The Middle Kingdom (8 page)

Slowly—very
slowly—the doors began to slide shut. "Jyan!" he
screamed. "Jyan, where are you?" A second shot rang out,
ricocheting from the back of the elevator. Out in the corridor there
was chaos as people threw themselves down. Only the three Security
men and the masked c/ii
ch'i
were standing now. As Ghen
watched, one of the electric carts trundled toward the narrowing gap.
Angry with Jyan, Chen pulled out his gun and aimed it at the cart,
then lowered it again.

It was Jyan. He
was crouched over the cart, making as small a target of himself as
possible.

There were two
more shots, closely spaced. The second ricocheted, clipping a crate
on its exit from the elevator, and flew up into a nest of screens.
There was a sharp popping and spluttering and a strong burning smell.
Glass and wiring cascaded down among the unseeing
chi ch'i.

With a painful
slowness the cart edged between the doors. Seeing what was about to
happen, Chen slammed his hand against the controls once, then again.
The huge doors shuddered, made to open again, then slammed shut. But
the delay had been enough. The cart was inside.

Jyan climbed
down quickly and went to the panel. "Hurry!" Chen's voice
was low and urgent in the sudden silence. "They'll bring up
burners for the locks!"

Jyan gave the
slightest nod, then got to work. Pulling the panel open, he put his
fingernails underneath the edges of the thin control plate and popped
it out. Behind it was an array of smaller plates, like tiny squares
of dark mirror. Only two of them were important. Gingerly, he eased
them out, careful not to damage the delicate circuitry behind. At
once a voice boomed out from an overhead speaker, warning him not to
tamper. Ignoring it, Jyan felt in his pocket for the two replacement
panels and carefully fitted them. Then he slipped the top plate back
and closed the panel. "Going down!"

Jyan hammered
the manual override and felt the huge elevator shudder. For a moment
there was a terrible groaning noise, as if the machine were going to
grind itself to bits. Then came the sound of something very big and
very solid breaking underneath them. With that the floor beneath the
elevator floor gave way and the elevator plunged a body's length
before jerking to a halt. For a moment there was silence. Then, with
a click and a more normal-sounding hum, it continued its descent.

Across from
Jyan, Chen picked himself up. "We're through!" he said
elatedly. "We've broken through the Net!"

Jyan turned.
"That should keep them busy, eh, Chen?"

Alarms were
sounding overhead, back where they'd come from. Jyan could almost see
what it was like up there. Right now they'd be panicking, afraid of
the sudden darkness, the blaring sirens; packing the lightless
corridors that led to the transit elevators; screaming and fighting
one another blindly; trying to get up and out, away from the breach,
before the quarantine gates—the Seals—came down.

Jyan counted. At
fifteen the elevator shuddered again. The sound was like a huge,
multiple explosion; muffled and distant, yet powerful enough to shake
the foundations of the City. "There!" he said, grinning at
Chen. "The Seals! They've brought down the Seals!"

Chen stared back
at Jyan blankly, the elation draining from him. He was sobered
suddenly by the thought of what they'd done. "That's it, then,"
he said softly. "We're safe." But he was remembering the
feel of a small, dirty hand tugging at the sleeve of his one-piece as
he walked down Pan Chao Street; the sight of a woman nursing her baby
in a doorway; the faces of ordinary men and women going about their
lives.

"We did
it!" said Jyan, laughing now. "We fucking well did it!"
But Chen just looked away, giving no answer.

EIGHT HOURS
LATER and two hundred and fifty ii to the northwest, two Security
officers waited outside the huge doors of a First Level mansion.
Here, at the very top of the City, there was space and silence. Here
the only scent was that of pine from the crescent of miniature trees
in the huge, shallow bowl at one end of the long, empty corridor; the
only sound the soft, shimmering fall of water from the ornamental
fountain in their midst. Major DeVore faced his ensign, his eyebrows
raised. He had seen the look of surprise on the young officer's face
when they had stepped from the elevator.

"You'd like
to live here, Haavikko?"

