The Middle Kingdom (13 page)

Chen cleared the
board and switched off the machine, his sense of disenchantment
coming to a head. All this—it was so ostentatious. So false.
Jyan ached to be better than he was. Richer. More powerful. More
cultured. Yet his attempts at mimicry were painful to observe. He was
a cockroach imitating a turtle. And this latest scheme . . . Chen
shuddered. It was doomed to failure. He knew that in his bones. You
could not make deals with these people; could not be partner to them,
only their hireling.

He looked about
him one last time, watching the thinly fleshed shape of Jyan bend and
stretch behind the plastic curtaining. Then, his mind made up, he
left quietly. It wasn't toys he wanted. He wanted something real. A
new life. Better than this. More real than this. A child, maybe. A
son.

He was tired of
being
wang pen
—rootless, his origins forgotten. It was
time he was connected. If not to the past, then to the future. He
sighed, knowing he could do nothing about the past. But the
future—that was unwritten. . . .

As he walked
back to his own apartment the thought went through his mind like a
chant, filling his head, obsessing him— a child. A son. A
child. A son. The words coursing through him like the sound of his
feet as they pounded the bare ice flooring of the corridors. A child.
A son.

Very well. He
must be ready, then. There was no other way.

YANG LAI knelt
at Lehmann's feet, his head bowed low, his hands gripping the hem of
Lehmann's paw tightly.

"You're a
good man, Pietr Lehmann. A good, good man. IVe been so scared. So
frightened that they would find me before you or Edmund came."

Lehmann looked
about him. The room was filthy. It looked as if no one had tidied it
in years. Had Yang Lai fallen this low, then? Had he no friends of
higher rank to help him in his need? He drew the man to his feet and
freed his hand, then reached across to lift his chin, making Yang Lai
look at him.

"I'm glad
you called, Yang Lai. Things are difficult. If Security had found
you..."

Yang Lai averted
his eyes. "I understand."

"How did
you get out?"

The Han
hesitated. "Does it matter?"

Lehmann noted
the undertone of suspicion in Yang Lai's voice. The man had had time
enough to work it out. Yet he wasn't certain. His trust in Wyatt had
acted like a barrier against the truth. It had prevented him from
piecing things together. Well, that was good. It meant things would
be easier.

"I'm
interested, that's all. But anyway . . ." He feigned
indifference, changing tack at once; moving past Yang Lai as he
spoke. "The Minister's assassination. It wasn't us, you see.
Someone preempted us." He turned and looked back at the Han. "Do
you understand me, Yang Lai? Do you see what I'm saying? Whoever it
was, they almost killed you."

"No! No. .
. ."Yang Lai shook his head, confused. "That's not how it
was. They—they warned me. Told me to get out of there."

Yang Lai
shuddered violently and looked away. He was red eyed and haggard from
lack of sleep, and his clothes smelled. Even so, there was something
in his manner that spoke of his former authority. He was a man
accustomed to command.

For a moment
Yang Lai seemed lost in thought. Then, like someone suddenly waking,
he looked up at Lehmann again, a smile lighting his face. "Then
Edmund had nothing to do with it?"

"Nothing."
This time it was the truth.

For a moment
Lehmann pondered the connection between Wyatt and the Han. Why did
Yang Lai trust Edmund so explicitly? Was it only friendship? Or was
it deeper than that? Were they lovers?

"Who warned
you?" he asked, moving closer. "You have to tell me, Yang
Lai. It's very important."

Yang Lai glanced
up at him, meeting his eyes briefly. Then he looked down sharply, his
shame like something physical. "A messenger came," he said
softly. "My Third Secretary, Pi Ch'ien."

Pi
Ch'ien.
Lehmann caught his breath. Pi Ch'ien hadn't been on the list of
names DeVore had given him. Which meant he was probably still alive.
Lehmann turned away, pressing his left hand to his brow, trying to
think. Then he turned back. "This Pi Ch'ien . . . where is he?"

Yang Lai
shrugged. "I don't know. I assume he was killed." He looked
away, his voice going very quiet. "I think I was the last to get
out before the solarium went up."

Lehmann was
still a moment; then, abruptly, he turned and made to go.

