The Chinese Assassin Read Online Free PDF Page B

Peking.’
    Scholefield didn’t reply. Yang frowned as though searching his memory.
    ‘You were one of the few E nglis h students allowed into our universities in the fifties and made good use of your opportunities to get some understanding of our society. You speak and write Chinese well, you are also fluent in Japanese and you were a Chinese linguist during your National Service in the British Army, monitoring mainland radio broadcasts in Hong Kong.
    Your determination to become one of your country’s leading Orientalists has also led you to study the “Kyoku-Shinkai” or “Peak of Truth” School of Karate, founded by the Korean, Mas Oyama, who fought fifty-two bulls in his lifetime with his bare hands. You are probably a black belt of the fourth rank—but you keep this to yourself: Your critical academic views on China are widely known through the occasional articles you write for serious Western newspapers and for your work in the broadcasting media of Europe and North America. Isn’t that correct?’ Scholefield smiled grimly. ‘You seem to know a lot for an acupuncture student from the People’s Liberation Army, Mr. Yang.’
    Yang smiled easily. ‘Chairman Mao has taught that without adequate investigation a Chinese cadre has no right to speak. I have investigated and your qualifications and your background made you the ideal candidate for my purpose’
    ‘I may as well tell you now, Mr. Yang, I have strong reservations about your story. What exactly was your purpose in coming here?’
    Yang looked at him steadily. ‘It is precisely as I have told you; I wish to get to Cuba. I know of a doctor in Sweden who will help me to get to East Germany. F rom there I can go to Cuba without difficulty But the first step of a long journey is always the most difficult. I must sail from Tilbury to Sweden.’
    Scholefield shook his head in disbelief. ‘Are you trying to tell me you simply came here to ask for money for your passage from Tilbury?’
    Yang stiffened and his eyes fl ashed. ‘I have too much pride to beg money from you.’
    ‘Then what are you after?’
    ‘Your help. I need tune to get the money together. Time to work. I need a secret address somewhere in the country. P erhaps you have friends who could help.’
    Scholefi el d’s brow crinkled in a frown of suspicion. What “work” have you in mind?’
    ‘If necessary I could work in construction.’ He looked down at his ingrained hands. ‘Hard work, as you know, is unfamiliar to nobody in the China of Chairman Mao. Or I could work in a restaurant.’
    ‘But you have no papers. I couldn’t assist you in finding work illegally without breaking the law.’
    Yang eyed him calculatingly. ‘Or I could help you privately with your work—until I have the money I need.’
    Scholefield’s face cleared suddenly. He walked slowly towards Yang and paused in front of him considering h is words carefully. ‘Is this a very subtle way of offering me information privately, Mr. Yang, that would more properly come under the category of “espionage”?’
    Yang’s blank expression didn’t falter and he made no attempt to answer.
    ‘Could it possibly be an attempt on the part of your government in Peking to test me out for some reason best known to themselves or to blacken my reputation—or both?’
    Yang still didn’t reply. He stared back at Scholefield unblinking. ‘Mr. Yang, when you spoke to me on the ‘phone you claimed the reasons for our meeting were very urgent. A matter of life and death for somebody in China, you said. How did you know I wouldn’t be away for a m o nth? Was that just a ruse to get me to see you?’
    Yang moved suddenly, stepping quickly round Scholefield and hurrying towards the door. Scholefield , taken aback, followed uncertainly. The Chinese turned angrily with his hand on the latch. ‘Mr. Scholefield , I will wait until tomorrow for you to make up your mind whether you wish t help me.’ He paused. ‘If your decision is