The Dragon and the Needle

by Hugh Franks

  She hesitated, unconsciously tapping her fingertips on the side of her handbag, returning look for look. ‘Can we talk about Dr Clifford?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course,’ he smiled. ‘But for him, we would not be facing each other at this moment, would we?’

  ‘And but for him, I certainly wouldn’t have become so involved in this ENDS syndrome. That’s what you want me to talk about, so …’ She waited for him to say something, but he remained silent, yet with a kindly expression on his face. Her voice was suddenly brittle. ‘I’ve never been involved in this kind of world, it frightens me, to tell the truth, makes me angry at times, having to leave my practice.’

  The raw emotion in her voice came as a surprise to him, so he said, ‘Look, Dr Johnson, you must be wondering what the hell!’ Then he asked if she would like a coffee.

  ‘No. No thank you, I’m all right.’ She settled more comfortably on her chair. ‘Dr Clifford is certain that I can be of help. So was Professor Dorman. And they are correct, I can be. But I’ve got to play it my way, as much as I can – as much as you’ll allow me.’

  The man was searching her face hoping to find the right answers in it. He had years of experience in his world of double-dealing, a specialist in the field of counter-espionage.

  He said slowly, ‘Your fingers point towards China, don’t they?’

  She fidgeted, looking ill-at-ease. How much exactly did they know? Especially about her and the time she had spent in China? She did not answer immediately, but instead studied his face; this time it was Eleanor who was searching for answers.

  As she did not reply and as her expression was indecisive, his own mind skimmed the world of his profession, lies and deceits, deaths, and assassinations, bribery, hatred. It was not her world. He would have to give her an opportunity to gain confidence in himself.

  Her eyes were staring at him. They were steady, as she was thinking, he’s the expert, let him do more talking. She was therefore much happier when he did not repeat the question about China, but said instead, with sincerity in his voice, ‘I want to make one thing absolutely clear. Your safety is our prime concern. Whatever reason Professor Dorman had, and now Dr Clifford has, in terms of any help that you can give, I want you to know that we don’t expect any heroics from you. Do you understand what I mean by that?’

  She still sounded defensive as she said, ‘You mean no James Bond stuff? That’s not my world, is it?’

  ‘Exactly! What you have to know is that we are able to alert certain organisations to come to your rescue, should you ever become cornered.’

  Eleanor sat very still, gaining more confidence in this man. She said, ‘It’s good to know that,’ and then she went on, ‘Yes, you’re correct about China and Dr Clifford.’ She stopped for a moment and said, ‘I’d rather call him Mike. Mike is convinced that Oriental medicine is involved in some way…’

  ‘And you believe that too?’

  Eleanor did some quick thinking and as they looked at each other for a long moment, she sensed that she could say, ‘Yes. I also can assume that you know about my husband, that he’s dead, but that I’ve heard rumours that he might still be alive. You know that too?’

  ‘Yes,’ he paused, ‘but you didn’t discuss this with your own Embassy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You see, Doctor, what is unique about you is that you are an American citizen – and we work very closely with them – but because of Mike Clifford you come under us.’

  She looked puzzled. ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘You know that I know the source of the rumour about your husband. We’ve known about the Chinese for a long time, in terms of their ongoing “peaceful” revolution. Since the United States and Russia, together, have surrounded China, militarily … well, one can understand the Chinese fears, they have had to find other ways. Even working with other Oriental powers. You follow me?’

  ‘Yes, I think I do,’ she said.

  The extent of the man’s knowledge was apparent to her by now. He probably knew something of Carry Tiger. Did he know that the Tao teaches that the best conqueror does not take part in war? Probably not.

  ‘So I would like to know what your plans are, what you feel you can do to help us – remembering what I’ve promised we’ll do to help you.’

  Then his telephone rang. She thought, Who is helping whom? and was grateful for a break in close contact with him. Perhaps there was no helping anybody, she thought dully. She had never looked at the world from the angle of power wars. She had always complained that there was not enough time in the day and night to save life, let alone destroy it. The telephone call lasted only a minute or so. He apologised for the interruption.

