"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.