The ensign
turned and looked back at the broad, empty corridor. The floor was
richly carpeted, the high walls covered with huge, room-sized
tapestries, the coloring subdued yet elegant. Bronze statues of
dragons and ancient emperors rested on plinths spaced out the full
length of the hallway. At the far end the doors of the elevator were
lacquered a midnight-black. A solitary guard stood there, at
attention, a
deng
"lantern gun" strapped to his
shoulder. "They live well, sir."

DeVore smiled.
He was a neat, compact-looking man, his jet-black hair almost Han in
its fineness, his shoulders broad, almost stocky. On the chest of his
azurite-blue, full-dress uniform he wore the embroidered patch of a
third-ranking military officer, the stylized leopard snatching a bird
from the air. He was a full head shorter than his ensign and his
build gave him the look of a fighter, yet his manners, like his face,
seemed to speak of generations of breeding—of culture.

"Yes. They
do." The smile remained on his face. "These are extremely
rich men, Haavikko. They would swallow up minnows like us without a
thought were the T'ang not behind us. It's a different life up here,
with different rules. Rules of connection and influence. You
understand?"

Haavikko
frowned. "Sir?"

"What I
mean is ... I know these people, Haavikko. I know how they think and
how they act. And I've known Under Secretary Lehmann's family now for
almost twenty years. There are ways of dealing with them."

Haavikko puzzled
at the words momentarily. "I still don't understand, sir. Do you
mean you want to speak to him alone?"

"It would
be best."

"But. . ."
Haavikko hesitated a moment, then, seeing how his major was watching
him, bowed his head. "Sir."

"Good. I
knew you'd understand." DeVore smiled again. "I've harsh
words to say to our friend the Under Secretary. It would be best if I
said them to him alone. It is a question of face."

Haavikko nodded.
That much he understood, orders or no. "Then I'll wait here,
sir."

DeVore shook his
head. "No, boy. I want you to be a witness, at the very least.
You can wait out of earshot. That way you'll not be breaking orders,
eh?"

Haavikko smiled,
more at ease now that a compromise had been made.

Behind them the
huge double doors to the first-level apartment swung open. They
turned, waiting to enter.

Inside, the
unexpected. A tiny wood. A bridge across a running stream. A path
leading upward through the trees. Beside the bridge two servants
waited for them, Han, their shaven heads bowed fully to the waist.
One led the way before them, the other followed, heads lowered, eyes
averted out of courtesy. They crossed the bridge, the smell of damp
earth and blossom rising to greet them. The path turned, twisted,
then came out into a clearing.

On the far side
of the clearing was the house. A big two-story mansion in the Han
northern style, white walled, its red tile roof steeply pitched.

DeVore looked at
his ensign. The boy was quiet, thoughtful. He had never seen the like
of this. Not surprising. There were few men in the whole of Chung Kuo
who could afford to live like this. Four, maybe five thousand at most
outside the circle of the Families. This was what it was to be rich.
Rich enough to buy a whole ten-level deck at the very top of the City
and landscape it.

Pietr Lehmann
was Under Secretary in the House of Representatives at Weimar. A big
man. Fourth in the pecking order in that seat of World Government. A
man to whom a thousand lesser men—giants in their own
households—bowed their heads. A power broker, even if that
power was said by some to be chimerical and the House itself a sop—a
mask to brutal tyranny.-DeVore smiled at the thought. Who, after all,
would think the , Seven brutal or tyrannous? They had no need to be.
They had the House between them and the masses of Chung Kuo.

They went
inside.

The entrance
hall was bright, spacious. To the left was a flight of broad,
wood-slatted steps; to the right a sunken pool surrounded by a low
wood handrail. The small, dark shapes of fishes flitted in its
depths.

Their guides
bowed, retreated. For a moment they were left alone.

"I thought.
. ." Haavikko began, then shook his head. I know, DeVore mused;
you thought he was Hung
Mao.
Yet all of this is Han. He
smiled. Haavikko had seen too little of the world; had mixed only
with soldiers. All this was new to him. The luxury of it. The
imitation.

There was a
bustle of sound to their right. A moment later a group of servants
came into the entrance hall. They stopped a respectful distance from
the two visitors and one of them stepped forward, a tall Han who wore
on the chest of his pale green one-piece a large black pictogram and
the number i. He was house steward, Lehmann's chief servant.

