The Dragon and the Needle (4 page)

Now, back in his flat, he held the empty wine glass in his hand. Would some revolutionary organisation claim they had killed Dorman? Certainly terrorism had come back into the news since the crisis in Hong Kong had ruptured into open strife.

Hong Kong! Former British Crown Colony, leased to Great Britain in 1898 for 99 years, occupied by Japan on Christmas Eve 1941 and restored to the British after the Second World War. The year 1997 had passed. The years that followed were difficult ones for Western democracies. They had to choose between direct confrontation with the ‘New China’ and its nuclear weapons, or with Japan, totally rearmed by the USA, but unwilling to wage war on its behalf in Asia. It was no
mere academic choice. They had to choose between these two major world powers. The United States of Europe and Russia had long since made peace with each other.

Mike frowned at his thoughts and then remembered Dorman’s wife. God, how she must be suffering. He must call her. But on the way to the telephone he hesitated. Perhaps she was struggling in an effort to overcome her grief. Speaking to her at this moment would only intensify those feelings. Yet he might be able to help. He went quickly to his desk, but it took many minutes before the line to her was finally free.

‘Hello, Mary,’ he said. ‘It’s Mike.’

Mary Dorman’s voice was full of sadness but strong. ‘Thank God you’ve phoned, Mike. I was going to call you any moment.’

He cut in with, ‘You know, don’t you, that no stone will be left unturned to …’ His search for words was thankfully stopped abruptly by Mary’s voice interrupting him.

‘Stuart was so fond of you, Mike,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to carry on his work, haven’t you.’

‘Of course.’

‘Did he tell you about Eleanor Johnson?’

‘Stuart mentioned her to me,’ Mike said.

‘I’m not sure who she is exactly, but he wanted you to meet her.’

‘Yes,’ Mike said, ‘but we must be careful. We can’t be certain of anyone, can we?’

Mary suddenly lost any restraint she might have had. She shouted down the line to Mike. ‘Certain! Certain! Bloody hell, Mike, what is there to be certain about! Only that they’ve now killed Stuart, my darling Stuart!’ She could no longer control her emotions. ‘I’ve been going through hell these past few weeks, Mike. He knew they were after him, the police knew, but nothing was done!’

‘Who was after him? And why?’ Mike’s mind was full of concern.

‘I don’t know,’ Mary moaned. ‘I don’t know!’

‘Mary, I’m coming over to you, right now!’ Mike said.

‘No.’ Mary spoke slowly and calmly now. ‘No, Mike. I can cope all right. Just about. I have my sister with me.’ She paused. ‘Just remember that name I gave you, Eleanor Johnson.’ She gave Mike Eleanor’s phone number.

As soon as their call had ended, Mike rang Eleanor. She agreed to come to his flat the next day.

Mike Clifford slept badly that night, but by five in the morning he had fallen into a deep sleep, so deep that he slept through the alarm clock. When he finally opened his eyes it was past nine o’clock. He washed and dressed hurriedly. He was drinking his coffee when the telephone rang. As he picked up the receiver, there was a sharp knock on the entrance door of his flat, but he ignored it.

‘Hullo, Mike Clifford here.’

‘Good morning, Dr Clifford.’ He recognised the woman’s voice immediately: it was Stuart Dorman’s secretary. ‘Isn’t it terrible!’ she said.

‘Yes! Look, hold on a moment, there’s someone at my door.’

He picked up the mail on the doormat, and opened the front door. It seemed to him that the woman standing before him was the most remarkable-looking he had ever seen. He felt a profound presence. There was no doubting her beauty. Her smooth dark hair; her face, full and fresh, like the face of a child. Yet she had an aura of calmness and gentleness that could only belong to a woman of deep perception, denying the childlike face.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her English tinged with a soft American accent, ‘but are you Dr Clifford?’

‘Yes,’ he smiled back. ‘You’re Eleanor Johnson.’

She held out her hand. He took it, gently pulling her
towards him into the flat, saying, ‘It’s wonderful to meet you. Thanks for coming. Please come in and sit down. I’m on the phone.’

They went into the living room and as she sat down on the sofa he hurried back to the telephone, but he stood facing Eleanor, unable to take his eyes off her.

