The Dragon and the Needle (15 page)

Eleanor got back to her flat around midday. Within a few minutes her telephone was ringing. Thinking it would be Mike, she quickly answered it. It was not Mike, it was Ah-Ming. She hid the disappointment in her voice, staying on guard more than ever before.

‘How did it go at the Embassy?’ he asked.

She did not reply at once. In a curious way she felt more confident than she had done before the Embassy meeting. But how did he know about the meeting? Was there a mole in the American network? Ah-Ming, impatient, suspicious, did not like the delay in hearing her speak.

‘Dr Johnson!’ He spoke loudly, with anger, ‘I know you are on the line. Answer my question!’

‘Wouldn’t it be wiser for us to meet and discuss what happened?’ She was surprised at her suggestion, at her courage in saying it. The effect was not lost on Ah-Ming.

He spoke quickly. ‘It is not for you to arrange meetings. No doubt the fact that I know where you have been is sufficient to make you respect the power we wield! What is important for you is to understand what your next moves will be.’

Better to agree with him, she thought, and said tersely, ‘I thought that had already been decided. France, isn’t it?’

Now it was Ah-Ming’s turn to be silent, and the long pause disturbed Eleanor. Somehow she managed to keep calm and waited.

Ah-Ming changed his tone of voice. It became softer, more conciliatory, as he replied, ‘Yes, Dr Johnson, France it will be. It would be better if we met.’

They agreed to meet later, in a tea shop in London’s Chinatown.

When she had replaced the receiver, Eleanor went across to the windows. Her eyes searched Brook Street below for any signs of being trailed. There was nothing unusual that she could see. It was the same when she looked out of the windows onto Davies Street. She stood staring out of the window and could just see the Stars and Stripes flying fully stretched out by the wind, above the American Embassy.

She gently put her hand to her throat, thinking of the past, remembering the time that Chen had taken her to France. They had visited a friend of his from China who practised Oriental medicine in Montpellier in the south of France. The three of them had also visited the famous International College of Oriental Medicine in the Pyrenees. Since the late 1990s, similar colleges had opened in many parts of the world. They had become important centres of training.

She went across to her desk and began searching through her papers, hoping to find information about France. All the time she was expecting a call from Mike. But it did not come from the telephone, it came from a buzz on her entry-phone. She rushed across to it, heard his strong voice, could only say, ‘Oh, Mike!’ and then pressed hard on the button to open the door, keeping her finger pressed against it, hearing his steps striding across the hall towards the lift.

She stood at the open front door waiting for him to arrive. When he did she cried again, ‘Oh, Mike!’ and as there were no other flats on her floor, and no one could see them, they embraced and kissed in the depth of their love for each other. After she had closed the door, she thought of how much she had to tell him. But how much should she tell him?

For the moment such thoughts disappeared as he said to her, ‘You’ve heard the news?’

She said, ‘No.’

He looked at his watch and said, ‘Turn on the television,
the one o’clock news is only a few seconds away.’

They sat together on the sofa holding hands, watching the screen. The announcer could not hide the concern on her face as she began reading the headlines.

‘Reports are coming in,’ she said, ‘of the untimely and unexplained deaths of three Foreign Ministers. They are our own Foreign Secretary, Lord Elton; the American Secretary of State, George Block; and the Algerian Minister of Foreign Affairs, Mohamed Bouhara. All three were attending another crisis meeting in Algiers. Each one died during the night, in his own Embassy. It is believed they are yet another tragic result of the ENDS syndrome. They were all under the age of fifty and …’

Mike got up and switched off the set and turned to face her. He said with vehemence, ‘God, I hate the helplessness we are facing. I hate it! I hate it!’

From the sofa, Eleanor said, ‘Come back here and sit down,’ and when they were side by side again, ‘Do I need to tell you where I’ve been? You probably know.’

‘Yes,’ and he pointed over his shoulder, ‘just up the road to the American Embassy.’ He had calmed down and added, ‘How did it go?’

‘Fine, I think.’

Then she did the unexpected. She began to cry. Eleanor rarely cried. The tension and strain of it all made something snap inside her. Life was becoming poisonous. She had not cared about news for years. News was something that happened outside her world of medicine. Yet now it was telling her that people were dying from unknown causes. The continuing rise in the number of deaths was beginning to haunt her; so was her growing involvement in the world of secrets. She too, had her secrets: her rising concern about her knowledge of the Chinese concept of Carry Tiger to Mountain.

