The Dragon and the Needle (5 page)

Mike finished his snack and looked round the bar, not taking in the people, but thinking of Dorman, and frequently also of Eleanor. He looked at his watch. In an hour’s time he would be meeting the Health Minister again. The part he was playing in connection with ENDS would no doubt be intensified. How much more, he did not yet know. He began to wonder if he might not have to give up his work at Sussex University for the present.

The bar was getting stuffy with cigarette smoke. He smiled grimly. God, man was so self-destructive. But at least certain epidemics had been swept away. As he reached the entrance
door of the pub, these mixed thoughts raced through Mike’s brain. Even at Sussex University, his unit was still engrossed in a new research plan into blood circulation. Was this new threat to the West, these mystery deaths of young as well as old, to be solved by governments or the lucky chance of an individual? An individual like himself, deeply involved in medical research, relying on scientific theory, yet needing the lucky breakthrough? Autopsies of the victims had, as yet, produced no definite link to the causes of death. Perhaps pollution – of the air, of water – had finally eroded resistance to disease?

He was so involved with these thoughts that he failed to notice the man who trailed him, following Mike’s taxi in a car, following him on his way to the Minister of Health.

Eleanor Johnson was extremely tired by mid-afternoon. The rendezvous the previous night at Les Amis du Vin in Covent Garden had been a non-event. She had waited until 8.30, but no one of the description given her on the telephone appeared. By the time she got home to her flat in Brook Street she had made up her mind to call the police.

The telephone was ringing as she entered her flat. The caller, the husband of a patient, spoke in a hurried, excitable tone of voice. ‘Doctor, I’ve been trying to contact you for an hour. It’s the usual problem!’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be over right away,’ Eleanor had reassured him. The police would have to wait.

It was a long drive out to Ealing. The patient was an ex-Olympic gold medallist, now 45 years of age. Her fame had continued after her years of competition were finished, for she had become an outspoken critic of China’s human rights record. The media had frequently used her for anti-Chinese publicity.

She suffered from an old back injury, becoming stiff, and almost unable to move at times. She had been told that her
hips were suffering from incipient arthritis, and her general stiffness was due to that condition. The pain was often severe. This night it was worse than usual. When Eleanor arrived the woman was in such agony that Eleanor began to consider painkillers. The pulses showed greater imbalance in energy circulation than on her last session with Eleanor. It took some time, but after two hours of meticulous work with needles, the energy flow returned to normal. The initial severe pain had eased within ten minutes.

The patient smiled her gratitude and said, ‘You know, Doctor, you’re better at this than the Chinese.’

As Eleanor thanked her for the compliment, she remembered their previous conversation about China. Although critical of China’s internal politics, there was no malice in what the athlete had said about the Chinese people. At the time, she had told Eleanor she had been to an acupuncturist in Hong Kong.

On her way back to her flat in Brook Street, Eleanor thought about her patient and the acupuncturist she had visited in Hong Kong. There were plenty of good and bad acupuncturists in the world, just as there were good and bad Western doctors.

She was looking forward to her meeting with Dr Clifford, and wondered what he was like. She could not get out of her mind that there might be a connection between the note she had received, the calls made to her, and Professor Dorman.

Back in her flat she again wondered if she should call the police. Her mind was made up for her within a few minutes of arriving home. She was getting into bed when her telephone rang. She glanced quickly at her watch: 2.30 a.m. Not another patient at this time! ‘Blast!’ she muttered.

But the voice on the line had her wide awake in seconds. It was the man who had failed to keep the appointment at Les Amis du Vin.

‘I’m sorry it’s so late, but I’ve been trying to get you for hours.’

‘Look!’ Eleanor shouted. ‘What the hell’s going on? First you didn’t keep the appointment, and now you call at this time of night!’ She collapsed back on to her pillows, the receiver still pressed tightly against her ear. But she gave the caller no time to cut in and went on rapidly, ‘Who the hell are you? Whatever do you want?’

The voice was apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, terribly sorry about that. Of course I understand your workload problems …’

‘What the hell do you know about my workload problems? Who are you?’ she demanded again.

