The Dragon and the Needle (3 page)

He remembered that moment only a few weeks ago when the professor had said, ‘You know, Mike, if anything should happen to me you have all the top contacts you need.’

There had been a long silence during which they had eyed each other. Then Mike had replied, ‘Nothing is going to happen to you.’

‘Well,’ Dorman had said, ‘whatever, you must carry on with our work.’

Mike’s eyes moistened as he remembered. He now pressed down harder on the accelerator, concentrating, wanting to get to London and action as quickly as he could.

In the quiet of her consulting room in Harley Street, Eleanor Johnson sat at her desk, reading with disbelief the letter that had been delivered by special messenger. She was an attractive
and intelligent woman in her thirties with her dark hair cut short and combed back. Her face was full of gentleness and kindness. Totally devoted to her work, she had established a well-deserved reputation in New York and London.

She had graduated from Radcliffe College
summa cum laude
, then entered Cornell where she got her medical degree. She worked for a while as a junior doctor at the New York Medical Center, where she met and fell in love with Chen Shousan, a Chinese doctor. They lived together for a few years, then they married, but three months later he was dead. He had been mugged and beaten to death in the City’s subway. The murderers pocketed all of $18.

For a while Eleanor drowned her shock and sorrow in work. Her husband had been born in Peking in 1950, only a few months after the founding of the People’s Republic of China in October 1949 by Mao. Chen’s father, a brilliant doctor of acupuncture, practising in Peking, had been unable to escape from the Japanese occupation. The Japanese had forced him to continue his practise, but to treat only members of the Japanese armed forces. After Hiroshima and the withdrawal of the Japanese, Chen’s father married, and by the time Chen was born, his father had built up his practise, but this time using his skills for the benefit of the Chinese. No friend of Chiang Kai Shek, for Chen’s father blamed the General for many of China’s problems, he had welcomed Mao with open arms. Later Mao had returned the compliment by giving the doctor a top appointment in Public Health. He trained Chen, who became a skilful acupuncturist like himself, and using his top position in Public Health, he made sure that Chen learned English and was sent to an American university to become a qualified doctor of Western medicine. Chen was soon practising a balanced therapy combining Western and Oriental medicine.

Under his influence and experience, Eleanor had become fascinated with the techniques and philosophy of ancient
Chinese medicine. Chen taught her everything she knew, and even took her to China to meet his father, now an old man. They were with him in Beijing in June 1989 during the suppression of the democracy movement in Tiananmen Square. Eleanor was profoundly upset by the events, and had said to Chen, ‘When is the world going to stop turning to violence? Isn’t there enough physical suffering?’ Chen had agreed. He told her the deaths had been caused by the interference of foreigners in China’s affairs, and his father was convinced that the crisis had been brought about by Western agents. Chinese men and women trained as agents, operating from Hong Kong. Eleanor had wondered if the West realised the depth of the enigma that was China. She had feared for the future. Somewhere in the darkness of the East–West confusion, would the light of understanding and unity ever appear?

After they returned to New York, she helped Chen in his practise, concentrating more and more on the therapy of acupuncture. When he was killed, she went on working in acupuncture, certain he would have wanted her to do that. She became more and more successful, building up her own reputation. Chen would have been proud of her.

Now in London, the late afternoon sunshine sending rays across her desk, she brooded over and re-read the letter in her hand. Addressed to her from the Minister of Health, it was not a directive, but more of a threat – and it was not signed. It had been handed to her personally by a young man who had refused to leave it with her secretary in the reception room next door. She slowly put the letter on her desk. Its contents puzzled her and at the same time frightened her: why should she receive a warning? What had she done to become involved with threats?

She pressed the buzzer on her desk. A moment later her secretary entered.

‘Julie,’ Eleanor said, ‘the man who delivered this. Has he gone?’

‘Yes, Doctor, and your last appointment has just cancelled.’ She hesitated before she went on quickly, ‘I’m sorry about that man; he brushed past me so quickly!’

‘Don’t worry about that. As a matter of fact you can go home now, if you wish.’

