by Hugh Franks
Patrick spoke again, looking at Eleanor. ‘We imagine that you might be at the Centre for a few days only. Is that correct?’
‘I certainly hope not that long,’ she replied.
‘In that case, it only remains for us to tell you how to make contact outside, should you need help.’
‘What form will the help take?’ she asked.
Patrick was puzzled by the question. There could only be one form of help: a military one. The ‘Choc’ troops in Mont Louis would provide that, and quickly too. He said, ‘Let me ask you a question first, Doctor. Don’t you believe that they might keep you at the Centre against your will?’
‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want any blood to flow.’
This time it was Mike who spoke. ‘Eleanor.’ He could not hide the anxiety in his voice. ‘We all know that you’re taking one hell of a risk! Anything can happen.’ Could Patrick detect his love for her? That did not matter a damn, he thought, and went on, ‘There is a foolproof way of you contacting help, should you need it.’
Patrick broke in cheerfully, ‘We have an unusual item on the programme for you, Dr Johnson. It has been put together by our scientists. It’s proven, tested, and as Dr Clifford has just said, it’s totally foolproof.’
With that, he pulled open another drawer and drew out a small box, little bigger than a match box, revealing inside a minute metallic object in the shape of a circle.
There was a silence as she stared at the object. Then she said, ‘What’s that? And what’s it meant to do?’
‘That, Doctor, is a microchip. Through its electrical circuits, it signals where you are at all times. That signal remains constant until you change it. It can be changed easily by you, using a kind of magnet. The constant signal means you’re OK. When you change it, the signal changes to a Mayday, meaning you need help … like yesterday.’
‘And then?’ she asked.
‘And then,’ Patrick repeated, ‘the French move into action from Mont Louis. That should take about five minutes – so remember that time lag.’
‘I see. You’ve thought of everything. Where do I carry…’ she pointed to the microchip, and said, ‘that thing?’
Patrick smiled. ‘Under your skin, literally. Over to Dr Clifford.’
Mike smiled reassuringly at her, and pulled a small hypodermic syringe from a case handed him by Patrick. ‘I told you I was going to use a needle on you, Eleanor. I think just behind your right elbow.’
She rolled up her sleeve, as Mike took the microchip from its box. He said, ‘I’m going to press this just under your skin.’ He pointed to the position.
‘Not there, Mike,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s too close to the acupuncture point Shaohai.’
He moved the position slightly. ‘How about there?’ he asked her.
‘That’s fine.’
A moment or so later Mike had put the microchip just below the skin.
Patrick said. ‘It’s already sending out its signal. On the left hand, I think?’ With those words he passed Mike a ring. Mike placed it on the fourth finger of Eleanor’s left hand. After he had placed it, they looked into each other’s eyes. Patrick saw the look. He grinned and said, ‘I feel like the best man.’
They laughed together, breaking the tension.
Patrick then spoke, thoughtfully, clearly, enunciating his words. ‘The ring has a very important use. The microchip is now sending out a signal. If you pass the ring over its surface, it changes to another signal. That will be picked up. It will mean that you need help.’
Eleanor was intrigued. ‘How does it work?’ she asked.
‘Let me make myself absolutely clear. The metal in the ring changes the signal as it passes over the microchip. Don’t ever use it unless you need to – for help.’ He smiled at her. ‘How it works, I’m not sure. But I can assure you it does.’
Eleanor and Mike remained silent, instinctively giving support to each other with confident smiles. Eleanor knew now that she would have a bridge to escape across should the need arise.
Patrick noticed their warm expressions. With his wealth of experience, he was generally right about those sent out from his office to areas of danger. He thought they made a splendid couple. They would do well.
The Mediterranean frontier of France and Spain climbs from the sea port of Cerbère to the heights of the Pyrenees, dominated in this part of the mountains by Mont Canigou. Close to Canigou is the village of Malinya with its International Centre of Oriental Medicine. Looking out of the window of the Air France plane, Eleanor could see the outline of the Pyrenees below. Only an hour or so had passed since she had taken off from Gatwick, London. Soon now, the aircraft would be pounding down the runway of Perpignan airport.
