The Dragon and the Needle (18 page)

His telephone buzzed. They had arrived and were on the way up to him. He had run many assignments, and was skilled, ruthless and fearless in their execution. This one, he thought, would be one of the most difficult of them all. He wondered what sort of a woman Eleanor really was. There was considerable danger for her ahead: was she conscious of it all? Well, it was inevitable, and only fools could think of fighting against evil with kid gloves on. Whatever else, she was not a fool.

Eleanor and Mike had met for the first time since their night together in his flat. Meeting in the formal surroundings in King Charles Street was not conducive to a warm embrace – neither the time nor the place. But in the lift they had the opportunity. They held each other tightly for several seconds.

Mike started to say something, then hesitated, and finally spoke. ‘I love you so much, Eleanor. Whatever is done or said in the next few hours, always remember that.’

‘The other night at your flat, I realised how much I love you,’ Eleanor said. As the lift came to a halt she went on, ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you how you have felt since my acupuncture treatment?’

He smiled back at her smile. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘And you’ll find that I’ll probably be using a kind of needle to help you – maybe in Patrick’s presence.’

The lift doors had opened. She frowned, looking puzzled. She had no idea what Mike was talking about. He took her arm gently as they walked down the long corridor. She could hardly believe it was only a few days ago that she had first walked down this same corridor.

As they entered his office, Patrick was standing by his desk and looking at the map now spread out before him. He welcomed them both and said cheerfully, ‘Do sit down,’ and on the way to his desk chair he waved his hand in a wide arc around the room. ‘You’ve both been here before, but I don’t think I told either of you that in this room, MI5 has been handling assignments since the Second World War.’

Eleanor still wondered what Mike had meant about using a ‘kind of needle’ on her. She felt irritated by the mention of war. She turned to Mike, and then quickly faced Patrick, who glanced swiftly at Mike and back to her as she spoke firmly. ‘I don’t believe either of us are concerned about the Second World War or any other war. We’re both doctors. We want to cure and heal, not kill!’

Patrick was ready for such a reaction from her. He smiled back sympathetically and said, ‘Of course you’re absolutely right. But we also think it’s our duty to prevent war by keeping our guard up. Our work helps to do just that … and we also know it’s our duty to care for those like yourselves who answer our call for help.’

With those words he got up and then sat informally on the edge of his desk, asking them to look at the unrolled, large map of France. Several times in the next half-hour, Eleanor was surprised by the information already gathered by MI5 – details of Carry Tiger to Mountain were so precise, yet they still had no idea as to the cause of ENDS. But she was impressed with the concern Patrick had for her own safety and the lengths he was prepared to go to achieve that end.

In spite of such concern for her, she dreaded answering the
inevitable questions. They were soon being asked, once the map of France had been explained to her, with Malinya, in the Pyrenees, the nearness of Mont Louis to the small village, the speed with which help could be sent to her – if necessary. The first question was put by Patrick. He folded up the map and returned to his chair.

‘So you see,’ he said, ‘we know exactly where you’re going.’ He paused, giving her time to remember that only a few days ago, during their first meeting, she had not told him exactly where. ‘Is there no way of finding out what you want to know without going to Malinya?’

For God’s sake don’t dig so deep, she thought. To look at Mike wouldn’t help either. She licked her lips and said, ‘I thought I’d made that clear to you already. First I have to find out if my husband is alive, so I have to go on my own … and go I must.’

‘You see,’ Patrick said simply, ‘we might be able to find that out for you.’

‘And you might not. It has to be a face-to-face meeting.’

Patrick tensed. ‘Why should that be?’

‘If my husband is alive … who knows … he may have had his features changed, but I would know him, whatever.’

She half smiled, but Mike could see her fingers below desk level, unseen by Patrick. They were tapping nervously on her dress.

He came to her rescue. But he spoke cautiously, saying to Patrick, ‘Not only is there that problem for her,’ he paused and turned towards Eleanor. ‘There is some vital link she has to check … a link that she does not want to discuss. That’s so, isn’t it?’

Eleanor nodded her head in agreement, feeling deeply thankful for Mike’s presence and loving him more than ever. ‘That’s absolutely right. I have to handle it myself. In a way, I hope my belief is wrong.’ She felt confident once again, saying pointedly, ‘But if I’m right, then at least we will know
what we are facing. And if I’m right, even then,’ she paused and said with emphasis, ‘the deaths might continue for some time yet.’

There was a trace of sarcasm in Patrick’s voice as he spoke. It was a quality that often worked wonders in questioning. ‘What you’re saying is that even if your thinking is right, the deaths will continue. We’re in the business of stopping them! Like next week!’

Eleanor did not rise to the bait, but spoke as though she was continuing his sentence on his behalf. ‘Like next week. And that phrase epitomises the attitude of the West to the East: everything has to be clear-cut, tomorrow! Get the facts and use them to beat ’em! That’s not the way the Oriental mind works!’

Her voice had risen, but her outburst had its effect. She could tell that from Patrick’s expression. She glanced quickly at Mike. He was looking at her admiringly, smiling his admiration for her.

Patrick hesitated, then decided he could continue with the plans already under way, to give her every possible assistance. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘and if what you say is true, whether or not your husband’s alive, they won’t want you to leave that College of Oriental Medicine in Malinya. You don’t know the place …’

‘Oh, but I do.’

‘You do?’

‘Yes. I went there once years ago with my husband.’

‘I see. Well, you may find it’s changed. And you still may want help from us.’

‘Yes,’ she managed a smile. ‘But what do you mean by it being changed?’

‘It was enlarged a few years ago,’ Patrick said. ‘We picked that up from the Prefecture in Perpignan.’

‘The French have always been into acupuncture,’ Eleanor stressed, aware now that MI5 had even more details than
she had thought possible. Then casually, she went on, ‘I remember how carefully they chose the site for the Centre.’

‘Meaning?’

‘The Chinese are convinced that Yin and Yang elements combine to help their lives. The site faced south where there is a large lake – water gives them the Yin. And it backs onto Mount Canigou in the north – the mountains give them the Yang. It’s as simple as that.’

‘Interesting,’ Patrick said.

‘Fascinating belief in their principles,’ Mike agreed.

‘Yes,’ Eleanor continued, ‘it’s a happily placed building.’

The next development surprised her. Patrick opened a drawer in his desk, taking from it a large folder. As he proceeded to open it on the desk, she recognised at once the Oriental Centre in Malinya. There were photographs, and she saw at once how much it had been enlarged.

Patrick became brisk, beginning with, ‘This is the layout of the buildings. You’ll see there are interconnecting rooms on the whole of the ground floor – consulting rooms, I’m told.’ Then he indicated an enormous basement area with his fingers, spreading out across the plan. He indicated a section of the basement and said, ‘We have very little idea of what goes on in this area. Who knows? Perhaps this is where you’ll be taken?’

He looked up at their faces, glancing at each of them in turn, as though hoping there would now be some questions. His authority seemed to fill the room. There were no questions, merely a look from Mike towards Eleanor. She continued to stare at the map, knowing he was looking at her.

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.