Yang Lai rushed
after him and caught him at the door, holding tightly to his arm, his
face pressed close to Lehmann's.

"What's
happening? Please, Pietr, tell me what's happening!"

Lehmann turned
back, taking Yang Lai's hands in his own. "It's all okay, Yang
Lai. It will all be all right. Trust me. Trust Edmund. But there are
things we have to do. For all our sakes."

Yang Lai studied
his face intently for a moment. Then he looked down, giving no sign
of what he'd seen. "All right. Do what you must."

Outside, Lehmann
paused and glanced across at the two men standing against the far
side of the corridor. Behind him he heard the door slide shut and the
door lock click into place.

It would not
help him. Hitmen had the combination to the lock.

It's necessary,
Lehmann told himself. All of this. All the killing and the lying and
the double-dealing. All necessary.

He met the eyes
of the taller man and nodded, then turned away, making his way
quickly to the waiting transit elevator.

Necessary.
For all our sakes.

CHOH SIANG put
the envelope on the table in front of Jyan, then leaned back,
watching him carefully.

"What's
this?" Jyan looked up guardedly.

"Open it
and see. I'm only the messenger."

Cho Hsiang saw
how suspicious Jyan was of the envelope. He had not seen anything
like it before. It was all tape or mouth-work down here. No
subtleties.

"You tear
it open," he explained. "The message will be written on the
sheet inside."

Jyan hesitated,
then picked up the envelope and examined it. On one side of the
whiteness was written his name. The other seemed to have been slit
open diagonally, then sealed with something hot that had left the
imprint of a double helix. Seeing that, he laughed.

"I guessed
right, then?"

Cho Hsiang said
nothing, merely inclined his head toward the envelope.

Jyan tugged
gently at the seal, trying to prise it open. Then, more brutally, he
tore at the silken paper. The seal gave suddenly and the message
spilled out onto the table, coming to rest beside Cho Hsiang's hand.
It was a single folded sheet. Gingerly, using only his fingertips,
Cho Hsiang pushed it across to him.

On the paper was
a figure. Jyan studied it a moment, then whistled softly.

"Will it
do?"

There was the
faintest trace of sarcasm in Cho Hsiang's voice.

Jyan had folded
the paper. He unfolded it and stared at the figure again. Then he
looked up over the paper at Cho Hsiang.

"Do you
know what it says?"

Cho Hsiang shook
his head slowly. "As I said, I'm only the messenger. But I know
this. There'll be no haggling. Understand? You either take what's
offered or you get nothing."

"Nothing. .
. ." Jyan laughed tensely. "That would be rather stupid of
them, don't you think?"

Cho Hsiang
leaned forward. "You heard me. Take it or leave it."

"And if I
leave it? If I take what I know elsewhere?"

Cho Hsiang
allowed himself a cold smile. "You're an imaginative man, Kao
Jyan. Work it out for yourself."

Jyan looked
down, unfolding the paper yet again. Cho Hsiang watched him, amused.
They knew how to deal with such types up Above. Theirs was the way of
ultimatum. Take it or leave it—it was all the same to them.
Either way they would come out on top. He reached out and took his
glass, draining it, then reached across and pressed the button on the
wall that would summon Big White.

"I have to
go now, Kao Jyan. What shall I say to my friends?"

Jyan looked up.
From his face Cho Hsiang could see he was still undecided. He pressed
him. "Well?"

There were
sounds, outside. The door lock popped softly and the door began to
slide back.'Jyan looked past Cho Hsiang, then back at him.

"Okay.
We'll take it. And tell your man ..."

He stopped,
seeing Big White there.

"Yes?"
Cho Hsiang stood up, letting Big White help him into his big
mock-beaver coat.

"Tell him
he'll have no more trouble. Okay?"

Cho Hsiang
smiled tightly. "Good." He turned, as if to leave, then
turned back. "I'll be seeing you then, Kao Jyan."

Jyan nodded, all
the cockiness gone from him.

"Oh, and
Jyan ... see to the bill for me, eh?"

"What have
we got?"

The technician
tapped at the keys, running the recording back for analysis. Then 'he
leaned back, letting DeVore read from the screen for himself.