Mike put his arms around her and comforted her. She apologised, ‘I’m sorry. I guess it’s all been a bit much for me today.’ She stopped crying.

As Mike hugged her he said urgently, ‘The sooner the strain of all this is over, the better.’ He kissed away the dampness of her tears.

‘Yes, you’re right, Mike.’

He rose and went over to the window. His bodyguard was waiting outside in his car.

Eleanor called Mike back to her side. She felt more at ease now. She leant forward and spoke to him carefully. Solemnly she said, ‘Mike, I want you to promise me again that you won’t say a word to anyone!’

Mike had begun to harbour feelings which did nothing to ease his mind. The worry of Eleanor’s increasing involvement, the questions and answers about her demanded by MI5. Would she see the inner struggle in his expression? He could not tell, but he felt as though he was being dragged on by forces out of his control. Dragged on to what, exactly? He was full of misgivings, but he said, ‘Of course I promise.’

She took his hands in hers. ‘You know how much I love you,’ she said.

Mike felt vaguely helpless. ‘And,’ he said, ‘you know how much I love you.’

Their hands tightened as she replied, ‘In my heart, I believe my husband is dead, because in my heart I now love you. Therefore he is dead for me.’ She paused and then went on, ‘After he died, I thought I could never, would never, fall in love again. But somehow, somewhere, there is a connection between what I’ve been told about him and the knowledge I possess about Oriental medicine.’ She stopped talking.

‘Go on,’ he said.

‘As you know,’ she spoke slowly, ‘with the growth of Oriental medicine all over the world, there has been a corresponding increase of teaching colleges of Oriental medicine.’

‘Yes.’

She looked at him without speaking.

‘So?’ he said.

‘I have been told I have to go to one of these teaching colleges. It’s not in this country … it’s in France.’

Mike hid his confusion, but he could not hide his concern. His promises he would keep. But loving so well and yet … knowing so little. How could he begin to take care of her if she was going to France?

‘I see,’ he said, ‘but who told you? And why to one of the teaching colleges? And why France?’

She wanted to tell him everything, but she felt it was still unwise to tread the path of total absolute truth; she did not want to worry him about something he could not control, that might put him in danger. She put her arms around his shoulders. But she must tell him about the dangers for her!

She kissed his mouth and said, ‘Tomorrow I think I’ll be able to tell you, perhaps even tonight. I can’t discuss the details with you now.’

Mike was about to say something when her telephone rang. She was relieved by the interruption, getting up quickly to answer the call. A man’s voice asked if Dr Clifford was with her. As she asked for the caller’s name, Eleanor shot a swift glance at Mike, putting her hand over the mouthpiece and saying, ‘It’s for you, Mike. A man. He won’t say who he is.’

Mike hurried over to take the call. ‘Hullo,’ he said, ‘Dr Clifford.’

After that he did not say much, but he did listen for a long while. Eleanor had returned to the sofa and sat down looking at Mike, wondering who was calling him on her telephone. She watched his face closely but for most of the time it remained expressionless. It was all the more surprising, therefore, when he suddenly questioned in astonishment, ‘What on earth for? You must be joking!’

Then, as he listened once more he began to look at her with love in his eyes, making her feel special and protected – it gave her strength. It also gave her time to decide on her
next moves … Then Mike was saying into the receiver, irritably, ‘Tell him that I’m well aware of the urgency, I’m doing all I can in that direction. Hold on! I’ve explained myself badly! I’m not only doing all I can: there are many of us doing a damn sight more than he is!’ He replaced the receiver angrily, noisily.

Eleanor thought how strong he looked when angry. He did not name the caller, but he did complain about the lack of understanding of power people. Then he smiled at her and said, ‘You and I are different.’ As she smiled and nodded he went on, ‘Somehow we’ve got to untangle this horror, without destroying ourselves.’

She took his hands again and said, ‘Mike, I do truly believe that my husband is dead – that’s where we had got to before your call. I know how much you’re worrying about me. But please, don’t. We trust each other. As long as we do that, nothing can harm our love, can it?’

