The Dragon and the Needle

by Hugh Franks

  The Minister had been working on the answer he hoped to give. Only very recently he had, so he imagined, handled himself rather well on the awkward questions he had been asked in the House about the progress towards a solution to ENDS. The timing of the latest questions made the Minister furious. Even more maddening was the temporary absence of his Permanent Secretary, Sir Richard Morris.

  It was Sir Richard who had suggested to him that there seemed to be some kind of link with the Far East, a link with the deaths, but so far nothing more had been told to him. He had hinted at this in the House. On reflection, maybe he had been somewhat tactless about China, but that was nothing to be ashamed about: their record on human rights was still disgraceful. Nothing like a confrontation from time to time … clears the air … the Yellow Peril and all that … They had changed, but not enough towards the democratic process for his government’s liking. All the usual political clichés rushed through his brain.

  He had asked Dr Clifford to call on him early the next morning. Were there any new developments on the medical side? Had the doctor made any progress with his investigations? And what about the American woman doctor, specialising in Oriental medicine? The Minister was impatient to meet Mike Clifford again.

  When Mike Clifford had first met Eleanor, she had told him about the Oriental wonders to be seen in the British Museum. She thought they might help him to comprehend some of the imposing medical history of China. Back in his flat, after reading more reports, he became more and more convinced that China held a key that could unlock some of the enigmas that surrounded the deaths. He had discovered that Japan had pumped several billions of yen into China. China had in turn invested much of the money in Oriental medical centres throughout the Western world. China seemed to have moved towards becoming a more tolerant political country. Hardly one man, one vote yet, but better by Western standards.

  There were so many reports, so many trees cut down for so much paper, Mike thought, but he felt he had to look at them all. One about drug smuggling into France via Spain … toxic drugs that could be used without leaving any trace, for the sole purpose of killing. Another about digitalis: the effect of taking too much could be mistaken for a heart attack. Even the compound paracetamol was toxic: too much can damage the liver, killing without trace. Too much insulin, given to regulate blood-sugar, can kill.

  But as he went back to the reports on China, his mind went back to Eleanor. Why should China want to harm the West? Economically she was becoming strong – what was she really trying to achieve? Did she still think of outsiders as barbarians? He glanced at his watch. He picked up his telephone, dialling Eleanor’s number. Her secretary said she had taken the day off.

  It was a wet afternoon and Mike Clifford was comforted by the warmth as he entered the north entrance of the British Museum. By an agreement with MI5, his bodyguard had now been instructed to trail Mike, yet not to remain so much in the background; even, at times, to accompany him. This afternoon the guard, an erect, muscular young man with sharp clear eyes, walked by his side.

  At the entrance to the ground floor exhibits, Mike said to his guard, ‘I want to go up to the first floor and look around the Chinese section.’ He smiled at the man as he continued, ‘I’m sure I’ll be safe enough up there. I’ve a lot of thinking to do.’

  ‘As you wish, sir. How long will you be?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ But seeing the worried look on his guard’s face, added, ‘Certainly not more than an hour.’

  ‘All right, sir.’

  As Mike entered the gallery of Oriental Antiquities, the visual impact overwhelmed him. There was the long, unhampered vista down the gallery’s centre. On each side were long windows, through which the daylight entered. Chronological displays showed the thousands of years of Chinese history and civilisation. Everywhere there were pointers to the underlying ideas of Chinese philosophy and religion. There were extracts from Chinese literature. He had entered the gallery like a simple tourist, but became lost in admiration of the beauty which everywhere met his eyes. For a short while he forgot why he had come.

  He stood for five minutes before an enormous glazed ceramic figure of a Buddha, sculptured over a thousand years ago. But it was when he had just finished reading an extract from the Nei Ching, the classic of Internal Medicine, that his interest suddenly returned to the present. The extract read, ‘To the Chinese, the origin of the world is based on a dual power. The two components of this dual power are called Yin and Yang.’

  Then a hand touched his shoulder lightly. He turned around quickly and found Eleanor standing before him.

  For a moment, Mike was surprised beyond words. He smiled at her, speechless. Then he noticed that Eleanor seemed to have changed. Her face was no longer full of gentleness and kindness, her lips were turned down at the corners, her eyes were dull, full of fatigue.

  No longer smiling, in a voice of concern, Mike quickly said, ‘What’s the matter?’

  For once Eleanor had not found the strength and respite she needed in the museum, and was on the point of leaving when she thought she recognised Mike. She did not believe it was him, when she first noticed his back, but there was something about the way he stood. There were not many people in the gallery. She hid behind a statue to get a look at him from the side. Her first thought was that perhaps she should leave without him seeing her. But that was quickly replaced by her need to talk to him. Yet why had he come here? What could she say to him? She began to contemplate him coldly. The gathering crisis in her life was sweeping her along towards a totally unknown future. At the end of it all, would she meet her supposedly dead husband, Chen Shousan, again? In her confused state of mind she needed help desperately. She gained confidence as the realisation sank in … Mike had not come here for fun or to pass the time. She suddenly remembered telling him about this museum.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ She repeated his question too loudly as though she did not mind if she had been heard by others in the gallery. Then in a quieter voice she added with a slight smile, ‘Here.’ She pointed with a finger to the side of her brow.