She thought back to the briefing at MI5, and how quickly it had finished. There was no time even to say a final farewell to Mike. She had to follow the instructions given her by Ah-Ming, and follow them precisely as ordered. All the elaborate plans and machinery of action would be under way in London and France. Eleanor was also now on her way, perhaps towards making a major contribution towards solving the ENDS problem.
As she stared out below, she continued to contemplate the immediate past. She had left her beloved medical practice in London, had become involved with MI5, had been told her husband was still alive, and that Carry Tiger to Mountain was in action! If so, was it involved in the mystery deaths? And, by some fantastic, unpredictable help of the Fates, she had met Mike, who meant more to her now than anyone since Chen had died. Suddenly Eleanor wondered why she still assumed that Chen had died. Supposing he was alive? Would she still love him? What a mad moment to be thinking like this! Pulling herself together, she found herself adjusting her safety belt, as the aircraft was coming down to land at Perpignan. She began to feel the nervous tension building up inside her. This was not the time for that emotion. She breathed in deeply, exhaling slowly, getting her mind and body concentrated on the days ahead.
Finally, just before the plane touched down, she felt the microchip under her skin; to activate Mayday only required the ring on her left hand to be moved across it. In a few more seconds she felt much better: the ring reminded her of Mike, the microchip of help if it should be needed. She reflected, with confidence and awe, that the small piece of metal under her elbow was now the most important link she had with London – and France. It did not occur to her how brave she was.
The plane arrived on time and Eleanor was soon standing in the airport’s reception hall beside the information desk. As other passengers streamed past her, she searched in vain for someone to recognise her. Would it be Chen? Or Ah-Ming? Her concern turned to irritation that grew by the minute. She should have thought that they might play games with her.
‘Welcome to France!’ a voice spoke in her ear.
She turned round. Thank God! It was not Chen or Ah-Ming. But the man was Chinese, thin, tall, with exquisite manners.
He spoke English, bowing slightly forward from his hips, as he did so. ‘Forgive my unpunctuality, Dr Johnson, it is inexcusable of me.’
Eleanor was clearly very angry and said, ‘Well, I didn’t really expect to be kept waiting …’
He cut in very quickly, concerned at her remark. ‘I’m deeply sorry,’ he began. ‘If it’s discovered that I was late in meeting you,’ he paused, ‘it will be bad for me. The traffic in the airport car park was blocking everything.’
She suddenly felt sorry for him. She sensed his fear. ‘Forget it,’ she said.
He took her bag and they left the hall for the car park. On the way she noticed two French soldiers staring at them: dressed in khaki and red berets, they stood out from the hustle and bustle of people and cars. As Eleanor reached the car, she glanced quickly over her shoulder towards the soldiers. They were still looking in her direction.
Then her eye caught the summit of Mont Canigou and she paused for a moment, looking over the roof of the car at the noble magnificence of the mountain. It was covered by early snow. Her eyes foll
owed the line of the Pyrenees, then suddenly to the north-west she glimpsed the ruin of the Cathar castle of Queribus, built on a summit over 700 years ago. She remembered visiting the castle with Chen. Her Chinese companion was standing by the open car door; as she thought of Chen, she looked at him. Did he know of Chen? Should she ask him?
The man stood silently, smiling graciously at her – an enigmatic smile. He said, ‘Yes, Doctor, it’s very beautiful, isn’t it?’
His remark made her thoughts return to the present. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, deciding against asking him questions about Chen or Malinya. ‘Perhaps we should be going?’
The man drove fast, by-passing Perpignan. The roads had improved a lot since she had last been in the area. Within a short time they reached the lower slopes of the mountains. It was early afternoon, the light was good, so he was able to maintain speed even when the roads turned into twisty, narrow lanes.