  She nodded, and began to answer his question by repeating it. ‘What are my plans?’ with emphasis on the word ‘plans’. ‘Well, firstly I’ve got to find out if my husband is still alive. That will mean travel for me.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘France.’

  ‘What part of France?’

  ‘The Pyrenees.’

  ‘Why there?’

  ‘I think that’s where I may receive news about my husband.’

  ‘It’s somewhere very special down there, is it?’

  ‘In a way, it is. Mike knows I have to go there. But he doesn’t know exactly where yet. I’d rather let him find out from me.’

  ‘You have my word that I’ll wait for it all to come from him.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’

  Their meeting finished a short while later and he escorted her to the lift. When he got back to his office, he quickly wrote down the name of the building and the address she was going to in the Pyrenees. His memory was exceptional – it had to be in his profession. The information had been given to him while he was on the telephone, in front of Eleanor.

  As Eleanor left King Charles Street, she turned left into Whitehall. It was almost 4.30, and she was already late for her appointment with Ah-Ming. She managed to flag down a taxi, telling the driver to go to the junction of Shaftesbury Avenue and Wardour Street. From there it was a short walk to the tea shop in Chinatown. She really was moving into action quickly now, she thought. Then for a brief moment she caught a glimpse of the face, looking at her intently, of a Chinese man who was standing on the shallow steps of the Cenotaph. Perhaps it was all one big coincidence? Perhaps he was not staring at her? But it made her turn her head, to look out of the rear window. Yes, he was still staring at her taxi, and the next moment she saw a car drive out of King Charles Street and proceed in her direction.

  For a brief moment she felt trapped between the world of the Orient and the world of the West, yet as the moment passed, she felt strangely secure. If she was being followed by both sides, perhaps there was safety in numbers? She found herself smiling at the thought, happy in the knowledge that she had not lost her sense of humour. She decided the best course to follow was to try and forget the existence of trailers, followers … in any event, both sides would be intent on keeping her alive for the time being. She wondered if Mike was in the car behind.

  The cold November evening had set in by the time her taxi arrived at the Shaftesbury Avenue junction. She fumbled for money in her bag and as she paid the driver outside the cab, on the pavement, she glanced at the vehicles behind. As the taxi pulled away, and as she waited to cross the busy street she heard Mike’s voice close to her ears. She had been completely unaware of his approach.

  In a voice just loud enough to be heard he said quickly, ‘Don’t look around at me!’ Everything inside her was demanding her to look around, but she struggled against the great temptation. There were other people standing on the kerb by her side. Who were they? Had they heard Mike’s voice?

  Still standing on the pavement with the other pedestrians, she heard Mike’s voice again. ‘Don’t look around, Eleanor.’ And then, ‘Do as I say. Cross over when you can. I’ll be waiting for you in the same car as before, outside the Leicester Square Odeon cinema. It’s all been arran
ged. Come there when you’ve finished. If you understand, cough twice. Now!’

  She coughed twice. Then there were three more words from him. ‘I love you.’

  She couldn’t remember when she had ever felt quite so happy. He had given her all the strength she needed, at perhaps the most critical moment yet in the unfolding drama of Carry Tiger. The road was clear now and she crossed with the other pedestrians. As she entered Chinatown, she felt aware of Mike’s presence still. The next moment she was entering the Chinese dress shop and following the sign that pointed to the tea room on the first floor. For a split second she wondered how Mike knew of this appointment with Ah-Ming, but the confidence he had given her quickly swept that thought from her mind. He was there, and that was all that mattered.

  The tea room had some tables and chairs for customers to use whilst they flavoured various brands of tea. They were all empty except one. At this table sat Ah-Ming waiting for Eleanor. He had a file open in front of him. He was reading the latest list of VIPs who were to be targeted in the next six months or so. He reflected on Carry Tiger’s success: it was very impressive. Now, under orders from France, he himself had also succeeded in adding to the plan with the presence of the American doctor, Eleanor Johnson. He put down the list and closed the file. He reflected on the word ‘presence’. Of course it was vital to remove her from the Western scene. At the moment her value to China was greater alive than dead … at the moment.