Fifty-one words
total. Fourteen repetitions. Total vocabulary thirty-seven words.

"It's not
enough."

The technician
shook his head. "Maybe not for direct speech transposition. But
we could generate new words from the sounds we have. There's a
considerable range of tones here. The computer can create a gestalt—a
whole speech analogue—from very little. We've more than enough
here to do that. You write the script, the machine will get him to
say it. And not even his mother would know it wasn't him saying it."

DeVore laughed.
"Good. Then we'll move quickly on this." He took a hard
file from his jacket pocket and handed it to the technician. "Here's
what I want our friend Jyan to say."

The technician
hesitated fractionally, then nodded. "Okay. I'll get to work on
it right away. Will tomorrow be too late? Midday?"

DeVore smiled
and slapped the technician's back. "Tomorrow's fine. I'll
collect it myself."

He went out,
heading back down toward the Net. It was still early. In under four
hours he was due to meet the General to make his report. There was
time enough, meanwhile, to set things up.

In the Security
elevator, descending, he made contact with the two men he had left
outside Big White's.

"How's our
man?"

The answer came
back into his earpiece. "He's still inside, sir."

"Good. If
he comes out, follow at a distance. But don't make a move. Not yet. I
want them both, remember."

He had barely
closed contact when an urgent message came through on his wrist
console. It was Lehmann again, his face taut with worry.

"What is
it, Pietr?"

Lehmann
hesitated, conscious that he was speaking on an open channel, then
took the risk. "The missing body. I know who it is. It's Yang
Lai's man, Pi Ch'ien."

"I see. So
where is he?"

Lehmann laughed
anxiously. "That's just it. I've been checking up. There's no
trace of him. He hasn't been seen since the assassination."

"So he's in
hiding?"

"It seems
so."

"Right.
Leave it to me." He paused. "All's well apart from that?"

Lehmann
hesitated, then gave the coded answer. "It's a cloudless sky,
Howard. I ... well, I'll see you sometime, yes?"

DeVore closed
contact. So Yang Lai was dead. Good. That was one thing less to worry
about.

The elevator
slowed, then came to a halt. For a moment DeVore stood there, his
hand almost touching the Door Open pad, his skin, beneath the simple
one-piece he was wearing, tingling from the decontamination
procedure. Then, clear in mind what he had to do, he hit the pad and
went outside, into the Net.

FIFTH
BELL WAS SOUNDING when Major DeVore reported to General Tolonen in
his office at the top of the vast fortresslike barracks that housed
Security Central. The General stood as he came into the room and came
around his desk to greet DeVore, a broad smile on his chiseled face.

"Good day,
Howard. How are things?"

DeVore bowed at
waist and neck, then straightened up, meeting the old man's eyes.
"Not good, sir. Our investigation of the Minister's death is
proving more difficult than I thought."

The General
looked at him a moment longer, then nodded. Briefly he rested a hand
on the Major's arm, as if to reassure him, then turned and went back
behind his desk. Ensconced in his chair again he leaned forward,
motioning to DeVore to take a seat. "Still nothing, eh?"

DeVore gave the
smallest hint of a bow then sat. "Not quite, sir."

Tolonen tilted
his chin back, interested. "I see. What have you got?"

"Nothing
certain. Only rumor. But it may prove a lead."

"Anything I
should know about?"

DeVore took the
tiny tape from his tunic pocket, wiped it on the cloth, then handed
it across the desk. Tolonen sat back and pushed the wafer-thin
cassette into the input socket behind his left ear. For a minute or
two he sat there, silent, his eyes making small, erratic movements in
their sockets. Then, as if coming to again, he looked directly at his
Major.

"Interesting,
Howard. Very interesting." Tolonen squeezed the narrow slit of
skin behind his ear and removed the tape. "But how reliable is
this?"

DeVore tilted
his head slightly, considering. "Normally I'd say it was highly
reliable. But the circumstances of this case— particularly its
political importance—make it more complex than usual. It would
be unwise to take things at face value. For now I'm having the
sources checked out. Playing ear. However"— he hesitated,
then spoke again, studying the General more closely than
before—"there is something else, sir. Something perhaps
more important in the long run."