

"The king would never know if he had been implanted."

The demonstration gave Grey a chilling glimpse into the tracker's frightening potential for covert surveillance if misused. It also showed the truth it could reveal if placed on the right person.

"During the ceremony, we believe His Majesty may reveal something important to you through his words or gestures," Uncle said.

"Excuse me, this is all very well and good, and your toy is very impressive, but do you know how unusually irregular it would be to even think of shaking hands with the King at these kinds of events?

There are strict protocols that everyone has to follow," Grey said.

Uncle leaned closer, hooking the line of his catch.

"His Majesty is no doubt aware of your close friendship with the late Chief Inspector Sanderson. Out of guilt, the King may wish to offer you a gesture of consolation—a handshake, a pat on the shoulder, or a few tactful words of sympathy. Such a moment could be the chance to discreetly implant the micro-tracking device without arousing suspicion."

Grey's expression remained neutral, as he contemplated Uncle's proposal.

If the king was involved in Sanderson's death, would his conscience reveal itself somehow during their interaction? But infiltrating Buckingham Palace and deceiving the monarch was full-on treason.

The whole table was staring at him now.

"Inspector Grey, there is no pressure for you to proceed. All we ask is that you remain observant and alert during the ceremony. If a chance for discreet surveillance arises, we request that you consider taking it," Uncle said.

"Turner, what do you think?"

"Guv, you know I will be there with you, but I would leave this one well alone," Turner said.

Grey considered his options carefully. On one side stood honor and duty, demanding justice for his late mentor. On the other hand, there lurked treachery and danger.

Grey leveled his full attention at Uncle and Petrov.

"If I do not make direct contact or decide not to go through with it, then I walk away. I want your full assurance that I will be able to sleep at night with no action taken against me. Is that clear?"

"Inspector Grey, if the opportunity does not arise, you'll get your OBE and go home to your family as a hero, and we'll forget this meeting ever happened," Uncle said respectfully.

Grey stood and straightened himself with a deliberate motion, shrugging off the leaden feeling that clung to his shoulders like a dead weight. Sanderson would have to suffice as a compass for now. He looked directly at Petrov and Uncle.

"Very well," Grey said finally.

"I'll take the device with me. But make no mistake, your countries are just as implicated in this rotten sleaze as mine."

Turner gave him an encouraging nod.

"Chen, take us to Buckingham Palace. You can show me how this device of yours functions in the car."

"It has been quite an interesting encounter," Uncle said.

"Remember the reed that straightens in the wind. Find your true nature, Inspector Grey."

"Uncle, save your Chinese crap for someone else. Petrov, I hope we do not meet again; it was just as unpleasant as the last time we met. Turner, let's go."

"Nice to see you again, Grey; I'll catch you on the way down," Petrov said unnervingly.

The rain had cleared, with sunlight hitting their faces when they hit the street. Grey shielded his eyes with a hand, squinting at the rows of derelict cafes and shops across the road. He probed the faceless passersby. Only when he was sure that they weren't being followed did he open the back door of the sedan.

Turner slipped into the hot leather seat beside him, a crease of worry marking the lines of his face.

"You sure about this guv? Going into the lion's den and all that?"

"Turner, I would not put us in unnecessary trouble. Don't worry."

Grey tapped on the divider window, garnering Lo Chen's attention.

"When exactly am I going to get a technical demonstration of your tech, Chen?"

Chen checked out Grey in the rearview mirror, his dark eyes revealing little.

"I will show you upon arrival. What matters now is that you agree to proceed as our representative."

"You know the deal, Chen."

"Very well. It is your choice, as promised."

Chen took them out of Soho. Both men sat in contemplative silence. Decaying urban streets gave way to grand boulevards lined with stately mansions in Kensington. Government buildings passed by with tourists sampling the city.

All too soon, the gates of Buckingham Palace came into view. Grey adjusted his lapels. Turner sprayed himself with deodorant.

"Let's get it over with Turner."