‘I can explain when we meet. Please believe me, it’s in both our interests to meet. You’ve nothing to fear! And I am a fellow countryman of yours.’

She sighed, relaxed a little and replied calmly, ‘All right. But surely you can tell me what it is about?’

She wondered if this man was connected with the note she had received from the Ministry. But she could not see how an American could be involved with a British set-up.

‘All I can tell you at this stage is that I have to see you.’

‘Why can’t you make an appointment to see me in Harley Street?’

‘I don’t think it wise for us to be seen together at your office, at least not yet.’

‘Why not?’

‘I can tell you that this evening. Please, same place, same time. I promise I’ll be there.’ She paused before replying, long enough for him to say, ‘Say, are you there?’

‘Yes. If I agree …’

‘It’s not really a question of agreement,’ his voice sounded threatening. ‘I expect you this evening.’

‘Really?’ she said, getting angry. ‘And may I ask how you know my married name?’

‘You will understand when we meet this evening, Dr Shousan. Same time, same place.’

She heard the telephone click.

‘Hello!’

The caller had rung off abruptly. She slowly replaced the receiver. She couldn’t understand who was playing this cat and mouse game with her, or why. She had set the alarm for seven, now only four or so hours away. She must get some sleep and not panic into decisions.

She was a free and determined American woman. She had come to Britain believing she could help spread her medical experience more successfully than in America. Had she done the right thing in coming? There were so many centres of Oriental medicine throughout the world now. Perhaps she should rethink her future? What would her parents have advised her to do? Both doctors, they had been killed in a plane crash while she was at Cornell. They had spent their lives fighting for a better Medicare in America. Why was life so cruel? Thinking of them made her feel stronger and more determined to face up to these strange events of the past few days.

Calmer, and on the edge of sleep, she decided to call on Dr Clifford early in the morning before going to her consulting rooms in Harley Street. Perhaps he could make sense of it all to her?

Now in her office after her meeting with Mike Clifford, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Her reverie was suddenly terminated by the buzz on her intercom. She was bounced into the present. The voice of her secretary announced the arrival of her next patient.

‘Send her in, Julie, and block all incoming calls for the rest of the day.’

‘Of course, Doctor. You sound tired.’

‘I am. I think I’ll treat myself to acupuncture after my next patient. That is the last one for today, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

She was not looking forward to the evening ahead, although she had decided to try once more to meet the insistent American to find out what it was all about. But supposing he did not turn up again? She hovered with indecision, wondering when she would see Mike Clifford again. She would much prefer to meet him. He was deeply involved in the ENDS crisis. Could she help? He had given her a kind of strength. Perhaps she would call him before leaving her consulting room.

Then she was giving her full attention to her patient. Half an hour later, just after the patient left, Julie called on the intercom. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but there have been at least three calls for you from a Dr Clifford. He’s very insistent. I’ve told him …’

‘Put him through, Julie. But no other callers whatsoever.’

Half of her wanted to tell him much more, the other half thought it best to be cautious. There might be a perfectly rational explanation for the letter and phone calls. Fear was something she would have to overcome herself. By this evening it might all become clear – she was always an optimist. She picked up the telephone.

‘Hullo,’ she said, ‘Dr Johnson speaking.’

‘Hullo, Mike Clifford here. I do apologise for interrupting you.’

She liked the sound of his voice and was happy that she could fit the face to it. ‘Don’t worry,’ she replied. ‘As a matter of fact I thought of calling you.’

‘You did? What about?’

‘Tell me your reason for calling first.’

‘You’ve no doubt read all about Professor Dorman by now?’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t.’

‘You haven’t? But it’s headline news!’

‘I rarely have the time to read newspapers or watch TV.’

‘Hasn’t a patient mentioned it to you? Or your secretary? Or someone?’

‘No.’

Mike laughed gently and said, ‘Well, that makes you a rare one these days.’

‘I can assure you I’m not really.’

‘I learnt enough from you this morning in my flat to realise that you are a very different person to most people I know.’

’You mean in my attitude to medicine? I’m quite an ordinary mortal.’

