by Peter King
“Hm,” she said thoughtfully when I had finished. “Sorry I was suspicious of your motives.”
“No, no, you were right to be suspicious. It just so happens that they have no connection with this incident.”
“You say the man had an accent?”
“I thought so at first although it wasn’t one I recognized. Then it faded away. At the end, I didn’t notice one at all.”
“A phony,” she said promptly. “It’s not that easy to maintain an accent—I know, I used to be an actress, remember?”
“I remember and I wish I’d been around to see you on the boards. But in the meantime, there’s the matter of the threat to my life.”
“Oh, that!” she said dismissively, then laughed. “You didn’t recognize the man?”
“No, should I have recognized him?”
“Well, it sounds as if he were in a disguise—you say a beard, thick glasses with heavy rims, black hat pulled down—and nothing about him seemed familiar?”
“No. Nothing.”
“And he not only pushed you in front of the train—he pulled you back. He’s trying to frighten you.”
“He’s doing a great job,” I said fervently.
“He’s going to ask you where you’ve hidden the Ko Feng and thinks that by having you under threat, you’ll be more likely to tell him.”
“If he had wild horses tearing me into shreds, I couldn’t tell him.”
“Unfortunately, there’s no way of convincing a person that you’re telling the truth. It’s because we all tell lies at some time or other.”
“Your recommendation, Sergeant?”
“I’ll see what I can do about protection. Stay close to the hotel.”
“Another thing …” I told her of the New York Times issues that Don Renshaw had been reviewing at the library.
“A similar theft, five years ago,” she said crisply in her best sergeant’s voice. “Too similar to be coincidence, you think?”
“I do. Maybe your files on the earlier theft will give some useful clues on this one.”
“I’ll get on it right away, sounds good. And don’t forget, leave word as to your movements.”
After hanging up, I called the number I had been given at the desk. A female Asian voice answered softly and put me through at once.
Dr. Li’s voice was harsh and his tone guttural though the sibilants hissed in the Chinese manner. Every consonant was sounded with emphasis so that the result was conversation that was perfectly understandable yet retained a strongly foreign flavor. His telephone manner was amicable and respectful though I had a strong feeling that there was steel beneath the velvet.
“I wonder if I might crave the pleasure of an hour or so of your time?” was his question after we had exchanged pleasantries and I had been welcomed to New York and extended sympathy on the death of my friend.
He was well informed, I thought. Better than I was, for his name meant nothing to me. I cautiously asked if he could tell me what he had in mind.
“I am the director of the Methuselah Foundation. We have areas of common interest, you and I. These interface with the Celestial Spice. The Ko Feng.”
“The Methuselah Foundation. I am sorry but I am not familiar with it,” I said.
“That is quite understandable. Our activities are largely here in the U.S.A. though we have many contacts around the world. We are a nonprofit organization dedicated to the prolonging of the prime of life through study and research. Methuselah, as I am sure you know, lived to be 969 years old. We have chosen him to be our emblem—and our goal.”
I was beginning to understand. “This is why you are interested in Ko Feng—you think it may have properties of life extension.”
“Precisely. You will agree, will you not, that we have much to discuss?”
I was willing to discuss with anyone if there was any possibility at all that I might learn something that would contribute toward finding the Ko Feng and Don Renshaw’s murderer.
“Of course. When and where do you suggest?”
“If you would like to come to our headquarters here in Manhattan, a limousine will collect you. As for the time, I am at your disposal.”
“Is later this afternoon suitable?” That would show how interested he was in talking to me, I thought.
“Excellent,” he purred. “A limousine will be at your door in an hour.”
My bluff called, I said, “Fine, I’m at the—”
“The Framingham Hotel. Yes, I am looking forward most anxiously to meeting you. I am sure we will have a most rewarding discussion.”
As soon as I had hung up, I called Gabriella back and told her where I was going.
“The Methuselah Foundation,” she repeated, surprised. “You should be safe there.”
“If I’m not out in two hours, come in with helicopter gun-ships.”
“I’ll alert the navy and the marines. Do you want the UN in on this or shall we handle it ourselves?”
“It’s my life we’re talking about,” I protested. “Can we be serious?”
“Deadly serious,” she responded and hung up.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A SMILING YOUNG ASIAN woman led me through a library that looked like a library should. The walls and shelves were rich, heavy mahogany and so were the tables and chairs. The floor was carpeted with thick, soft Chinese carpets that must have been centuries old. The books looked nearly as old, most of them bound in morocco leather and imprinted in gold. In sharp contrast, several computers were scattered strategically and there were a couple of large copy machines.
We went on through the building via a wood-paneled corridor and then the young woman tapped gently at a door. She opened it and smilingly ushered me in.
Dr. Li was one of the most imposing individuals I had ever met. Well over six feet tall, he had a commanding presence that radiated around him like an aura. He wore what looked at first like a conventional Western suit except for the jacket buttoned all the way up to the neck. Then at second glance, it was more like a Chinese outfit and its unusual sheen made it look even more Eastern. He wore a small round flat cap of the type we associate with mandarins.
