He looked to Tung again.
"And is this it? Or can you get more of these?"
Tung felt his pulse begin to race. "How many do you want?"
"Ah. . ." Chao stood, then came across, leaning past Tung to eject the tiny tape from the machine. "My Master will be pleased with this gift."
"Gift?" Tung stared at Chao Ta-nien open-mouthed. This was a turn he had not anticipated. "But I thought. . ."
"You think my Master's friendship is lightly bought, Tung Po-jen?"
Tung swallowed, then shook his head.
Chao touched his arm, smiling, then proceeded to slip the tape into the case and pocket it. "My Master will be delighted he has such a good friend, Tung Po-jen. He will no doubt wish to help you, neh?"
Slowly Tung relaxed. It wasn't what he'd planned, but maybe it wasn't so bad. After all, Chao's Master, Ice Man Chung, was reputedly a fair man.
Chao stared at the box thoughtfully, then shook his head. "It's powerful, don't you think, Tung Po-jen? Men would pay a great deal to set their eyes on this." He looked to Tung, his eyes narrowed. "How much did you have to pay?"
"Two fifty," he said, beginning to sweat.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand. . ." Chao considered that, then nodded. "That must have left you short, Tung Po-jen."
"I. . ." Tung swallowed, then nodded.
"That's a shame. Perhaps we can arrange a loan."
"A loan?" Tung stared at Chao, his heart sinking, all of the excitement - the joy - he had been feeling earlier, drained from him in an instant. So it was to be like this. He would borrow Triad money, at Triad rates, to finance the venture, and the Triads would take the profits. Which left him what? The risk. And maybe enough to live on.
"I had hoped . . ."
"Hoped?" Chao Ta-nien laughed. "Hoped for what, Tung Po-jen? Did you think a thing like this could be kept in the hands of one man . . . even so big a man as yourself?" Chao took the tape from his pocket and shook it at Tung. "No, Tung Po-jen, this is bigger than either of us. This .. . why, this is like a bomb waiting to be detonated, a virus waiting to be spread. We shall make money, certainly, and my Master will make sure you have your share, but do not look beyond that, my well-fleshed friend. Some men are born to be riders, others . . ." he looked at Tung scathingly, "others to be grooms."
He slipped the tape away once more. "Be content, Tung Po-jen. And be reassured. You did well to think of me first. I shall not forget it. Nor will my Master."
After Chao had gone, Tung sat there, staring at the empty screen. "Shit!" he said finally, slamming one huge, well-padded hand down onto the machine's casing. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"
He had played it totally wrong. He had been far too hasty. He should have seen the tape, had it copied, put the original somewhere safe. Then he should have got in three, maybe four different parties. As it was . . .
Tung huffed in exasperation. Gifts, loans .. . and all that shit about riders and grooms. Well, fuck them! He felt like packing up and getting out - to Africa maybe. That would teach Chao Ta-nien to be such a prick. Yes, and serve his Boss, Ice Man Chung, a lesson too.
Maybe, but they would find him eventually. And when they did ...
Tung let out a long, frustrated breath. No. They had him by the bollocks and they knew it. He'd take the risks and they'd make the profits. Just as they always did.
Unless ...
There was a sudden, urgent rapping on the door. Tung heaved himself up out of the chair as the door crashed open. It was one of his bodyguards. "Master Tung," he began, alarmed, "they're . . ."
There was a shot, a second shot. The man grimaced and then slumped across the row of seats beside him. From the darkness beyond him a soldier stepped into view, in full riot gear, his visor raised, his gun pointing in at Tung.
"Okay, fat man, raise your hands where I can see them. And don't even think of trying anything."
Tung Po-jen opened his eyes with a start.
"What happened?"
"You died."
"Died?" Slowly Tung focused his eyes. The stranger -1 Ye? was that his name? - was staring down at him, his thin lips twisted in amusement.
"We almost lost you. Your heart gave up on you. Not surprising, neh? Being so fat must have put a great strain on it. But we brought you back."
Tung tried to move. He couldn't. He just felt numb. Then, like the tide rushing in across a vast, empty beach, he felt the pain return. He groaned.
"It hurts, doesn't it, Tung Po-jen? But that's only the beginning. We like to make things easy for you ... at first."
A second face appeared beside I Ye's - a doctor's by the look of it. Tung saw the glint of a hypodermic gun as it was passed from one to the other.
"You see this?" I Ye said, holding the hypodermic closer so he could see it clearly. "It's something new. Something they developed in America. It could extend your life by forty, maybe fifty, years." The smile broadened, became a grimace. "Just think of it, Tung Po-jen. All that time stretching away in front of you, and every second of it you would be in pain. Such pain as you could not imagine."
Tung closed his eyes. I died, he thought. The gods help me, I died and this bastard brought me back.
"What do you want?" Tung whined, despair flooding him, knowing that he'd said this once before; certain now that nothing he could tell this cunt would ever satisfy him. "You know all I know. I've told you everything."
"Everything?"
"Everything."
It was true. The pain had loosed his tongue as expertly as it had loosened his bowels. All the shit had come out - every last bit - even that part about him fucking his infant sister.
"Again," I Ye said, bringing his face closer, his stinking breath in Tung's face, his fingers gently caressing Tung's balls then slowly closing on them like a vice.
Tung screamed.
"Good," I Ye said, as if some hurdle had been successfully negotiated. "From the beginning. From when you were first contacted by the messenger."
Tung lay there, sheened in sweat, his limbs trembling uncontrollably, wishing he were dead again, that voice - that awful, insistent voice - echoing inside his skull.
"But you know . . ."
This time the pain was excruciating. He blacked out. A moment later he opened his eyes with a start.
"What. . .?"
But he knew what had happened. He hadn't died. He had lived. And now an eternity of pain stretched out before him. He was one of the eternally damned, chained to the rock of punishment, in Hell, never to be released, never to be allowed surcease. And what had he done to deserve this?
I gazed upon the Son of Heaven making love to his brother's wife. I saw him plant his seed in her. Saw his buttocks shudder, the movement in her face.
He had glimpsed Heaven, and for that he was condemned to Hell. He groaned once more; a deep, despairing groan.
"Again," I Ye said, smiling sweetly down at him as he pressed the hypodermic to Tung's upper arm. "Again."
Heng Yu was hurrying towards his next appointment, taking a short cut through an untenanted part of the Eastern Palace. He was late. He was always late these days. If he had been twins he would still have had too much to do, and as it was .. .
"Master!"
He turned, surprised. A guard - a member of Pei K'ung's own elite - had stepped from the shadows and now stood there, head bowed. Heng took a step back, away from the man, noting from his chest-patch that he was a Captain. He sensed something wrong - something very wrong - but tried to keep his voice calm. Beneath nis cloak, his right hand slid onto the handle of his dagger.
"What is it, Captain?"
"Forgive me, Chancellor," the man began, keeping his distance, aware, it seemed, of the threat he posed, here in this silent corridor. "I mean you no harm."
"You are a long way from your Mistress's palace," Heng said, still tense, not yet certain whether he could trust the man.