Eleanor leant back into her seat, suddenly realising that soon they would arrive at the Centre of Oriental Medicine. She told herself that all would be well: Mike would be near, somewhere near, she was sure. That thought gave her strength to pray, to ask help in getting away from all this, to get back safely to her work in London. Above all, to confirm if her fears of Carry Tiger were true. What would she be able to report when it was all over? Again, a sense of apprehension gripped her mind, an apprehension that grew as she saw the Centre appear briefly in a gap between the olive and pine trees. She stared ahead, sitting forward on her seat. Would she remember the buildings? Patrick had said they had changed. She wondered why? They had been more than adequate not that long ago. And if what Ah-Ming had told her was true!
The driver began to slow down. No words had passed between them since Perpignan, though he glanced at her from time to time in his rear-view mirror. He was doing just that at this moment, and she turned quickly away from his gaze, to see a long drive appear in front, winding its way downwards, off the narrow road they travelled.
They were in front of the Centre now; the photographs she had seen did not do it justice. The views were magnificent. The sun shone on the mountainsides, throwing deep shadows of relief in all directions; the light and shadows constantly shifted with the wind, sending out waves of coloured brightness, which were in turn reflected on the lake.
The car stopped. The driver quickly appeared to open her door. She stepped out, now looking at the building itself. From where she stood, it looked like any modern hotel, not like a centre of medicine. But once inside, the difference was immediately apparent. She followed the driver into the main hall. Everywhere, quiet efficiency reigned. Above all was the feeling of peace. It pervaded the hall, and the many wide corridors leading from its centre; no one was in a hurry, yet there was an atmosphere of competence, of energy and clinical cleanliness.
As Eleanor continued to observe the signs of medical professionalism – staff looking as confident as any hospital in the world – she heard her driver speaking Chinese to a receptionist. She understood every word. It was an innocent enough remark, asking her to look after Eleanor’s bag. Then he was saying to Eleanor in English, ‘Doctor, please follow me. You’ll be shown your room later. First, I will take you to meet the secretary of the Centre.’
She looked uneasy. ‘The secretary?’ she repeated tentatively. ‘Who exactly is that?’
He smiled and said, ‘She is a very nice lady from the Kyung Hee University in Seoul, Korea. She will give you all the necessary information.’ He bowed towards her. ‘Please follow me, Doctor.’
She passed many doors, some marked as consulting rooms, others lecture halls. She was thinking of meeting a woman from Korea. Would she tell her about Chen? Then she began to worry about meeting Ah-Ming. Supposing he had arrived before her?
The trip through the corridors took at least five minutes. On most of the walls were charts of acupuncture, the concepts of Yin and Yang, the Laws of the Five Elements. Then they passed through fire safety doors into yet another corridor. Turning a corner, she noticed the absence of people. There was no one to be seen. Her driver stopped in front of a door, knocked on it and entered, just ahead of Eleanor. He bowed to the only occupant of the large room and then quietly went out, closing the door.
Eleanor had already recognised the Chinese woman who stood facing her, smiling slightly. How could she ever forget her? Doctor Han! She was walking towards her. She held out her hands to Eleanor.
‘Welcome, Dr Johnson. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?’
For a moment, they stood facing each other, Eleanor thinking how little she had changed. The lovely soft jet-black hair, the high cheek bones, almost more Tartar than Chinese. Without her help, Eleanor would never have obtained the visa necessary for a long stay in China.
‘It has indeed been a long time. But what have you been doing in the Kyung Hee University?’
‘How did you know that?’
The directness of the question, and the tone of voice, put Eleanor on guard. If her driver had spoken out of turn, she had no wish to get him into trouble. Yet to lie was impossible.
‘I heard it from someone on the way here.’ And to change the subject quickly, added, ‘The last time we met was in Beijing. You seemed set on staying there.’
Dr Han seemed satisfied with that, for she smiled and said, ‘It’s all a long story and there’s not time for that now. Let’s sit down.’ They went across to a sofa. ‘Because of my excellent English, it was thought that I would be of more use in the Westernised parts of the Orient.’ They sat down, side by side, as Dr Han continued. ‘Not only did I work in Seoul, but also in Japan at the Association of Modern Kanpo Medicine and later with the Chinese Acupuncture Society in Taiwan.’
