Wingrove, David - Chung Kuo 02 (61 page)

"I see. And
you want me to investigate?"

"That's
right, Hans. You see, some of the jewelry has already shown up on the
black market. I want you to find out who's been trading the stuff.
Then I want you to trace it back and get some answers."

Ebert was silent
a moment, considering, then he looked up again, meeting the Marshal's
eyes. "Why not Karr?"

"Major Karr
has quite enough on his hands already." Tolonen leaned forward
and covered Ebert's hand with his own. "No, Hans, you look after
this for me, eh? Get me some answers that'll please the T'ang. It'll
do you no harm, I guarantee. The murders, they're one thing. But
this. . . Well, it could prove far more important in the long run."

Ebert smiled.
"Of course. When do you want me to report?"

"The T'ang
has given me three days."

"Then three
days it is. Whatever it takes. I'll find out who's behind all this."

"Good."
Tolonen beamed. "I knew I could count on you, Hans."

* *
*

IT WAS THIRTY
minutes later and Ebert was in the corridor outside his apartment
when the woman approached him, grabbing his arm and shrieking into
his face.

"You
bastard! You
bought
her, didn't you? To humiliate me!"

Ebert turned and
shook her off". "I don't know what you mean, Madam Chuang.
Bought whom?"

"You know
fucking well whom!" Her face was pale, her eyes dark with
sleeplessness, her clothes. . .

"Gods,
woman, look at you! You're a mess! And such language! You forget
yourself, Madam Chuang. A Minister's wife!"

He gave her a
look of disgust and started to turn away, but she grabbed at him
again. He turned back angrily, taking her hand from his arm and
squeezing it painfully. "If you don't desist. . ." he said
quietly, but threateningly.

She tore her
hand away, then leaned toward him, spitting full in his face.

He swore,
rubbing at his face, then, glaring at her, turned away. But as he did
so, she pulled a knife from inside her clothes and struck out,
catching him glancingly on the arm.

"Shit!"

He was turning
as she struck the second blow, lifting his wounded arm to try to fend
her off. She grunted as she delivered the blow, her full weight
behind it, her face distorted with a mad lust of hatred as she thrust
at him. This time the knife caught him squarely on the back of the
head, knocking him forward onto his hands and knees. But the knife
had gone scattering away.

Madam Chuang
looked in horror. Where the knife had caught him, the hair had ripped
away, revealing a shining metal plate. He half turned his head,
looking up at her, stunned by the force of the blow, yet still alive.
She shrieked and made to leap on him, but strong hands pulled her
back, then threw her down roughly. A moment later she felt something
hard press down brutally against her temple and knew it was a gun.
She closed her eyes.

"No! Leave
her!" The voice was Ebert's. He got to his knees, trying to
steady himself. "Leave her . . ."

Auden looked
across at his Major, then with a small shudder, pulled the gun back
from the woman's temple and returned it to the holster. "She
would have killed you, Hans."

Ebert looked up,
smiling through his pain. "I know. She's got spirit, that one!
Real spirit. Wouldn't you like to fuck her?"

Auden looked
away.

Ebert laughed.
"No. Maybe not. But perhaps we should frighten her off, neh?

After all, I
can't always be watching my back, can I? There are times. . ."
He laughed again, then reached up and touched the back of his head
tenderly.

"What do
you suggest?" Auden asked, looking back at him.

"Her
breasts," Ebert said, wincing. "She was always proud of
them. Cut her breasts."

Auden turned,
pushed the woman down, and tore her silks open roughly, exposing her
breasts. Then he knelt over her, pinning down her arms.

She looked up at
him, horrified, her voice a mere breath. "You can't. . ."

He hit her
savagely with the back of his hand, splitting her lip, then drew his
knife from his belt. There was a moment's hesitation, then pinning
her neck down with his left hand, he drew the knife across her
breasts, once, twice, a third time, ignoring her screams of pain, the
razor-sharp blade ripping open the skin.

He stood,
sheathing his knife, looking down at the distraught woman, then
turned back, seeing at once how Ebert had been watching, how his eyes
were wide with excitement, how his chest rose and fell.

