The Girl From Peking

by George B Mair

  He looked at the girl from every angle. ‘How clever,’ he said at last. ‘The method you used has given a remarkable result. It is Tania. But with a difference. Not a mirror image but Tania with a difference. What has happened?’

  Fan coughed politely. ‘Our young friend has been wearing the other woman’s face for a full year, so some of her own character may now be beginning to show. And then, of course, physical strain has also left a mark. But I agree. They are the same, yet different. There is passion where once there was resignation. Here we have the spark of a volcano where there used to be only the smouldering of charcoal. Now we have the beauty of an orchid where before we had a water lily. And a good thing too.’

  Maksud produced a torch. The light was more brilliant than anything Fan had seen outside a technical laboratory, and as Maksud focussed the beam down the line where he knew the scars had been his lips parted in a grin of satisfaction. ‘Brilliant, my esteemed and elder colleague. Quite brilliant.’

  Fan bowed, but his eyes had narrowed and Jacqueline saw his knuckles clench over his closed fist. There was a sudden air of tension in the room. Maksud was still smiling, but his body seemed to have snapped into preparation for action. ‘How much elder are you, respected colleague?’

  The Professor remained standing. ‘Seven hundred and eighty-two moons lie behind me.’

  Maksud relaxed. ‘Just over sixty-five years! For how much of that have you served the People’s Republic?’

  ‘Since the first day your people came to power.’

  ‘And before that?’

  ‘I helped any one who wanted me. I’m a doctor and not a politician.’

  ‘And I am a policeman,’ said Maksud. ‘But politicians want to be sure that you won’t talk of this success?’

  Fan’s hands moved expressively, ‘I am controlled by ethics. I don’t discuss patients.’

  ‘But,’ said Maksud softly, ‘you might discuss technique. Have you any wish to publish details of this operation? Details which might put ideas into the heads of our enemies.’

  Fan fingered a pocket and lifted out a tiny vial. ‘This is the key to your safety. So if I must die pray let me die in my own way. I have earned the right to at least that consideration.’

  Jacqueline saw Maksud’s shoulders sag and guessed that a decision had been made. He was smiling and his eyes twinkled with genuine satisfaction. ‘You misunderstood. Our people need men like you. But it is my duty to make sure that you are a good political risk.’ He opened a jade snuff box and sniffed a pinch of brown powder into each nostril. ‘You have convinced me that you are a good risk. But would you care to work elsewhere? Peking is a busy city, distracting for a scientist like yourself. So we have arranged a hospital in the mountains not far from the road which we are building from Lhasa to Chunking. You will have access to manuscripts preserved in our Tibetan monastries, and after a year or two of study you may stumble across some age old remedy which may revolutionise life itself. And we have arranged every possible facility so that you can also continue with normal work. Even as we are talking your wife and family, even your grandchildren, are flying towards this new research centre and we hope that you will join them. Homes are waiting and there will be jobs for all. Even your assistants are in the same aircraft, and indeed everyone who has been working with this young lady is now on the way either to Tibet of Sinkiang where they will be given extra pay, a high decoration and the guarantee of happiness.’ He pointed to the door. ‘Go now, old man. And know that my government is grateful, but that for security reasons everyone involved in this case must be sent far away until we have learned how we may best use the weapon you have given us.’

  Fan replaced the vial, turned towards Jacqueline and bowed. ‘I can understand. And I myself learned long ago to trust no one. The State had been generous. But one last word of advice.’ He paused and Jacqueline saw his lips twitch slightly with emotion. ‘Your superiors know how to direct policy, so always allow them to use you without question. Be the servant of our People and never work for yourself.’

  Maksud Wang approved of every word, and intended to say much the same sort of thing himself. ‘Go now, Professor Fan. We shall meet again when next our government need a magician to perform miracles which are not magic.’

  Jacqueline was not surprised. But she was sad. Professor Fan had become one of the few real friends she had ever known. And he had made it possible for her, one day, and at the moment of her own choosing, to take revenge against David Grant, the man whom she hated above all others.