‘No. But there’s one hell of a lot of danger for us both. That alone intensifies my love for you, and my concern.’ He paused. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be all right?’

She nodded her firm chin. They arranged their next meeting for the morning at her flat. As he left, she said, ‘Don’t cross bridges before you come to them, Mike.’

‘Maybe not. But looking ahead will keep us alive.’ Then he added, ‘Look, Eleanor, you will be hearing from MI5 in a few minutes. I’ll be much happier about your safety after that.’

‘Why should that be?’

‘They take good care, that’s all I can say. Follow their instructions to the letter. Till tomorrow.’ And they kissed.

Within minutes of Mike leaving her, the telephone rang. She recognised the voice. It was the same man who had called for Mike. She was to proceed to Whitehall, to an office close to Horse Guards Parade and overlooking St James’s Park. A car would be waiting for her outside her flat at 3.45 precisely.
Looking at her watch she saw the time. It was already 3.15. She said aloud to herself, ‘God, please be close to me, help me.’

As Eleanor came out of her doorway, leading into Brook Street, she immediately saw the car. It was parked by the kerb with its driver standing alongside. As she approached he opened the rear door saying, ‘Dr Johnson?’

Mike was sitting in the back. Surprised at his presence, yet inwardly relieved and happy, she sat down by his side. With a smile, she said, ‘You couldn’t trust me to go through it all on my own, but I thank God. He has already answered a prayer: you’re here!’

Now a faint smile flickered about his face. ‘Do you imagine for one moment I would have let you go on this journey alone?’

She nodded. ‘As a matter of fact, I did wonder.’

By this time the driver had pulled away from the kerb. Unseen by him they squeezed each other’s hands and then sat silently staring ahead.

The car drove from Whitehall into King Charles Street, where it was waved on by the security police and came to a halt at the dead-end near Horse Guards Road. Eleanor stepped out first, standing on the pavement for a moment. She thanked the driver, then Mike was taking her gently by her arm to an entrance door.

He spoke to her quietly. ‘I’m not coming into the interview with you.’

‘No, I wouldn’t expect you to.’

He thought she sounded disappointed, so he quickly reassured her, ‘You’ll find them very helpful; it’s their job to be just that. I’ve been through it too, remember.’ They were through the entrance door when he said softly, ‘I’d like to take you into my arms, but you understand this is not exactly the place.’

‘My dear Mike, you’ve been wonderful.’ Her tenseness had returned but she now felt strong enough to fight it. ‘Will you be here when I’ve finished – whatever it is?’

‘No, afraid not, I’ve got lots to catch up on, but tomorrow, as arranged, at your flat.’

Then a woman appeared, ‘Dr Johnson?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Please follow me.’

Mike and Eleanor managed to smile at each other. Then she was gone.

He watched her walk across the wide hallway towards the lifts. Tall, slender, her dark hair … His thoughts were interrupted as she disappeared into the lift. But as he walked back to the waiting car, his thoughts about her returned. There was not another woman in the world quite like her. That was why he wanted her. He would make sure he did not lose her.

A minute or so later, Eleanor was walking down a long empty corridor. Her escort stopped in front of a half-opened door, turned to Eleanor and said, ‘Please go on in, someone will be with you in a moment.’ With that, she walked away.

Eleanor left the door ajar and looked around the room. It was an ordinary sort of office: a desk with a telephone and its screen, a comfortable desk chair and an equally comfortable chair in front. Behind the desk was another door. She returned to the open door and glanced down the corridor. Her escort had already disappeared and there was nobody about. Her nerves began to give way then, she felt her hands becoming sweaty. It was all very well for Mike to say she would find them very helpful. She found the quiet disturbing. No one had appeared. She went back into the office and crossed to the two large windows. Then she gradually calmed down, for the view across St James’s Park was beautiful, and the sight helped to sooth her nerves. The late November sun was still shining and casting shadows on the lake; it was still warm enough for the pelicans on the small islands.

Suddenly the door behind the desk was opened, and she turned to face the man who walked in. She judged he was
in his late thirties, handsome, well-dressed, supremely confident. He went to her side at the windows, smiled and apologised for keeping her waiting, adding, with a wide sweep of his hand towards Churchill’s wartime headquarters and then back in the direction of St James’s Street, ‘Just north over there, the United States Embassy have sent a glowing report about you.’