"Thanks,"
Ebert said quietly. "You'll see to her?"

Auden nodded,
then bent down, recovering the package he had dropped in coming to
Ebert's aid. "Here," he said, handing it to Ebert. "It
came this morning."

Ebert glanced at
it then looked across at the woman again. "Who would have
believed it, eh? Who'd have thought the old girl had it in her?"
He laughed, then got unsteadily to his feet, swaying, closing his
eyes momentarily. Auden went to him and put his arm about him,
supporting him.

"Are you
sure you're all right? Should I get a medic?"

Ebert shook his
head, slowly, smiling through the pain he clearly felt. "No.
I'll rest a while. It'll be all right."

Auden turned,
looking across at the Minister's wife. She had turned onto her side
now, huddled into herself, whimpering, her bloodied silks pulled
about her torn and ruined breasts. "I'll see to her. Don't you
worry about that. I'll say she was attacked in the corridors by a
gang. Fest will back me up."

Ebert swallowed,
then put his hand on Auden's arm. "Good. Then get moving. I'll
go inside and lie down for a while. There's help there if I need it."

He watched Auden
go over to the woman and crouch down, speaking into his wrist-set,
summoning assistance, then turned away. It would be all right; Auden
would sort things out. He touched his arm. It was only a superficial
wound, but the blow to his head . . . Well, perhaps Auden was right.
Perhaps he should have the medics in. She had caught him a cracking
blow, after all. He could easily be concussed.

He turned to
face the door. "Fancy that. . ." he said softly, placing
his hand against the lock and lifting his face to look directly into
the overhead camera. At once the door hissed open. "She could
have killed me," he said, going inside. "The fucking woman
could have killed me!"

* *
*

THE GREAT HALL
of the Jakobstad Terminal was uncharacteristically silent, the
departure lounge emptied of its normal crowds, the doors barred and
guarded by soldiers. As the tiny party came through, their footsteps
echoed across the massive space. It was almost a
li
from
landing pad to platform, but Tolonen had waved away the sedan and had
led his party on by foot, marching quickly, his daughter just behind
him, the twelve man elite corps squad fanned out about them, prepared
for anything.

The Marshal had
taken extraordinary steps to bring his daughter home. Things were in
flux again and if their enemies were to strike anywhere, they would
strike here, at one of the terminals. Which was why he was taking no
chances.

The "bolt"
was waiting for them, its normal crew of eighty pared down to ten
trusted men, its usual complement of fifteen hundred passengers
reduced to fourteen for this one journey. It was a fast-track
monorail, cutting directly through the City, south to Turku, then
east to Helsinki Terminal. From there they would commission another
transporter and fly across the Baltic direct to Danzig.

Tolonen looked
about him, tense despite his strict arrangements. For once he had
chosen to trust no one; only he knew what he had planned. Even so, it
would not be difficult for his enemies to second-guess him. If they
could get into his home, what could they not do?

As they boarded
the bolt he hesitated, scanning the platform both ways, then went
inside. Jelka was already seated, her long legs stretched out in
front of her. He smiled, studying her a moment, noticing how she had
color from being outside, how her hair seemed even blonder than
usual. He sat, facing her, leaning forward, his hands clasped
together between his knees.

"Well?"

It was the first
time they had relaxed together. On the flight across from the island
he had been busy taking reports and giving orders, but now he could
take time to talk, to ask her how she had enjoyed her stay.

She looked back
at him and smiled, her eyes sparkling. "It was beautiful, Daddy.
Just beautiful."

"So you
enjoyed it?" He laughed. "That's good . . ."

She looked away.
For a moment there was a strange wistfulness in her eyes, a
wistfulness he shared and understood.

For a moment he
just looked at her, realizing how precious she was to him. She was so
like her mother now. So like the woman he had loved.

"You look
tired,", she said, concerned for him.

"Do I?"
He laughed again, then nodded. "Well, perhaps I am." He
smiled and leaned forward again, reaching out to take her hands in
his. "Listen, we've got one stop-off to make, but then I've got
the evening free. How do you fancy coming to the opera? I've booked a
box. It's the T'ang's own company. They're doing
The South
Branch."