He came out from behind his desk to shake my hand. He was distinctly yellow of skin and he had a black mustache that drooped slightly although it was probably carefully tended. His nose was large and prominent and his cheekbones high—but it was the eyes that dominated.
They were jade green and penetrating, almost hypnotic. His hand was cold and he smiled slightly as he waved me to a chair. He sat behind a desk of Asian manufacture, on it a few books, piles of papers and two telephones. An ornate lamp of a peculiar octagonal design poured a pool of orange light onto the soft leather desktop.
The walls were papered in pastel tones and flowered patterns. Silk-shaded lanterns and ornate Chinese scrolls hung alongside bronze and ivory carvings.
“I am very pleased that you were able to accept my invitation so promptly,” he said. His voice was sharper, clearer than it had been on the phone. The gutturals were still prominent and there was the same impression of words which were pronounced differently yet were perfectly understandable.
I responded suitably, aware that the English language sounds chilly and stiff when contrasted with the politeness of Asian languages.
“We all want to die young,” he stated. “But we want to do it as late as possible.”
He smiled thinly. “I like to open with that statement because it reveals the basic reason for the existence of the Methuselah Foundation. You see, aging is not merely the passage of time. It is a number of different processes taking place in our bodies and the sum total of these results in what we call aging. These processes include a reduction in the ability to resist disease, wrinkling and drying skin, the loss of teeth and hair, an impairment of vision and a lowering of strength, endurance and mental activity.
He steepled his hands. His fingers were exceptionally long and thin. His nails were long and clawlike.
“These are the aspects of the aging process that we wish to slow—perhaps even to stop. This is the work to which we at the Methuselah Foundation are dedicated.”
If ever a man looked dedicated, Dr. Li certainly did. He thoroughly convinced me.
“Very laudable,” I said. “I’m sure you’re doing wonderful work. I presume that you are connected with other organizations similarly occupied?”
“There are others,” said Dr. Li. His dismissive tone implied that they weren’t worth a hill of beans between them. “Institutes for the Control of Aging they call themselves. You may spend a week at one of them for $5,000 or have consultations at $500 an hour.”
“Are you aware of the use of Ko Feng in ancient times?”
My abrupt question didn’t bother him in the least. He responded in his urbane manner. “Many people today are aware of Ayurveda, the body of knowledge in ancient India that embraces the belief that each food has its own medical, spiritual and healing properties. The equivalent of Ayurveda occurs in all the older civilizations, and in China Ko Feng is renowned—revered even—as possessing many extraordinary capabilities.”
“And one of those is longevity?”
“We have made great strides in battling the eternal enemy, great strides in medicine, in diet, in exercise and in nutrition. But these are not enough—not nearly enough. Now we need breakthroughs—quantum leaps—and the only way they will come is from chemistry and botany.”
He was leaning forward, fixing his piercing eyes on me, and the glow in them was close to fanatical. I was aware of a faint aroma in the room that I hadn’t noticed before. I couldn’t place it but it was a little like incense, though not cloying or pungent.
“Chemistry is bringing us many new products through research. Botany cannot bring us new products”—he paused dramatically—“except in very rare instances and we may have such an instance now.”
“Ko Feng.”
“Exactly. If it were really new, Ko Feng would be remarkable enough. But it is not new—it is old and has been lost for centuries. We have tales in abundance of what it can do, we have old records, we have the vast experience of hundreds of generations.”
The aroma was growing stronger but Dr. Li apparently didn’t notice it. At least he didn’t comment. It was somewhat like the smell of orchids but then it seemed not reminiscent of any flowerlike smell.
“Too many of the drugs now being used are retardants, not extenders,” said Dr. Li. “There is reason to believe—hope, even—that Ko Feng has many of the characteristics we are looking for. There cannot be only one answer to true longevity. It is not unlikely that several compounds will have to be combined to achieve the results we want, but it is highly possible that Ko Feng is the most important of all—the keystone of our efforts.”
“I hope it is.”
“I am glad to hear that, and it is why I asked you here today. Tell me, how may we obtain some Ko Feng and realize our magnificent goal?”
It was as if I had to fight my through an invisible fog to grasp his question. Surely that aroma wasn’t responsible?
“I—er, can’t answer that … I don’t know where it is.”
“But you can put your hands on it.”
“No, I can’t—it was stolen. I don’t know …”
Dr. Li’s voice took on a steely edge. “You said you wanted to help us consummate our efforts.”
“I do.”
“Then tell us where we may obtain the Ko Feng!”
I wanted to help this wonderful man who was so determined to aid us all live longer, happier and more fulfilled lives. I would do anything to achieve that.
“I can’t!” I groaned. “I can’t. I don’t know where it is!”
For a few seconds, those green eyes burned into mine and I felt him touching my very soul. My own words echoed—or maybe I said them again. Maybe more time passed. I didn’t know.
Then the aroma vanished as if swept out by a giant wind. Dr. Li’s eyes weren’t that bright green after all, I could see that now. They were green but quite normal. When he spoke again, his voice too was quite normal. Why would I have thought otherwise?
