The Black Dragon Read Online Free PDF Page A

there jump and twist. “But otherwise like you asked. Anonymous. Central.”
    â€œLet’s get moving then, shall we, boys?” Laura says.
    Zamora takes the luggage cart and starts to shove it through the crowds, throwing words back over his shoulder. “We’ll have a good time, eh, Mister Danny? Catch up, talk about the old days . . . EAT, for heaven’s sake. You know what they say—food is an important part of a balanced diet! How’s the magic?”
    Danny smiles. “I’ll show you the jumping man. I’ve almost got it.” The long year and a half since that snowy Berlin day feels like it’s melting into nothing.
    â€œNever show a trick till you’re absolutely sure of it,” Zamora says. “Hey! Tell me I’ve grown!”
    It’s an old joke. “You’ve grown, Major.”
    â€œFour foot four! Not bad for an achondroplastic, no? Has Laura been telling you about the mess she’s—”
    â€œFound a driver yet?” Laura cuts quickly across him, “I need to hit the ground running.”
    Danny spots that easily enough. Somewhere Laura didn’t want to go.
    â€œWhat mess?”
    â€œOh,” Laura says, “just too much to do and not enough time. As usual. How about this driver?”
    Zamora changes tack smoothly. “Oh yes. Nice man. He’s here somewhere.” He lifts himself on the trolley handles, peering over the crowds. “There he is. Mr. Kwan!”
    A short, rotund man—not much taller than the major himself—steps forward and takes hold of a case.
    â€œPleased to meet you,” he says, nodding at all three, squinting through thick round glasses. He reminds Danny of the barn owl that used to greet visitors at the Mysterium’s entrance. It always looked confused to find itself there—and took the first opportunity it got to escape into a dark Spanish night. That had pleased Danny, and the resemblance makes him warm to Mr. Kwan.
    â€œThis way, please,” the taxi driver says, leading them through the revolving doors. It feels to Danny as if they’ve walked into a solid wall of muggy air, and hot sun slaps him on the back of the neck. The change of atmosphere, from gray lifeless Ballstone to the heat of this morning—Cantonese sing-songing all around them—is stirring something deep inside. Genetic memory maybe? He opens up his senses, trying to take it all in.
    Mr. Kwan’s red and white taxi is waiting for them, sunlight bouncing off dented bodywork. An advertisement for teeth whitening is plastered to the driver’s door. It looks as though someone’s taken a sledgehammer repeatedly to that side of the car, and Laura raises an eyebrow as Mr. Kwan starts banging cases into the boot.
    â€œDon’t judge by appearances,” Zamora whispers. “Your brother always told me that, Miss Laura.”
    â€œAs long as he can actually drive the thing.”
    â€œRemember what Shakespeare said, Miss Laura. ‘All that glitters is not gold.’ And vice versa. Mr. Kwan’s a good one. Picked him third off the rank, just like you said.”
    â€œPoint taken.”
    â€œAnd don’t I know what it is to be misjudged,” Zamora mutters.
    Danny is looking around, savoring the heat, watching travelers pulse in and out of the terminal building.
I’m ready for this
, he thinks.
It feels right to be here
.
    Close by, a tall man is lounging against a lamppost, mobile phone casually held to his ear. The morning sun falls on his spotless white linen suit. Although seemingly immersed in his call, he casts a quick glance at them.
    Despite the throng of new images coming at him, it registers with Danny. There’s nothing new about people staring at Zamora, of course. The major turns heads wherever he goes—and grumbles about it on a bad day—but there’s something about the spark in the man’s gaze that holds Danny’s attention