  Maksud bowed as Fan left the room, and the girl had a glimpse of two guards escorting him along the corridor which led to the main entrance hall. And then he turned to the bed. ‘We have to be careful. Many foreigners are now coming to Peking and it is always a temptation for a man to prove how clever he can be. But don’t worry. Fan will have an ideal place in which to work. And he will be united with his family tomorrow.’ He sat down, stretched out his legs and snapped a question. ‘Now tell me. How do you know that we can trust you?’

  Chapter Two – ‘I think he will die’

  Jacqueline stared at the man with a contempt which made his lips tighten as he repeated the question. ‘Answer me. How far can the State trust you?’

  She fumbled beneath her pillow and produced a cigarette holder. ‘You can’t,’ she snapped. ‘No living person can fully trust anyone. No government can fully trust any agent. And no man can trust any woman.’ She smiled through a cloud of grey blue smoke and watched Maksud relax into his chair. ‘But,’ she added, ‘revenge is a powerful motive. And the People’s Republic is shrewd. You must all have been very sure of me before doing this.’

  The man again sniffed a pinch of snuff. He guessed that he would lose out in any argument and that it was time to show his authority. Discipline was one thing which Jacqueline de Massacré did understand and respect. His manner changed and a snap of command entered his voice. ‘We will now see how much you remember of all your recent briefings.’

  ‘Nationality?’

  ‘Born in Suchow of mixed Circassian and Armenian families, who fled to the east after Soviet Russia’s October revolution, during which my grandparents on both sides supported the White Russians.’

  ‘Age?’

  ‘Whatever our government chooses to put on my papers. But Jacqueline de Massacré was twenty-three. Using the Western calendar,’ she added swiftly.

  ‘Then you are still twenty-three,’ snapped Maksud Wang. ‘And that raises the question of a name. What have you decided?’

  ‘I’ll take the name of the girl who gave me her face. Monham could come from anywhere between the Bosporus and Vladivostock. It is uncommon. And Tania became my friend. I want her to live on in me.’

  Maksud hesitated. There was a very real problem here. ‘It would be wiser to forget her. One might come across former contacts.’

  The girl lit a second cigarette. ‘Contact with tribal people who live in Central Asia on the edge of Gobi! How many foreigners ever took that road? And two years have passed since she disappeared. She had only one sister, and her parents are harmless innkeepers who only know that one daughter was killed in Peking by a motor car which paid out ten thousand dollars in insurance. What have we to fear from using the name Tania?’

  Maksud still hesitated. His job had made him cynical about coincidences and he believed only in the unexpected. But he also knew the value of agents who felt that, in small things at least, he might be prepared to meet their wishes. He decided to be generous even although there was a rather special risk element. ‘Very well. You are Tania Monham.’

  The girl gestured to show that she appreciated his kindness. ‘So Jacqueline is dead and my name is Tania.’

  ‘Then what is Tania Monham expected to do within the next twelve moons?’

  ‘I will compromise both the British Prime Minister and the President of France so enabling our government to blackmail them into supporting admission of the Chinese People’s Republic to the Unit
ed Nations Organisation.’

  ‘And how will you do this?’ Maksud was relaxed into his chair, but his eyes were missing nothing.

  ‘Thanks to the control which our government already has over certain members of Western Imperialist embassies I shall be included in the list of guests at the party which is likely to be held in Paris to celebrate joint Anglo-French concord within the next eight weeks.’

  ‘And where will it be held?’

  ‘At the Élysée Palace. Our contact man has enough power to guarantee an invitation.’

  ‘And your background?’

  ‘Tania Monham is wealthy, born in Macao, educated in Saigon during the old days and married at seventeen to a refugee from Peking who fled the country when our government took over. He took away gold, diamonds, jade and a handful of emeralds once used by the former Chinese Royal family, realised these in the underworlds of Hong Kong, Macao and Buenos Ayres, but died during an air raid near Da Nang where he was working as a spy in the pay of Washington.’

