DeVore turned and pointed to a doorway to their right. Without needing to be told, they crossed the space and went inside. Satisfied, DeVore went to the left, moving down the corridor quickly, silently, conscious of the voices growing louder as he approached the junction. Before the turn he stopped and slipped into a side room, then waited, his ear pressed to the door. When they had gone by, he slipped out again, taking the right-hand turn, following them.
Ping Tiao. He was certain of it. But why were they here? And what were they doing?
Ten of them. Maybe more. Unless . . .
There was no reason for his hunch; yet he knew, even as he had it, that he was right. They were Ping Tiao. But not all of them. They had taken prisoners. High-ranking Security officers, perhaps. But why? For their ransom value? Or was there some other reason?
He frowned and ran on silently, knowing that he had to get closer to them, to make sure he was right, because if they had taken prisoners it was something he should know; something he could use. He had agreed with Gesell beforehand that there would be no prisoners, but Gesell wasn't to be trusted.
The bridge was up ahead, the corridor on the far side of it cleared by his men earlier. But how had they found out about it? He had told Gesell nothing. Which meant they had a man inside his organization. Or had paid someone close to him for the information. Even so, they didn't know about the safe. Only he knew about that.
They were much closer now. He could hear them clearly now. Three—no, four—voices. They had slowed down as they came near the bridge, cautious now, suspicious of some kind of trap. The next turn was only twenty ch'i ahead. From there he would be able to see them clearly. But it was risky. If they saw him . . .
DeVore slowed, then stopped just before the junction, hunched down, listening again. They had paused, perhaps to send one of their number ahead of them across the bridge. He waited; then, when he heard the call come back, he put his head around the comer, keeping low, where they'd not expect to see anyone.
He took it all in at a glance, then moved back sharply. Five Ping Tiao and eight bound prisoners. As he'd thought. They weren't in uniform, but he could tell by their mustaches and the way they tied their hair that they were officers. Such things were a sign of rank as unmistakable as the patches on the chests of their dress uniforms.
So. Gesell was taking prisoners. He would find out why, then confront the man with the fact. It would be fun to hear what excuse he would give. Meanwhile his man on the far side of the bridge could follow them, find out where they took their captives.
He smiled and was about to turn away when he heard footsteps coming back toward him.
"Go on across!" a voice called out, closer than before. "Quick now! I'll meet up with you later."
DeVore took a deep breath and drew his gun. He looked at it a moment, then slipped it back into its holster. No. He would need to be quiet. Anyway, a knife was just as effective when it came to killing a man.
He looked about him quickly, wondering whether he should hide and let the man pass, then decided against it. He was almost certain he hadn't been seen, so he would have the element of surprise.
As the footsteps came on, he flattened himself against the wall. Then, as the man turned the comer, he reached out and pulled him close, whirling him about and pinning him against his chest, his right hand going to the man's throat, the knifes blade pressed tight against the skin.
"Cry out and you're dead," he said softly in his ear.
"Turner . . ." It was a whisper of surprise.
"Shen Lu Chua," he answered quietly, tightening his grip on the Han. "What a surprise to meet you here."
The Ping Tiao leader swallowed painfully, but he held his head proudly, showing no sign of fear. "What are you doing here?"
DeVore laughed softly. "You forget who holds the knife, Shen Lu Chua, Why is Gesell taking prisoners?"
"You saw? . . . Of course."
"Well?"
"You think I'd tell you?" Shen sniffed. .;
"It doesn't matter. I know what Gesell intends."
Shen's mocking laughter confirmed it. This was his idea. And Gesell knew nothing of it. Which in itself was interesting. It meant there were splits in their ranks, divisions he could capitalize upon. But why be surprised? They were human, after all.
"You know nothing . . ."
But DeVore had stopped listening. Hugging Shen closer, he thrust the tip of the knife up through the Han's neck, into the cavern of his mouth, then let him fall. For a moment he watched Shen lie there, struggling to remove the blade, small croaking noises coming from his ruined larynx; then he stepped forward and kneeling over the man, tugged the head back sharply, breaking his neck.
HUNG MIEN -LO sat at the desk in his office, the small, desk-mounted screen at his side lit with figures. Standing before him, his head bowed, was the Master of the Inner Chamber, Sun Li Hua.
"You summoned me, Chancellor Hung?"
Hung Mien-lo glanced at Sun, then continued to tap in figures on the keyboard.
"You took your time, Master Sun."
Sun kept his head lowered. "I am a busy man. There was much to organize for my master."
Hung sniffed. "And which master is that, Sun?"
Sun smiled faintly. "The same master we both serve."
Hung Mien-lo raised his head and stared at Sun, then laughed and turned the screen about so that it faced the man.
"Do you recognize these figures, Master Sun?"
Sun raised his head for the first time, studying the screen. Then he looked back at Hung, his expression unchanged. "Those look like the household accounts, Chancellor."
"And so they are. But they're wrong. They've been tampered with. And not just once but consistently, from what I can make out." He touched the pad to clear the screen, then sat back, smiling. "Someone has been milking them of quite considerable sums these last four years."
Sun met his gaze openly. "And?"
Hung nodded, admiring the man's coolness. "And there are only three men who could have done it. I've questioned the other two, and it's clear that they are innocent. Which leaves you, Master Sun. Your family has prospered greatly these past four years."
"Are you accusing me of embezzlement, Chancellor Hung?"
Hung Mien-lo smiled. "I am."
Sun stared back at him a while, then laughed. "Is that all? Why, if every official who had massaged his accounts were to be arrested, the Seven would quickly find themselves short of servants."
"Maybe so. But you have been caught, Master Sun. I've evidence enough to have you demoted to the Net."
Sun looked back at him, untroubled, his smile intact. He recognized the big squeeze when he saw it. "What do you want, Chancellor? What's the real reason for this meeting?"
"You think I have an ulterior motive, is that it, Master Sun?"
There was movement in Sun's squat face; then, uninvited, he sat down, his features set in a more serious expression. "We are realists, you and I. We know how the wind blows."
"What do you mean?"
Sun sat back, relaxing, his face filled with sudden calculation. "We have been fortunate, you and I. Events have moved strongly in our favor this last year. We have risen while others have fallen away. Our families are strong, our kin powerful."
"So?"
Sun's lips were smiling now, but his eyes were still cold and sharp. "What I mean is this. We should be allies, Hung Mien-lo. Allies, not enemies."
Hung Mien-lo leaned toward him, his expression suddenly hard, uncompromising. "And if I say no?"
For the first time a flicker of uncertainty crossed Sun Li Hua's face. Then, reassuring himself, he laughed. "You would not be talking to me if you had already decided. You would have had me arrested. But that's not your purpose, is it? You want something from me."