‘Hullo,’ he spoke into the receiver. ‘Sorry about that. You know I’m coming in to see you this morning?’

‘Yes,’ Dorman’s secretary said. ‘I was just checking. What time?’

He took his eyes off Eleanor. ‘I’ll be with you before midday.’

He put the telephone down and looked at Eleanor again. She was sitting in a composed way, with her legs crossed, her elbows on the arms of his favourite chair, looking at him. He smiled at her and at the same time felt the strong attraction of her personality.

‘Can I get you a coffee?’ he asked.

‘Thanks, but no.’

She had raised her eyes to look directly at him. It was then he noticed the dark circles under them. He wondered if perhaps she had been going through the same turmoil as himself about Dorman’s murder. But then, how much did she know and why had Dorman been so anxious to meet her? And were her eyes green or light blue?

She began talking, explaining her reason for calling on him so early. ‘I was out late last night, and I’ve got a heavy day in front of me. Early bed tonight for me,’ she smiled. ‘So here I am. Professor Dorman told you about me, no doubt?’

It suddenly occurred to him that she might not know about Dorman’s murder.

‘Yes, he did tell me,’ Mike answered, and sat down on the sofa opposite her. ‘That’s why I rang you. Of course you know what’s happened to him?’

‘Happened to him?’

‘You don’t know? He was murdered last night.’

‘He was murdered!’

‘Yes.’

‘I can’t believe it!’ She spoke in a voice curiously devoid of emotion. ‘I’m terribly sorry. Tell me what happened.’

She raised her eyes to look directly at Mike. He could see her eyes were green. What the hell did that matter, he said to himself. But then he noticed that her hands were slender and long. Her face bewitched him. She wore no make-up at all.

‘Perhaps I’ll have a coffee after all,’ she said.

‘Come into the kitchen with me. I’ll tell you what happened.’

How could she possibly not have heard the news? It had been spread all over the media channels and television had made a meal of it all.

He beckoned her to the large table by the window. A man living on his own either lives like a slob or is excessively tidy. Mike was tidy, with a daily help to ease the problems of order and cleanliness in the flat, plus the advantage of labour-saving devices.

As he turned on the percolator he looked across at Eleanor. ‘Don’t you ever watch television?’

‘Rarely.’

‘It’s been splashed on every news bulletin since last night. The professor was shot to death in his car last night.’

‘I had no idea. I was out most of the night.’ She stared at him. Would he be shocked by her remark?

‘You were?’ he smiled with enough curiosity in his voice to make her smile back.

‘I spent most of the night with a patient,’ she said.

‘I see. I’m sorry. I hope your patient got better.’

‘Yes, she did.’

‘You must be very tired if you’ve been up all night.’

‘Not all night, but most of it. I came to you because I had lots of time to think last night.’

He stared back at her now, waiting for further explanations,
but instead she changed the subject. She looked around the kitchen–dining-room and said appreciatively. ‘This is a very nice flat you’ve got. You obviously know how to live well.’

The banal remark irked him. He went to pour out the coffee. ‘I don’t know about that,’ he said, ‘but I would like to know why you are here so early. Is something troubling you? Please tell me.’

‘All right,’ she said. She went across to him.

For a moment there was a strange kind of tension between them. He held out a cup of coffee to her. She ignored it, and he stood still, standing like a patient waiter.

‘It’s very difficult to explain,’ she said. ‘I hardly know you. I really shouldn’t have come at all.’

‘Why not?’ He pulled a face full of surprise. ‘Look here,’ he said, ‘I’ve got one hell of a lot on my plate at the moment. Professor Dorman’s death has created an enormous gap in the field of medicine in this country, indeed in the world. He wanted us to meet. He thought perhaps you could give some clue about ENDS.’

‘Clue?’ Eleanor said. ‘You must be joking! What sort of clue? I am a doctor, I don’t play “who dun it” games.’

He looked at her angrily. ‘Dr Johnson, I have neither the time nor the inclination to play games. I presume you have heard about ENDS, and the growing number of deaths by so-called natural causes?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘And that you know who Professor Dorman is?’ he continued.

‘Yes, of course. He is the reason I came to see you.’

‘Did you ever speak to him?’

‘No, he left a message with my secretary. He was going to call me back.’