‘I see. What were you doing?’
The formal back-and-forth of questions underlined a tension between them. If Chen was here, she must know. Would either of them mention him at this stage? Eleanor was too tense to do that, perhaps …
‘I was running the Doctor of Acupuncture courses. You know, the usual things. Three years of the Batchelor course is followed by two for the Doctorate. I specialised in the study of the exact location of all acupuncture points.’ She paused, and then said, ‘And the extra points.’
Eleanor looked at her sharply. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘That must be very interesting. When exactly did we last meet?’
‘Don’t you remember? We went to see Jian Quin’s revolutionary opera. Can you recall the name?’
Eleanor had not enjoyed the experience, and yet how could she have possibly forgotten the name? Was this a test?
Eleanor hesitated, gave the answer quickly, ‘“Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy”,’ then sat back into the sofa as they continued to search each other’s eyes.
‘That’s right, you remembered. And now you yourself seem to have a great reputation, Doctor, in America and London. You are a credit to Oriental medicine.’
‘Thank you.’ Eleanor was still very wary, anxious not to dig too deep yet. Better to concentrate on mundane matters until … She had always liked Dr Han. It was strange that Ah-Ming had not mentioned her. Eleanor gazed at the doctor for a few seconds before saying, ‘But why are you here now?’ then smiled, adding, ‘It’s a long way from China, from Beijing, isn’t it?’
The woman smiled in agreement. ‘I feel very much at home here. Just down the road is Tautavel. Man has lived in the Beijing area for over 500,000 years, and at Tautavel, man has lived for over 450,000.’
‘That must make you feel comfortable. Are you running only degree courses here?’
Planting that acorn led to a prolonged silence. Was this the moment to put the question about Chen outright? Eleanor was determined not to show any apprehension, but she was finding it difficult to conceal thoughts that were rushing in and out of her mind.
Suddenly, without warning, Dr Han, speaking sympathetically and reaching out a hand to touch Eleanor’s shoulder gently, said, ‘Look, my dear, I know what it must be like for you, but you will soon find that everyth
ing will fit into place for you.’ As Dr Han spoke, Eleanor saw, out of the corner of her eye, a movement from the other side of the room. She looked back at Dr Han, who was now looking over Eleanor’s shoulder.
The voice was close behind her and she knew at once that it was Chen. ‘Hello, Eleanor, it’s been a long time. Don’t turn around for a moment.’ It was Chen’s voice. How long had it been? So many years, and days and months! Ah-Ming had told the truth!
She felt Chen’s hand on her shoulder. It sent shivers down her spine. She found her shoulders rising as though in protest … she could not turn around … Dr Han took both her hands in hers. Eleanor wanted to cry out, to scream, to run, but somehow, from deep down inside her, she knew she would lose if that happened. She must and would hold firm.
A few minutes earlier Mike had arrived at the ancient fortress town of Mont Louis, the highest mountain fort in France, designed and built by Vauban in 1679 and even now still used by the French Army. It was the centre of training for the elite ‘Choc’ troops, paratroopers and commandos. Time and time again in their history, these troops had shown an almost superhuman quality of endurance.
It was only a matter of a day or so since he had seen Eleanor. A helicopter had brought him direct from Gatwick airport, and only a short while ago he had flown over Malinya, through the gap in the mountains which led to Mont Louis. He saw the Medical Centre clearly from above. He looked down anxiously, knowing that by now she would have arrived. On the intercom of the helicopter, the pilot spoke to him. ‘Below there, Doctor. That’s Malinya.’
Mike pushed from his mind the anxiety, knowing the best and only way to help her now lay with the military. But for a moment he hated himself and everyone concerned in London, for involving Eleanor in this dangerous situation. Was her husband really alive and down there? It was all Mike could do to stop himself telling the pilot to go down there now! But that idea was ridiculous.