  He looked towards the staircase, Eleanor was late. He began to think of the fundamental philosophy of Oriental medicine, the Law of Opposites. The world had had ample opportunity to witness the corruption of capitalism in the West: the great personal fortunes amassed not only in America, Europe and Australia, but now in Russia. The scandals of rotten health systems throughout the world … members of the World Health Organization itself were making fortunes from drug and pharmaceutical companies. There was no balance between the rich and the poor, the gap had widened.

  Carry Tiger had been put into operation out of necessity, to restore balance to the world. China was determined more than ever in her long history to preserve for the world her unique answers for the salvation of mankind.

  Ah-Ming saw Eleanor approach. He stood up to greet her with a smile. He said casually, ‘Hello, Dr Johnson, I had begun to wonder if you were coming. Inasmuch as I like punctuality, I forgive you.’

  ‘You’re kind. I’m sorry I’m late. Forgive me.’

  ‘I do. Would you like some tea?’

  ‘Thank you, no.’

  He waited a moment, searching her face for a sign of her thoughts, whilst Eleanor, equally on guard, looked straight into his eyes.

  He came directly to the point. ‘Your husband, Chen Shousan, awaits you in France.’

  Eleanor shuddered inwardly. She did not believe him. She thought, people all over the world were dead – many of them were still to die from ENDS. This man, sitting opposite her in London, was he deeply involved or on the periphery? Playing a game of pretence about Chen? Cruelly teasing her about Chen? She thought of the cruel treatment of their own kith and kin over the centuries: the War Lords, Chinese torture, beheadings, Mao’s behaviour, his ruthless Red Guards.

  She spoke very guardedly. ‘Does he truly await me?’ she asked.

  Ah-Ming stared at her for a long moment, while Eleanor remembered Chen’s body covered by the sheet in the morgue, identifying him by the ring on his finger; warned not to look at his face, which had been gruesomely battered beyond recognition. She had cried then and felt sick. Then the feeling of loss finally had come to her. A large part of her had died with him, and she had suffered so deeply. Had he been alive and well during her time in China? If so, how cruel was he! Yet he had been so well-liked in New York by so many of his patients. And she had loved him.

  Ah-Ming shrugged. ‘You will only be convinced when you meet him. I can see that.’

  Eleanor nodded. It was cold in the tea room and she shivered inside her clothes. If only Ah-Ming was wrong. At this moment, he looked convincingly sympathetic. Perhaps he was telling the truth about Chen? She looked away from him as though to avoid his face. Then she quickly turned her face back again, her mind made up, suddenly.

  ‘All right! Tell me what I have to do.’

  He smiled with gratitude and relief. His neck was on the line as well. ‘You won’t regret your decision,’ he said, ‘and you’ll be going to the place you went with him years ago, Malinya. It was the Wu Wei-Ping Institute in those days. Now it is the French International College of Oriental Medicine. Chen Shousan has come to see you there.’ Ah-Ming smiled and added, ‘Especially to see you.’

  She thought quickly and replied in a firm voice, ‘I ought to get started on it as soon as possible.’

  ‘I think that’s a wise conclusion. You are a very strong woman. Now for the details.’

  He spoke of the generosity of China. The return flight would be paid from Gatwick Airport to Perpignan. Her bank account in London would be credited immediately with £5,000 and an account would be opened for her in Perpignan with a similar sum of French money.

  ‘You’ve thought of everything,’ she said.

  ‘With others to help me,’ he smiled. ‘I hope we meet again one day. I wish you well. Whatever happens, always remember the great Chinese belief.’

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked.

  ‘He who assists a ruler with Tao does not force the world with arms.’