  Mike felt even more concerned. ‘I don’t like the way you look,’ Mike said uncertainly. ‘Even less do I like the way you point at your head. Is it all becoming too much?’

  Yes, perhaps not only too much, she thought as she stared at him, but also unbearable. Within days her world had crashed. Her work was totally disrupted. Her raison d’être … was that destroyed? Now what was she? Her world had crashed before when Chen was killed. She had picked up the pieces. Now she was told he was still alive. Her life was no longer her own. What was really happening to the concept of Carry Tiger to Mountain? Was China, perhaps with Japan, using the concept in an evil way? The two nations were coming together quicker than had been thought possible. Were the destinies of the Orient joining forces?’

  ‘Answer me, Eleanor.’

  She heard Mike’s voice. Mike, a man she hardly knew, asking her if it all was becoming too much …

  ‘Eleanor! You seem miles away,’ Mike said, and he gently put his arms around her, but she resisted and stood back a little distance from him.

  ‘Is it all becoming too much?’ she said. ‘That’s a good question. I don’t know.’ Over Mike’s shoulder she saw a man standing near the door, and he seemed to be looking at them. Then he disappeared from view. Was he trailing them? Was he Mike’s bodyguard? Was she also becoming paranoid? The incident brought her thoughts back to the present. She wanted Mike to be with her, and now he was. That made her feel better. She looked at him and smiled.

  ‘That’s better,’ he smiled back at her. ‘You look better already!’

  ‘Yes, I feel better.’ She had not realised how much her inner turmoil was showing outwardly. She must be more aware – she had always worn her heart on her sleeve. She smiled again and went on, ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘I could ask you the same.’

  ‘I come here when I need peace. I think I told you that.’

 
‘Yes, you did. But you also told me that I might find more understanding about the depth of Oriental culture.’ Mike paused, then added, ‘And medicine.’

  ‘And have you?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ The abrupt answer was given with a smile, for he was overwhelmed with concern about the sad and worried expression that had returned to her face.

  ‘Eleanor, come with me.’ And he guided her firmly, holding her arm tightly in his hand, towards a bench beside a wall. As they sat down facing each other, Mike asked her what she had been doing before they had met in the museum.

  Her eyes were fixed on the large Tang figure, where they had been standing, as she replied. ‘I believe I have met someone who might be able to throw some light on Professor Dorman’s murder.’

  As if not believing what he had just heard, he stared at her. Could he be certain she knew what she was saying? Then he wondered if she was ill and her mind was wandering. ‘Do you realise what you have just said?’

  ‘Of course. Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Mike answered promptly, determined not to let go the opportunity of getting more details. ‘But Eleanor, who did you meet? And why should whoever it was know anything about Dorman’s murder?’

  Eleanor ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Before I say more about Dorman, I must be certain that you are totally trustworthy – in terms of my own safety. For instance, I’m not sure that you have any respect for my beliefs.’

  ‘What beliefs?’ Mike asked.

  ‘My work, my beliefs in Oriental medicine. They are very important to me.’

  She could not understand how desperately worried he had been about her a few moments ago. He took her hands in his but she drew them swiftly away.

  ‘If only you knew!’ Mike said and repeated the words, ‘If only you knew how I feel about your safety!’

  ‘That’s a very English comment.’

  ‘It happens to be the truth! This is getting us nowhere!’ He knew that was an inadequate remark, a banal thought, so he quickly went on with, ‘What I do know is that if you know something of importance about Dorman, you must tell me, now! You must trust me!’

  He was too impatient for Eleanor. She needed a sign, an indication that he cared about her enough to keep silent, that he wanted to know more about her and her work, that her life had become important to him. How could she be sure that he might not suddenly leave her on her own? And if he did, she might die. If he didn’t leave her, she still might die.

  Then, with a harsh look on his face, he spoke the words that she had wanted to hear. Looking at her, Mike had sensed her thoughts to perfection.

  ‘My dear,’ he said. ‘Here I am, going too fast for you again. Be fair to me, though. Give me a chance to get to know you better, to understand your work better. You haven’t really begun to explain your own experience to me. How can I begin to understand it all in such a short time? Of course I know about the theory of the circulation of energy in the body. Anything that disturbs that circulation causes problems. Acupuncture can remove the disturbance …’ He found the words came to his lips without much concentration. As he spoke them, his thoughts were centred on Dorman. What did she know about his death?

  Eleanor realised how much more he seemed to know about acupuncture than she had thought: he was even talking about the meridians, on which rested the control points for the application of needles. Yet why should she trust him any more than he should trust her? Why should he have confidence in Oriental medicine? At their last meeting he had seemed to want to know more. Was he sincere or was he feigning?

  But Mike was neither sincere nor feigning. He had worked with Professor Dorman long enough to grasp some of the theory and techniques of acupuncture, so he was not feigning. But he was far from having confidence in Oriental medicine.