‘Thank you,’ Julie said, and was about to leave when the telephone rang on Eleanor’s desk. ‘Shall I take it?’ she asked.

‘No,’ Eleanor replied as she picked up the receiver. ‘Dr Johnson speaking.’

Julie had intended to leave, but the thought rapidly vanished from her mind. As she looked at Eleanor, the doctor’s face turned pale. The caller must have rung off quickly, for Eleanor slowly replaced the receiver without speaking.

‘What’s the matter, Doctor?’

‘Nothing,’ Eleanor said hesitantly. ‘Perhaps you would like to go now … That is, if … there’s no more for you to do.’

‘Thank you,’ Julie said with concern in her voice. ‘But is everything all right, Doctor?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘You look worried.’

‘Do I?’

‘Yes.’

Eleanor tried to conceal her feelings. ‘Why shouldn’t I look worried?’ she smiled. ‘It’s been a hellish day!’ She remembered the voice on the telephone and what it had said to her. ‘I suppose I’m just that extra bit tired.’

The unconcern in her voice did not cover up for her completely, but she was hiding her inner feelings as best she could. She had always had a deep-rooted belief in freedom for the individual, and now her freedom was suddenly being threatened. Growing up in America, whatever its faults, she had always felt the individual counted for something. The extremes were of course to be avoided: the first rule of Oriental medicine, and the extremes in the USA were formidable
– no less, the extremes of China had been difficult for her to accept.

Working alone in New York, she had found a growing male prejudice against her. Medical colleagues were subtle in their harassment, and in spite of her successes with her patients they implied she was no better than a quack doctor. She had been able to shrug them off, but she found them boring. She decided to close her office in New York and go to China to study acupuncture in even greater depth. New points had been discovered in China which were proving very efficacious in treatment. Chen’s father had wanted her to visit him, so it all seemed to fit in well …

She suddenly became aware of Julie still standing in front of her desk. Her mind was wandering …

‘Are you really all right, Doctor?’ Julie asked again.

‘Of course I am, Julie. Off you go,’ Eleanor said calmly. ‘See you tomorrow. Goodnight.’

When Julie had gone, Eleanor again began to think about her days in China. Many Chinese called her Doctor Eleanor Shousan, or just Eleanor, but one day in Beijing some students had called her a ‘foreign devil’. She had continued her studies unmolested, however, and as confidence in her grew, attitudes began to change. Chen’s father seldom mentioned his son, and when he did, he stressed the need for her to carry on with her work. She felt it was as though Chen was still alive in his mind. She had volunteered to share her small room in the old man’s house with three Chinese students. They had become good friends, although she never heard from them again when she left China to open her office in London.

She looked down at her desk and saw the letters CTTM staring up at her from the message delivered a short time ago. They were the same letters the voice had whispered to her on the telephone a few minutes earlier, CTTM. It was simple enough to understand. The letters stood for ‘Carry Tiger to Mountain’. Chen had explained the letters to her
when they had first met. She smiled as she remembered the semi-magical quality of the Chinese sayings, their dragons, their tigers, and the many stories of their past. CTTM stood for medicine, like the tiger, stretching back into China’s distant past. CTTM meant that China would show the world that Chinese medicine, in particular acupuncture, could bring good health to the world. The Chinese would open colleges of Oriental medicine everywhere. They would train all nations in the therapy. The West would no longer be poised to attack and take over their beloved country, the world would look up to and emulate China. Their example would be one of non-violence, not only curing disease, but also preventing it. China would become a great force for health and sanity.

Eleanor believed that she was helping the world towards this end. CTTM was a noble and positive force, and she was part of that force. She stood up and went over to the window. The last rays of the sun had now gone. The weather was warm for November in London. The rush-hour traffic was beginning to turn Harley Street into one long stationary car park. The unseasonal warmth was helping to pollute the air, mixed as it was with exhaust fumes. She stared skywards and saw Concorde breaking through a cloud. Everyone is always in such a hurry these days, she thought, and looked down at the traffic jam below. She walked quickly back to her desk, feeling better, as though she had just come through a great mental battle.