“It must have been an incredible experience to see and touch the Ko Feng,” he said.
“Incredible—yes, it really was.”
“You tested it very thoroughly, I understand?”
“We did. We considered all possibilities—that it was some other plant being passed off as Ko Feng, that it was a rare plant or one not readily recognized that was mistaken for Ko Feng. We theorized that it might be some kind of hybrid, accidental or deliberate.”
“And it passed every test?”
“Yes. It was impossible for us to declare with one hundred percent certainty that it was Ko Feng, of course. We have had to emphasize that point several times. No living person had seen any Ko Feng for centuries and no scientific data existed which could identify it. But we eliminated all botanical spices that could have been substituted or mistaken for Ko Feng and we established that it had a unique quality.”
“And so you were completely satisfied?”
“Yes, we were.”
How could I have had such unfair suspicions of this man? I was ashamed of myself. His motives were the highest—but the stakes were high too. As if he were reading my mind …
“This is an unprecedented opportunity,” he said. His green eyes glowed again, bright in contrast to his yellow skin. His features were implacable and surely no achievement was beyond his grasp. “Such a spice as Ko Feng could be the savior of mankind, it could be the crowning glory of all the efforts and struggles of the Methuselah Foundation, it could—” His voice was rising. He became aware of it and dropped it to a normal level.
Would the director of a research foundation use hypnosis and truth gas to pry information out of me? Ridiculous—I had read too many Fu Manchu stories as a boy. I wished I hadn’t thought of that. Looking at Dr. Li now, I could see a strong resemblance—no, that was absurd. He didn’t look that much like him at all.
If such means of persuasion were available, would he use them? From his point of view, I might have hijacked the Ko Feng and have it hidden somewhere. After all, somebody had—and it would be exasperating to be in his position, so close to a secret he had probably pursued for years. Many a man would tell himself that the end justified the means.
He was gazing at me intently. “The prize is incalculable,” he said.
“Just what I was thinking,” I agreed.
We were shaking hands and he was leading me out. I was agreeing to inform him immediately if and when the Ko Feng turned up. He was repeating how much it would mean to his organization and to mankind in general. It was all very polite and businesslike.
How could I ever have got such bizarre ideas?
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE DESK CLERK AT the Framingham Hotel was getting to know me.
“You’ve had three phone calls,” he told me when I returned. “None of them left a message.”
I had barely let myself into the room when the phone rang. A muffled voice said, “There is no need to thank me for saving your life in the subway station.”
“I wasn’t going to thank you,” I retorted indignantly. “You pushed me in the first place!”
“As I warned you, New York is dangerous place.”
He wasn’t very good at imitating himself. His accent was slipping again too but the muffled effect must be from the use of cloth or paper covering the mouthpiece.
“I am sure that you listen to my warning. Tell me now, where is the Ko Feng?”
“I don’t know,” I said irritably. “I didn’t take it and I don’t know who did.”
“You do not tell truth!”
“I always tell truth,” I said with pardonable exaggeration.
“We want the Ko Feng.” The tone was one of definite menace now and I was a little scared despite the comic accent. “We will take whatever steps necessary to get it!”
“I can’t give it to you if I h
aven’t got it.”
“Very well. Next time, we may not be so gentle.”
“There’s no point in killing me,” I said, vainly attempting reason. “If you kill me, you’ll never find out where the Ko Feng is.” I thought that over for a couple of seconds then added, “At least that would be true if I had it. But I don’t.” Hopefully that would confuse him as much as it did me.
The menace was still there, maybe even a few notches heavier, as he replied, “There is pain and suffering that can be worse than death. Maybe you ask to die.” He hung up.
Standard threat stuff, I told myself manfully. They can’t scare me, I added. The problem was they could and they had. But I was in this situation and getting out of it might be more dangerous than staying in it. I reviewed all the options, then considered all the actions I could take. The most desirable seemed to be a further investigation of the glamorous Ayesha and her Phoenicia Restaurant.
“Of course I remember you!” she said warmly when I phoned. “I was hoping you would call. Yes, we’d love to have you visit our restaurant … tonight? Ordinarily, we are booked far ahead but I think we have a cancellation … Just a moment… Ah, will you be bringing a lady?”
I thought it safer not to do so. “No,” I said, putting in just a tinge of regret.
“Very well, that’s wonderful. We’ll see you tonight, seven-thirty …” Her voice was warm and full of promise.
When I left to go to the Phoenicia, I tried some tricks that I recalled from Mickey Spillane novels. I walked a few blocks, staying near people, crossing at crosswalks, then returning. I could see no one following me but in case I was being watched from the other side of the street, I waited at a bus stop but didn’t get on. I walked off in the opposite direction, then turned to Tenth Avenue and caught a cab at a corner as it was discharging passengers.
The Phoenicia wasn’t very far and I could have walked but in my cautious mood, I directed the driver to Lincoln Center then redirected him to the restaurant. Even then I had him drop me at another restaurant on the same block. It was Chinese, and I went in and came out again and walked on to my destination.