  ‘There is perhaps a connection between psychosomatic aspects of disease,’ Mike said.

  ‘Of course. In Western and Oriental medicine,’ she said.

  Staring at him, she decided that now was the moment to ride above his beliefs, or lack of, in acupuncture. She was involved in the worst crisis of her life, the worst since the death of her husband, or the death she had supposed had happened. She had shed so many tears of sadness about him. Fate had brought her and Mike together in this place and she needed to grasp this opportunity for his help.

  ‘Supposing I were to tell you, that in addition to something about Dorman, I have been told that my husband may still be alive.’ Mike caught his breath and he saw the tears forming in her eyes as she went on quickly, ‘I can’t see the way ahead for myself. I don’t know what to do.’

  They held hands and then were all but in each other’s arms, as Mike said firmly, ‘For God’s sake, let’s stop this unhappiness and doubt about each other, or it will bring us to disaster. Listen, Eleanor. I’ve fallen deeply in love with you. I have never met a woman like you before, and had no time for anything or anyone except my work. You can trust me. You must do that. Tell me about your husband, tell me about Dorman! Surely you can understand I’ll do all I can to help and protect you.’

  A sudden feeling of relief came over her. Then she did cry as his words of love registered and as he gently held her by her shoulders. She told him that the moment they had met she had felt for the first time since she had lost her husband, that love had entered her life again. He wanted to take her in his arms to comfort her, and never leave her. She pressed her fingers to his face, to prove to herself that she was not dreaming. They sat in the museum, hand in hand, and then kissed. Later, slowly and softly, she took him into her confidence, explaining Ah-Ming’s threats to her, and as far as she could tell, who he was, that he was the person who told her Chen was still alive.

  Then Mike said pressingly, ‘But what makes you think that he can throw some light on Dorman’s death?’

  ‘Because he knew that you were a close friend of Dorman, and you both were active colleagues, searching for the causes of ENDS. He said he had recently received written evidence.’

  Mike was now straining every nerve to keep calm. Was this the first real breakthrough? But what about Eleanor? What the hell was going on? How close she must be to danger! Supposing this man had murdered Dorman?

  ‘Give me some more details, Eleanor.’

  She replied, ‘He spoke as though he had come into possession of Dorman’s own ideas about Oriental medicine. He said that Dorman had heard a lot about my work in acupuncture, that alternative medicine might be playing a role of some sort in the deaths throughout the world …’

  Mike interrupted, ‘He must have got the briefcase Dorman had with him at the time of his death!’

  ‘Perhaps. He said he knew about your work at Sussex University, that Dorman had spoken to you about me …’

  Mike’s reaction brought fear into her mind again for he cut in, ‘The more you tell me, the more I feel that the police are the ones to handle all this, even MI5.’

  ‘No! No! You must hear me out!’ Eleanor exclaimed, regretting that she had gone so far. Mike was already defining possible actions too sharply.

  And to make matters worse, the man she had seen before was approaching them, obviously intent on speaking to Mike. He was smiling at her, but a few yards away spoke up and said to Mike, who had his back to the man, ‘I thought I would see how things are.’

  Mike, already alarmed at the sudden return of pallor to Eleanor’s face, turned to his bodyguard, saying impatiently to him, ‘You can see how things are! I’m speaking to a friend.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’m only checking.’

  As the man swiftly moved away from them and out of sight, Mike explained who he was.

  ‘Your bodyguard!’ Eleanor spoke softly. ‘I thought he was. We’re both in danger, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mike said. ‘Apparently, we are.’

  Eleanor’s voice was full of emotion, as she said, ‘As far as Dorman’s briefcase is concerned, I know nothing, nor am I ever likely to find out. But what is vital
, if we care about our safety, is that no one, absolutely no one, must be told about this discussion we’re having.’

  ‘But Eleanor, part of all this is the need to have bodyguards – for you as well as myself. If Dorman’s death was caused by people you know, then we must use that information immediately.’

  ‘And if we do,’ she insisted, ‘disaster could follow very quickly!’

  ‘But why will that happen?’

  ‘Because we are not dealing with just one death, but many, many deaths. I understand why you want Dorman’s killers brought to justice, but let that happen in good time, as it will.’ She slowly spread her arms in a wide arc, as though to embrace the Oriental antiquities in the vast museum. As she brought her hands together as if to pray, she said, ‘Listen to me, Mike. If you want me to trust you, you must trust me as well.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘I believe that China might well be behind these mystery deaths and …’

  Mike’s mouth went dry as he interrupted with, ‘If you believe that …’

  ‘Listen and trust me,’ she quickly shot back at him. ‘When I was in China I leant many things that the West could not, and still cannot, conceive possible. For example, in medicine, did you know that moxabustion increases the number of red corpuscles and haemoglobin?’

  ‘What’s moxabustion?’

  ‘It consists of applying combustible cones of powdered leaves of Artemisia vulgaris. They are placed on the skin and ignited. They are extinguished when they have burnt down to the skin.’

  ‘Leaving burns?’

  ‘It is removed before burning. The heat restores the flow of Yin and Yang, when the needles have needed a boost.’