She saw the letters once more: CTTM. The last time she had seen them was in China, and that was three years ago. She frowned. The man who had delivered the letter from the Ministry had said no reply would be necessary, she would be contacted by telephone. That had already happened. But why the Ministry? Why this sudden and devious interest in her at this moment? It seemed strange, especially when she was having so much success in her work. Could she perhaps do more?

The telephone rang again. This time she was ready. She recognized the same voice as before. ‘What is it you want?’ she demanded quickly. She listened. ‘Very well,’ she said slowly. ‘Where shall we meet?’ She repeated the words spoken to her to confirm the rendezvous. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘Les Amis du Vin in Covent Garden. How shall I know you?’

She slowly replaced the receiver. Since she had come to London she had decided to drop her late husband’s name. An American with a Chinese name might have confused perceptions. She had reverted to her maiden name of Johnson, and since that time her married name had never been mentioned to her. Yet the voice on the telephone had quickly given a description of himself: Chinese, tall, with an American accent, finishing with the words, ‘At seven-thirty, then.’ Followed by a long pause, and then, ‘Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, Madam Chen Shousan.’ She was puzzled. Had CTTM changed its direction? She felt the tension rising in her. She picked up the note from the Ministry and re-read it:

It is recommended that you reconsider the pattern of your life.

The Tao of heaven surely wins the victory,

Its nets are vast and its meshes wide

and from it nothing escapes –

You will receive further instructions soon. CTTM

There was no reference, no date, no signature. She smiled nervously to herself. It couldn’t possibly have come from the Ministry! It must have been written by someone Chinese. But who? Why? She wished she had opened it before the messenger had left. She could call the Ministry, but what was the point? There was no name to ask for. She collected some papers and left her consulting room without a backward glance.

* * *

Mike Clifford stared at the white wine in his glass. It was relaxing to be back in his London flat after the exhausting session at Alexander Fleming House. Dorman’s murderer had been very professional: there was no clue as to his identity. Norman Hall, the Minister of Health, a weak man at the best of times, was totally unsuited for moments of such high drama. When Mike had entered the Minister’s office, the atmosphere was tense. The Permanent Secretary, Sir Richard Morris, was in the midst of an argument with his Minister. It was soon apparent that the two men were miles apart in terms of the next moves. And within seconds Mike was told of the death of the American President’s daughter, from natural causes.

‘What?’ Mike gasped.

‘You heard, Doctor,’ the Minister repeated. ‘From natural causes!’

Mike looked thoughtful, and the expression was not lost on Sir Richard.

‘Well might you look puzzled,’ he said calmly. ‘Indeed, the medical profession in America is just as lost, might one say, useless, as your colleagues over here. Agreed?’

Mike had taken an instant dislike to the civil servant. ‘Meaning what, exactly?’ he replied sarcastically.

‘Meaning that the money the government is spending on research projects in medicine, especially yours, is not producing anything of worth, is it?’

Mike looked at the Minister for support, and got it.

‘There’s no need to talk to Dr Clifford like that!’

‘But it’s true, Minister.’

Mike immediately drilled Morris harshly. ‘Do you know the hours we put in?’

‘No more than mine.’

‘I doubt that. Are you really concerned with health?’

‘Of course.’

‘I heard you fought bitterly against pay rises for nurses.’

‘Correct.’

‘And researchers.’

‘Right.’

‘Your own salary pushes six figures a year, not including expenses.’

‘I don’t see what that has to do with …’

‘Gentlemen!’ The Minister shouted the word impatiently. ‘Please! Fighting with each other will get us nowhere!’

Mike spoke calmly, ‘I couldn’t agree more.’ He ignored the set, expressionless face of the Secretary. ‘Whatever has happened, or is happening, in terms of murders, assassinations … at this moment in time we should be working on finding Professor Dorman’s killer.’

‘Absolutely!’ the Minister concurred.

‘Why was Dorman coming to see you?’

‘He told me on the telephone that he was on to something.’

‘Were any papers found in his car?’

‘No.’

They discussed the situation a while longer. The conversation was serious but it led nowhere. Mike said he would go to Dorman’s Park Crescent office in the morning. Perhaps he could follow a lead from there.