But Hung was glaring at him, angry now. "Have you no ears, man? No understanding of the situation you are in?" He shook his head, astonished. "You have dared the ultimate, Sun Li Hua. You have killed a T'ang. And even the merest whisper in some ears of your involvement would bring about your certain death."
"You have no proof. . ." Sun began, then saw that what Hung had said was true. Such a thing needed no proving; it was enough that suspicion existed. And then he understood what Hung Mien-lo had been getting at, why he had raised the matter of the embezzled funds. Demotion to the Net would make him vulnerable. Would place him beyond the protection of law and kin. He stared at his hands a moment, sobered. There was nothing he could do. Hung Mien-lo held all the cards.
He bowed his head. "What do you want?"
Hung Mien-lo studied Sun Li Hua a moment, savoring his victory. For some time now he had wanted to humble the man, to pull him down from his high horse. Today, forced by the Prince to act, he had taken a gamble, had wagered that what he'd guessed about Sun and the old T'ang was true. And had won. But that was only the start. The next step raised the stakes considerably. This time he gambled with his life.
Thus far his hands had been clean. Thus far others had accomplished all he had wished for, as if on his behalf. But now . . .
He took a deep breath, studying the man, making certain in his own mind that this was what he wanted. Then, calmly, his voice controlled, he answered Sun.
"I'll tell you what I want. I want you to kill again. I want you to kill the new T'ang, Wang Ta-hung."
emily ascher's face was dark with anger, her nostrils flared, her eyes wide, glaring at Gesell. She stood face on to him, her hands on her hips, her chin tilted back challengingly.
"Go on! Confront him with it! 1 bet the bastard denies it!"
Gesell's chest rose and fell violently. The news of Shen's death had shaken him badly. Things had been going so well. . . "You're sure?"
She made a sharp, bitter sound of disgust. "It was his knife. The blade with the pearled handle. The one we confiscated from him when he came to see us that time."
"I see . . ."
She leaned closer, her voice lowered to a whisper. "Then you'll kill him, neh? As you said you would if he double-crossed us?"
Gesell shuddered involuntarily, then nodded. "If it's true," he said softly. "But he'll deny it."
"Then you'll know it's true."
"Yes . . ." He turned and looked across to where the albino was standing, watching their exchange. "Where is he?" he demanded, his voice raised for the first time since they had come up in the elevator.
"He'll be here," Lehmann answered coldly.
"And if he's not?" Ascher said softly at his side.
"Then we die here," Gesell said, not looking at her, returning the albino's cold stare.
In the distance there was the stutter of small-arms fire, then a muffled explosion that made the floor shudder beneath their feet. The armaments had been shipped out more than fifteen minutes before. It was time to get out. But they couldn't. Not until Turner was here.
Gesell spat, then turned away, pacing up and down slowly, looking about him at
the men and women gathered in the corridors nearby. "What's keeping him?" he muttered angrily. He could see how tense his people were, how quickly they had caught his mood. Under his breath he cursed Turner. Emily was right. They should never have gotten into this.
Then, as he turned back, he saw him.
"Well," he said quietly, glancing at Ascher. "Here he is now."
DeVore spoke briefly to the albino, then came across. "You're ready?"
Gesell shook his head. "Not yet. I want some answers."
"About Shen Lu Chua?"
Gesell laughed briefly, surprised by his audacity. "You're a cool one, Turner. What happened?"
DeVore was staring back at him, his whole manner candid, open. "I killed him. I had to. He attacked me."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I tried to explain to him why I was there, but he gave me no chance."
"No . . ." Gesell looked to Ascher, then back at DeVore. "I knew Shen. He wouldn't do such a thing."
"You knew him?" DeVore laughed. "Then I guess you knew he was smuggling out eight prisoners? Senior Security officers."
Gesell felt Ascher touch his elbow. "He's lying . . ."
DeVore shook his head. "No. Ask your man Mach to check on it. Shen's sidekick, Yun Ch'o, has taken them to an apartment in Ottersleben. Level Thirty-four. I think you know the place."
Gesell tensed. Maybe Turner was bluffing, stalling for time. But that made no sense. As he said, it was easy for Mach to check. In any case, something else was bothering him. Something Turner hadn't yet explained.
"They tell me they found the body down at One-twenty. Even if it's as you say and Shen was double-crossing us, why were you down there?"
He stepped back sharply as DeVore reached into his uniform jacket. But it wasn't a weapon DeVore drew from his inner pocket. It was a map. Another map. DeVore handed it across to him.
"It was too good an opportunity to miss. I knew it was down there. I'd seen it, you see. Years ago."
Gesell looked up at him again, his mouth open with surprise. "Bremen . . . Gods! It's a Security diagram of Bremen."
"A part of it. The rest I've sent on."
"Sent on?" He was about to ask what Turner meant when one of his messengers pushed through the crowded corridor behind him and came up to him, almost breathless. He made the man repeat the message, then whirled about, facing DeVore.
"There's a problem."
"A problem?" DeVore raised his eyebrows.
"It seems we're trapped. The last of the bridges has been blown."
"I know. I ordered it."
"You what?"
"You heard. We're not going out that way. That's what they're waiting for, don't you see? They'll have worked out what we've done and they'll be sitting there, waiting to pick us off in the side corridors on the other side of the bridge. But I'm not going to give them the opportunity. I've craft waiting for us on the roof." DeVore glanced at the timer inset into his wrist. "We've less than five minutes, however, so we'd best get moving."
Gesell glanced at the map, then looked back at Turner, astonished, the business with Shen forgotten. "You've transporters?"
"That's what I said. But let's go. Before they work out what we're up to."
"But where? Where are we going?"
DeVore smiled. "South. To the mountains."
CHAPTER THREE
Connections
wANG SAU-LEYAN stood before the full-length dragon mirror in his dead father's room watching his own reflection while his brother's maids dressed him.
"You should have seen them! You wouldn't believe how offended they were!" He laughed and bared his teeth. "It was marvelous! They're such hypocrites! Such liars and schemers! And yet they fancy themselves so clean and pure." He turned and glanced across at the Chancellor, his mouth formed into a sneer. "Gods, but they make me sick!"
Hung Mien-lo stood there, his head lowered. He was unusually quiet, his manner subdued, but Wang Sau-leyan barely noticed him; he was too full of his triumph in Council that afternoon. Dismissing the maids, he crossed to the table and lifted his glass, toasting himself.
"I know how they think. They're like ghosts, they travel only in straight lines. But I'm not like them. They'll have prepared themselves next time, expecting me to be rude again, to trample on their precious etiquette. They'll meet beforehand to work out a strategy to deal with my 'directness.' You see if they don't. But I'll wrong-foot them again. I'll be so meek, so sweet-assed and polite they'll wonder if I've sent a double."
He laughed. "Yes, and all the time I'll be playing their game. Undermining them. Suggesting small changes that will require further debate. Delaying and diverting. Querying and qualifying. Until they lose patience. And then . . ."