  ‘And why do we use the word “spy”?’ Maksud had thought long and clearly before deciding upon this particular story.

  ‘Because a spy is supposed to be a romantic figure which will appeal to the West. And the wealthy widow of a Nationalist Chinese spy has a real news value which is sure to interest Western politicians who tell other people to do exciting things but never take part themselves.’

  ‘And why Macao, Saigon, Buenos Ayres, Royal jewels and all the rest of it?’

  ‘Because I must be difficult to trace. My husband must be a shadowy figure difficult to identify. And it all adds up to good publicity.’

  ‘But where have you been for the past few years since your husband died?’

  A cynical twitch disturbed the serenity of Tania’s face. ‘I visited the former home of my husband in Peking to scatter his ashes near where he had been born. Then I was given a tourist visa extension and travelled all over the place but became ill in Wuhan where I had treatment in hospital for almost a year. Then I convalesced near Shanghai but was attacked one night by seamen from a Dutch ship who had gone ashore looking for a good time. I shot one of them dead and was arrested by the police. My trial was held in camera and I was deported from the country for having killed a foreign national.’

  Maksud smiled thoughtfully. It was a dangerous story, but difficult to disprove, and when it became public she would become a focus for every Intelligence agency in the world. But only last night a Dutchman had indeed been shot dead when a drunken crowd of seamen returned to a ship, and one of his own female staff had allowed herself to be molested. The shooting had been done by someone else, but the woman had been arrested and there had been plenty of witnesses. So that, at least, would be proved. And the decoy had been well dressed. The seamen had seen her only in the half light, and the story was credible. But it would still be irresistible to foreign counter-espionage. ‘And so you arrive in Hong Kong?’

  ‘I will touch down there in five days from now and give an interview to the press.’

  ‘Saying?’

  The girl looked pensive. ‘I shall tell my story convincingly, hint that I saw a great deal of life in what the West would call “the real China” during my tour, but make it clear that I was horrified by the way in which people who had seemed friendly treated me after my arrest. Especially since all that I had done was to defend my honour against five drunken seamen.’

  Both could already see the headlines and knew that their story was good. ‘And how will you live?’ asked Maksud.

  ‘My husband deposited most of his fortune with the Hong Kong-Shanghai Bank and I inherit. They know that I kept my maiden name after marriage so I shall identify myself and arrange withdrawals.’

  Maksud thought about this for the hundredth time! The money had been lodged some two years earlier in a deposit account. The man who had worked for them was expert and had given enough particulars to tie up with the story of Tania’s supposedly dead husband. That too, could be proved . . . up to a point . . . but enough, he felt, to allay any suspicion which might arise once the story began to move. ‘And how long will you remain in Hong Kong?’

  Tania studied her long finger nails. ‘I am very afraid. I know that I am not wanted in the East. It has bad memories. So I shall sleep badly on my first night and call in a professor. He will discover how frightened I am, how I can’t sleep, how I am sure that the Chinese who once seemed so kind will send someone to kill me. I shall be hysterical and hint that I would like to go far away from the East with all its memories. Since the doctor will be looking for an easy way out of the problem he will probably suggest a sleeping pill and advise me to go somewhere else. So then I shall ask him where can a woman like myself go.’