They both stood facing each other, silent at last. Then he broke the silence with the words, ‘I feel ridiculous standing here with an outstretched cup of coffee! Have a swig, and let’s talk.’ He smiled.

She took the coffee and they both sat down.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You must be very upset. If I had known I wouldn’t have come so early.’ She paused, looking into Mike’s eyes. ‘I suppose, meeting you, I felt I could perhaps unburden my problems.’

She took a sip of coffee, and again Mike noticed her slender delicate fingers.

‘Perhaps I can help,’ he said gently.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s difficult.’ She took another sip of her coffee. ‘But I do know,’ she went on, ‘that my work, and especially my work in acupuncture, can and does help so many people. But perhaps I could do so much more.’

She went on to tell him about her work in New York and the murder of Chen. There was a brief moment when she wondered if she should tell him about her time in China, but deep inside herself, she knew this was neither the place not the time. Misunderstandings might surface. Here her sense of loyalty to China, to Chen, to all she had learnt from the Chinese, took over.

Mike sympathised over Chen and told her about his work at Sussex University. All the time he was thinking to himself, when all this is over, and normality returns, I will want to go on seeing this woman.

They talked together for over half an hour, then they had to part. By that time they had a rapport.

As she left Mike’s flat she stood for a moment and looked at him with clear eyes. ‘I would like to tell you more about Oriental medicine and my work,’ she said.

‘Yes. Let’s meet again soon, shall we?’

‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘I’d like that.’ She seemed to hesitate, wanting to say more, but suddenly she turned and hurried away.

Mike lunched in a pub close to Park Crescent. He had spent two hours in Stuart Dorman’s office at the Medical Research
Council. While he was there, Scotland Yard had telephoned him. The Chief Inspector in charge of the Anti-Terrorist Squad was not optimistic. He was also concerned about Mike’s safety.

‘It’s my duty to warn you, Doctor,’ the Inspector had spoken seriously, ‘that whoever murdered Professor Dorman may well have other killings in view.’

‘But why, in heaven’s name, me?’ Mike asked.

‘Surely you understand that, Doctor. Those mysterious deaths of VIPs throughout the UK, indeed throughout the world, have finally awakened governments to the scale of the problem!’

The officer had picked an unfortunate time to telephone; several things had combined to put Mike on edge. He could not put Eleanor Johnson out of his mind; Professor Dorman’s secretary had mislaid an important file, vitally connected with research work; and the Minister of Health had called him at his flat as he was leaving. The Minister insisted on seeing Mike later in the day. Why should he have to run around London at the whim of a politician?

‘Scale of the problem!’ Mike raised his voice for the benefit of the police Inspector. ‘You don’t have to remind me of that! But isn’t it time you protected innocent people in this country!’

‘It depends what you mean by innocent, Doctor. Professor Dorman was engaged on work of national, international importance. Such people are far from innocent to terrorists.’

‘I’m sure you know that Professor Dorman has already briefed me on certain aspects of his work,’ Mike said, ‘but no one else knows the work he was engaged on, so why am I at risk?’

‘We don’t know what was in the Professor’s briefcase, and that’s one of the things the Minister of Health will cover with you this afternoon.’

‘You know about my meeting?’ Mike could not hide the surprise in his voice.

‘Of course, Doctor. And by the way, I have arranged for an officer to watch over you.’

‘Watch over me?’

‘Yes. We’re tightening up on security of innocent people like yourself.’

‘Supposing I say that I object, that I don’t want anyone trailing around with me?’

‘Don’t worry, Doctor, you won’t see him: my men are trained to the limits in discretion.’

As Mike chewed on his sandwich in the pub, he found himself watching other customers with interest. There was a young man leaning on the bar … could he be his guardian angel? He quickly dismissed that thought and began to concentrate on the positive aspects of his morning’s work.

Dorman’s missing file had been put on microfilm, but it would take some time to produce readable copies. Mike had discovered a strong American involvement in Dorman’s work. And in the past ten hours frantic messages had been sent from Washington, following the death of the President’s daughter. Mike had also spent an interesting half-hour reading the report of an American expert on medical phenomena. The report, financed by the Carnegie Foundation, discussed new ideas in the approach by the West to the concepts and treatment of Oriental medicine. Even the conservative American Medical Association accepted certain aspects of the Carnegie report.