  By the time Eleanor reached Mike outside the cinema in Leicester Square, the early rush-hour had begun. It had been a long day for her and the crowds jostled and pushed in all directions. She was tired and ready to unwind, but alert enough to look over her shoulder. A pointless thing to do, as she quickly realised. There were so many people; if she was being followed, she would never have known it.

  As she neared the cinema she saw the car parked in front, then she noticed a group of policemen on the square’s side looking at the car. At that moment she also saw Mike: he was standing by the main centre doors. Then he saw her and hurried to her side. Seconds after that they were in the car together again on the rear seat, looking at each other.

  Mike was the first to speak as the car drove away. ‘We’re going back to my flat,’ he said.

  They continued looking at each other. Both sensed each other’s thoughts.

  After a long moment she said, ‘Mike,’ then she paused and smiled, saying, ‘I’m famished! Where and when do we eat?’

  ‘I’ve got that organised. Do you like steak? Fillet, of course.’ She smiled again and repeated his words, ‘Fillet! Of course! Of course I do.’

  ‘Rare, medium or well done?’

  ‘Rare.’

  ‘Good. I’ve got a wonderful one in the fridge, and a bottle of Tattinger.’

  That was just what she needed. Her fatigue vanished.

  The enormity of Eleanor’s involvement began to settle in her mind soon after entering Mike’s flat. She had been through three strenuous interviews in the course of one day. Mike had poured out two glasses of champagne, telling her not to talk, that he would keep quiet too – she must relax. Then he had gone into the kitchen and immediately reappeared, putting on an apron. She smiled, they kissed and embraced. No words were spoken. After he had gone into the kitchen to prepare supper, she settled down into the comfortable sofa, stressed still, but becoming generally more relaxed.

  The American at the Embassy seemed light years away now, but she felt that all had gone well. The man, Patrick, at Whitehall, had given her a great deal of confidence – that had gone well. But Ah-Ming? He knew she had been to the US Embassy, but he had not mentioned MI5 or even the Foreign Office. Yet she had seen the Chinaman taking obvious interest in her in front of the Cenotaph. Had she done all right? She thought so. She reflected on Ah-Ming’s orders, for that is what they were, on the need to keep strictly to the schedule of travel; tickets, and all the other things she would need, she would find in her post box at her flat. When would she be leaving?

>   Then she heard Mike’s voice from the kitchen. ‘Are you OK?’ he called out.

  ‘Yes. Can I help?’

  He appeared at the doorway to the kitchen, holding a frying pan. She smiled across at him, and got to her feet. On her way over to him, Mike said to her, ‘No, I’ve got everything under control. But you could help with a kiss.’

  Mike thought how quickly they had seemed to achieve unity of mind. Now he wanted to take her in his arms. Tonight might be the last time they would hold each other close for a long while.

  She brought him back to reality by saying, ‘That frying pan is pressing a shade too hard in my back.’

  They laughed.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling, but I do love you. We mustn’t let a frying pan come between us.’

  But with the humour she detected a solemn look on his face. She said, ‘What’s the matter, darling?’

  Now they had both called each other ‘darling’! He tensed. ‘You’ve become very special to me.’

  She did not answer. She moved closer to him again, sensing the reason for his solemnity, not knowing how soon they would be separated. And she would be in danger of her life.

  Even now, he was thinking about her husband. What if he was alive? What then? Then he realised from the look of concern on Eleanor’s face that he was giving her bad vibrations. What would help? A quiet hour or so spent over steak and another glass of champagne might do just that. ‘I’ll get on with the steak now,’ he said. ‘You go and relax on that sofa.’

  She nodded, went back to the sofa. But her thoughts too, centred on Chen: Chinese, liberal, a strong man. There had been occasions when his very strong personality enabled him to dominate others. He knew how he wanted the world to be run, the world of medicine. He wanted America to have a medical service open to all, irrespective of wealth, the one and only area where he seemed to be in agreement with the Chinese communists. She glanced at her watch. Perhaps she would have met him by this time, one day within the next week. But if he wasn’t alive? What kind of trap was lying in wait for her in Malinya? And what kind of trap awaited her if he was still living?