She laughed,
delighted, for a moment forgetting her heaviness of heart. She had
always liked opera, and if
The South Branch
wasn't the
lightest of subjects, it was still opera.

"Where are
we going first?"

He sat back,
relinquishing her hands. "It's just business. It won't take
long. A half hour at most. Then we can get back and get changed,
neh?"

They felt the
bolt judder then begin to move, picking up speed very quickly. Jelka
looked away, watching the dragon pattern on the wall beyond the
window flicker and then blur until it was just seven lines of red and
green and gold.

"Did Uncle
Jon tell you about the storm?"

"No."
He laughed. "There was a storm, was there?"

"Yes."
She turned, looking back at him. "It was so powerful. So . . ."

He looked down,
as if disturbed. "Yes," he said quietly. "I'd
forgotten."

She stared at
him a moment, surprised by his sudden change of mood. "What is
it?"

He looked up at
her again, forcing a smile. "Nothing. Just that it suddenly
reminded me of your mother."

"Ah . . ."
She nodded. Then it was as her uncle had said. Yes, she could see it
now, how different her father and mother had been and yet how much in
love.

She turned her
head, seeing their reflections in the glass of the window, and smiled
sadly. It must have been hard for him, harder even than his exile.

She pushed the
thought away, trying to cheer herself with the prospect of the
evening ahead; but raising her hand to touch her cheek, she caught
the unexpected scent of burnt pine on her fingers and felt herself go
still.

"What is
it?" her father asked, his eyes never leaving her.

"Nothing,"
she answered, turning, smiling at him again. "Nothing at all."

* *
*

"Who's
that?"

Tolonen came
back to the one-way mirror and stood beside his daughter. "That?
Why that's Ward. Kim Ward. He's a strange one. Quite brilliant. They
say his mind is quicker than a machine."

She laughed,
surprised. "You mean, he's one of the team?"

"Yes, and
probably the best, by all accounts. It's astonishing, considering . .
."

Jelka looked up
at him. "Considering what?"

Her father
looked away, as if the matter were distasteful. "He's Clayborn.
Can't you see it in him—that darkness behind the eyes? He's
been conditioned; but even so, it's never quite the same, is it?
There's always that little bit of savagery left in them." He
looked back at her, smiling. "Still. . . let's get on, eh? I've
done here now and Hans is waiting back home."

She nodded
vaguely, looking back at the boy, pressing her face close up against
the glass to stare at him. She could see what her father meant. When
he turned to face the glass it was as though something else—something
other than the boy— looked back at her. Some wild and uncaged
thing that owed nothing to this world of levels. She shivered, not
from fear but from a sense of recognition. She laughed softly,
surprised to find him here when she had thought him left behind her
on the island. Then, as if coming to herself, she pushed back
slightly from the glass, afraid.

And yet it was
true. She could see it, there, in his eyes. Clayborn, her father had
said. But he was more than that.

"Come,
Jelka. Let's get on."

For a moment
longer she hesitated, watching the boy, then turned, following her
father, only then realizing what he had said earlier.

"The gods
preserve us." she said almost inaudibly. "Hans Ebert!
That's all I need!"

* *
*

kim turned,
looking across the table at Hammond.

"Who was
that?"

"Who?"

"The girl.
The one with Marshal Tolonen."

Hammond laughed.
"Oh, her. That was his daughter, didn't you know?"

"Ah..."
For a while he had thought it might have been his wife. It was the
habit of such men, after all, to take young girls for wives. Or so he
had heard. But he was strangely pleased that he'd been mistaken.

"Did you
hear the rumors?" one of the other men said, keeping his voice
low. "They say the
Ping Tiao
tried to assassinate her."

Kim frowned. "It
wasn't on the news."

"No,"
one of the others said conspiratorially. "It wouldn't be. Just
now they want everyone to believe that things are quiet and that
they're in control. But I've heard—well, they say a whole squad
of them attacked the Marshal's apartment. She killed six of them
before her father intervened."