  Maksud listened carefully. This part could be tricky. The professor would have to be made to say ‘Paris’. And at some stage or other Tania would have to put the idea into his mind. But so that later, when some Intelligence agent or other asked him questions he would believe that Paris had been his own idea. This was vital towards building up a cover story which would guarantee world interest, bring Tania into the news and make her a coveted guest among top people. She was going to be a celebrity with a difference. A beautiful woman who had been tried for murder by the Chinese People’s Republic! A beauty who had killed a man in self defence! A sophisticated internationalite who had not been afraid of even drunken seamen! A traveller who had somehow managed to penetrate lesser known China! A widow of incredible charm who was willing to risk her freedom by returning to Peking, from which her husband had run away as a refugee, and simply in order to spread his ashes around the walls! This alone would appeal to every romanticist who read it. And, of course, her money would be a key to most doors, no matter how exclusive, because the government had invested a fortune in this girl . . . and one other. . . . And rated it a good investment. A calculated error during conversation with one of their men in the Hong Kong-Shanghai Bank would hint that she was worth at least two million. He wouldn’t say whether Chinese, American or Hong Kong dollars or Sterling, and he would be dismissed from his job because of his indiscretion, but if Maksud knew the Western press they would opt for Sterling and build up a public image of a multi-millionairess.

  ‘What else will you do to become notorious?’ he continued.

  ‘During my first visit to the Opéra in Paris I shall be wearing an exciting evening gown. After the show I will be jostled on the pavement while going towards my car. Three men will attack me and one will grab my necklace which will, by then, be insured for one hundred thousand dollars . . . American.’

  ‘Has been’, interrupted Maksud. ‘Insurance companies don’t like claims which are made only a few days after taking out a policy. The necklace has been insured for some time now. Your so-called husband did that through his bank and after valuation of the necklace on his last visit to Hong Kong.’

  ‘Anyhow, my necklace will be stolen and they will try for my handbag as well, but I shall draw my Browning from a thigh holster and a man will be shot dead before he reaches his car while our own people will arrange that plenty of press pictures justify the gun-play.’

  ‘Your nationality? Passport, I mean.’

  ‘British,’ said Tania briefly. ‘My husband acquired British Nationality when resident in Hong Kong, so I will appeal for protection from the British Embassy.’

  ‘Not the Consulate?’

  The girl who was now called Tania shook her head. ‘I am important, so I have nothing to do with consuls. I go only to top people and I will say so during one of the press interviews which are certain to be printed.’

  ‘The necklace?’ asked Maksud.

  ‘Fortunately,’ said Tania, ‘I have photographs of that. A coloured photograph is also filed in the vaults of the Bank and there is another with the original valuators. The necklace is jade, but the delicacy of workmanship on every stone makes it unique.’

  Maksud pressed a bell and ordered tea. ‘My advisers gave a lot of thought to this proj
ect but it is still dangerous. We have deliberately used the word spy. We have linked you with a spy as husband. The Chinese government treated you without charge when you were ill and extended your tourist visa. The Chinese Court gave a lenient verdict after trial in camera. Intelligence will suspect a plant as the Americans call it. They will be anxious when you turn up in politically sensitive houses and they will worry at your past like a dog with a bone.’ He reviewed the points again, listing them on his fingers as he spoke aloud.

  ‘The story is so complicated that it would be difficult to prove in detail even if our enemies had time to do so. Which, naturally, is why we have chosen it.

  ‘But there is evidence to support your story.

  ‘For example your childhood. You were educated privately during the French occupation. So it is reasonable that no traces of either school or teachers now remain, since Viet Namh has been a battlefield ever since.

  ‘Second, your husband. His description is vague. The Bank has a photograph. But he is nondescript and wearing Western formal dress while your own photographs of the same man show him in traditional costume. And it is true that several double agents were killed in the Da Nang area either during air raids or ground attack. We also arranged that the body of one of them was cremated, and his ashes were, in fact, scattered in Peking. Indeed a news flash on our radio, which must have been monitored in many places, has a mention of a North Vietnamese widow who was given permission to return her husband’s body to his own country. So you will begin to see,’ he smiled slightly, ‘that not only Professor Fan but other people have also been very busy preparing your future.

  ‘Then your name. The Bank was notified by your husband that his wife would use her maiden name after marriage, but although he promised to give them particulars he seems to have forgotten. But your marriage papers are in order and we shall add your new name, as the maiden name of his wife, to the British passport which we have arranged.