Free The Black Dragon by Julian Sedgwick Page A

over him, helping him to his feet, supporting his sagging weight. And Mum’s there too, hurrying to Dad’s side, eyes flashing in fear.
    In the Pearl Hotel bedroom Danny’s eyes pop open, as he snaps back out of the memory. He sits bolt upright, and knows that this time
something
had been added to the memory. Something he hasn’t seen before. What is it? He grabs for the thought—but too hard. Like trying to hold on to a wet fish, it slips his grasp. And then the reality of where they are now, of what has just happened to Laura, comes rushing back and the dream memory is swamped.
    Even a week ago he would have pushed the unwanted surge of memory to the back of his mind, but now he actively follows it.
I need to start to remember properly
, he thinks.
Systematically
.
    So what can I remember if I choose? If I don’t just wait for the memories to come?
    That night after the failed escape it was Blanco who helped Dad back to the trailer. We followed them and Mum told me not to worry. But I could see she was beside herself
. . .
    The knifethrower saw to it that Dad was comfortable, and turned to leave.
    Danny had never felt entirely at ease around Blanco, but there was something cool about the way he did his meditation every morning. Back straight, eyes half closed, radiating calm. You felt he had a clarity in his pale-blue eyes.
    I stopped him on the trailer steps.
    â€œWhy did it happen, Blanco?”
    â€œWhy does
anything
happen?”
    â€œDad never makes mistakes.”
    â€œBut we all do,” Blanco said. “It’s about concentration. Mindfulness. Can you count slowly to ten without thinking
one
thought? Without clutching at a single thought? That’s what we have to do when we try and escape from underwater. Or throw knives. Or push long nails through our noses. Concentrate one hundred per cent and think of nothing else.”
    He smiled then. A sad smile.
    â€œMaybe your dad just has a bit too much on his mind.”

    It’s Zamora who wakes him, shaking Danny gently by the shoulder, bringing him back from the sleep that has finally pulled him under.
    â€œRise and shine, Danny. Six in the morning.”
    Danny rubs his eyes, sitting up, trying to get his bearings. “Have they found her? Any news?”
    â€œNo.
Nada
. Nothing from kidnappers, or police. But you know what they say. No news is good news.”
    It just doesn’t feel like that, though. Surprising that nobody has come to find them.
    â€œLet’s start working on our list.”
    â€œBetter than twiddling our thumbs, no?” Zamora rummages in his pocket and produces a card. “And I was thinking maybe Kwan can tell us something about what your aunt got up to yesterday. Got his number here. I’ll call him from the lobby. But first you’re going to eat some breakfast.”

    In the Pearl’s foyer, a plasma screen is looping BBC World News, sound muted. The tail end of the ticker feed catches Danny’s attention—and he keeps watching, waiting for whatever it was to come round again. The Prime Minister smiles and delivers a speech on the steps of No. 10 Downing Street. Then a famous soccer player deadpans platitudes in a post-match interview. And then a still image of the rusting hulk of a cargo ship fills the screen—an ugly, squat vessel, with the headline
MISSING CHINESE FREIGHTER
.
    The image shifts to shaky handheld footage of a kind of rubbish dump, protected by high fences that are dotted with yellow radiation signs.
PIRATE HIJACK SUSPECTED: AUTHORITIES DENY LINK TO RADIOACTIVE CARGO
, the caption reads, before the bulletin flips to the start and there’s the newsreader and the prime minister opening his mouth again, stuck in the loop.
    â€œ
Vamos!
” Zamora says. “I got hold of a dispatcher at Kwan’s office. They’ll get him to meet us at the Golden Bat.”
    The heat’s already building as they retrace their steps to Mong Kok.