‘I don’t believe that. Anyway, I’d like to meet you again very soon. It’s all tied up with Dorman.’

She approved of the idea and then he went on quickly, ‘Listen carefully. I’m being followed, and it’s …’

‘You’re what?’ She was puzzled.

‘Being followed. But for my protection,’ he said.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She suddenly felt confused. The one person she felt she could confide in was also playing spy games. Then she startled Mike with an outburst. ‘And what’s more, I’m not interested in Professor Dorman, you, or anyone else! I want to get on with my work, preventing and curing disease! I suggest that your work is, or should be, the same!’

‘Calm down! Do you imagine for one moment I enjoy what’s happening to me? But I’m determined on two things right now: to help find Dorman’s killer, and to carry on with his work.’

‘It’s not a doctor’s job to play policeman. And why can’t you carry on with your own work?’

‘I have no intention of playing policeman!’ Mike’s voice was full of anger. ‘As for Dorman’s work, it is also my work, and that’s what I want to see you about! I can’t possibly talk about that over the phone.’

‘Doctor’s discretion!’ she said sarcastically.

‘Not in the slightest! Wisdom might be the right word. And by the way, you left out another important aspect of medicine: that of prolonging life!’

‘That’s true,’ she said, feeling calmer and thinking they were both on edge and quick to react. ‘Look, I’m really too tired to see you this evening.’ She paused. She did want to see him again. ‘Would you like to come here?’ she asked him.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘But it must be soon. Tomorrow?’

‘I’ll just check with my secretary.’

‘Hold on,’ he said, ‘make it as early as possible.’

‘We both agree on one thing, it appears: early appointments!’

They laughed over the telephone together. Julie found a slot for them at ten next morning.

Les Amis du Vin at 7.30 in the evening is often busy. Last-minute theatregoers crowd out the restaurant, eating quickly, demanding fast service from the willing waiters. It was no exception this evening. When Eleanor entered the busy French-style restaurant, she was quick to see a Chinese man sitting alone at a table for two in the far corner.

On the way in the taxi, she had tried to recall her last few months in China, followed by a month in Japan. In Beijing, on occasions, she had been called in by the police and interrogated. It happened to all foreigners living in the city. They would question her about her activities, asking her if she liked China and particularly its medical profession. They knew all about her background. Sometimes, she remembered, she had felt uncomfortable under their scrutiny. But by the time she left China, she was certain she had been able to show them her dedication to Oriental medicine and its worldwide implications – not to any one country. In Japan she had met the Chairman of the Japanese Hospital of Acupuncture. He too had been happy about the spread of Oriental medicine centres throughout the world.

Now she gently bit her lower lip as she approached the table. His voice might be totally American, but the man who
stood up to greet her was tall and thin, with shrewd eyes, Chinese, with an air of dignity. He was wearing a red tie, which was probably free of political connotations – Eleanor knew that the Chinese love the colour red.

He introduced himself as Doctor Ah-Ming, and they sat down opposite each other. She smiled nervously, but he put her at ease, speaking in Chinese with an American accent. ‘I am Yang, and you, the female, are Yin,’ he smiled gently, ‘and neither life nor death can exist without the influence of both, can they?’

Although she felt more at ease now, she looked at him with expressionless eyes. The Chinese language was far more complicated than English. Meaning depended as much on context and voice inflexion as on words, and often English could give no exact translation. She thought, where does one start? When even the same Chinese sentence admits many grammatically different interpretations? She looked at Dr Ah-Ming, and within an instant she was back in China, back in the country she loved so well, remembering the happy days she had spent with so many of the Chinese medical students, and the days with Chen after the violence in Tiananmen Square – Tiananmen, meaning ‘Gate of Heavenly Peace’. There were so many contradictions in China, and so many great and wonderful things …

The UK Health Minister got straight to the point with Mike Clifford. Briefing Mike was not easy. The morning’s Cabinet session at No. 10 had not been as bad as the Minister had feared, although the pressures on him were intense, and the Foreign Minister had shown impatience with the lack of progress. The Prime Minister had set the tone with the need for increased cooperation of the world and the United Nations, not just America and the EEC.