DeVore made no
move to acknowledge the man. He neither bowed nor smiled. "Where
is the Under Secretary?" he demanded. "I wish to see him."

The steward
bowed, his eyes downcast. Behind him were lined up almost half of
Lehmann's senior household staff, fifteen in all. They waited,
unbowed, letting the steward act for them all.

"Excuse me,
Major, but the master is out in the pagoda. He left explicit orders
that he was not to be disturbed."

DeVore half
turned and looked at his ensign, then turned back. "I've no time
to wait, I'm afraid. I come on the T'ang's business. I'll tell your
master that you did his bidding."

The steward
nodded, but did not look up, keeping his head down as the Major and
his ensign walked past him, out across the terrace and onto the broad
back steps that led down to the gardens.

Lotus lay
scattered on the lake, intensely green against the pale, clear water.
Huge cream slabs of rock edged the waterline, forming a perfect oval.
To the left a pathway traced the curve of the lake, its flower-strewn
canopy ending in a gently arching bridge. Beyond the bridge, amid a
formal garden of rock and shrub and flower, stood a three-tiered
pagoda in the classic Palace style, its red-tiled roofs unornamented.
Farther around, to the right of the lake, was an orchard, the small,
broad-crowned trees spreading to the water's edge. Plum and cherry
were in blossom and the still air was heavy with their fragrance.

It was early
morning. From the meadows beyond the pagoda came the harsh, clear cry
of a peacock. Overhead the light of a dozen tiny, artificial suns
shone down from a sky of ice painted the pastel blue of summer days.

Standing on the
topmost step, DeVore took it all in at a glance. He smiled, adjusting
the tunic of his dress uniform, then turned to his ensign. "It's
okay, Haavikko. I'll make my own way from here."

The young
officer clicked his heels and bowed. DeVore knew the boy had been
ordered by the General to stay close and observe all that passed; but
these were his people; he would do it his way. Behind Haavikko the
senior servants of the household looked on, not certain what to do.
The Major had come upon them unannounced. They had had little chance
to warn their master.

DeVore looked
back past Haavikko, addressing them. "You! About your business
now! Your master will summon you when he needs you!" Then he
turned his back on them, dismissing them.

He looked out
across the artificial lake. On the sheltered gallery of the pagoda,
its wooden boards raised on stilts above the lake, stood three men
dressed in silk
pau.
The soft murmur of their voices reached
him across the water. Seeing him, one of them raised a hand in
greeting, then turned back to his fellows, as if making his excuses.

Lehmann met him
halfway, on the path beside the lake.

"It's good
to see you, Howard. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

DeVore bowed his
head respectfully, then met the other's eyes. "I've come to
investigate you, Pietr. The General wants answers."

Lehmann smiled
and turned, taking the Major's arm and walking beside him. "Of
course." Light, filtering through the overhanging vines, made of
his face a patchwork of shadows. "Soren Berdichev is here. And
Edmund Wyatt. But they'll understand, I'm sure."

Again DeVore
gave the slightest nod. "You know why IVe come?"

Lehmann glanced
his way, then looked forward again, toward the pagoda. "It's Lwo
Kang's death, isn't it? I knew someone would come. As soon as I heard
the news, I knew. Rumor flies fast up here. Idle tongues and hungry
ears make trouble for us all." He sighed, then glanced at
DeVore. "I understand there are those who are misconstruing
words spoken in my audience with the Minister as a threat. Well, I
assure you, Howard, nothing was farther from my mind. In a strange
way I liked Lwo Kang. Admired his stubbornness. Even so, I find
myself . .. unsurprised. It was as I thought. As I
warned.
There
are those for whom impatience has become a killing anger."

DeVore paused,
turning toward the Under Secretary. "I understand. But there are
things I must ask. Things you might find awkward."

Lehmann shrugged
good-naturedly. "It's unavoidable. The Minister's death was a
nasty business. Ask what you must. I won't be offended."

DeVore smiled
and walked on, letting Lehmann take his arm again. They had come to
the bridge. For a moment they paused, looking out across the lake.
The peacock cried again.