While he'd been gone, his lieutenant, Wiegand, had shown them around the base, letting them see the mask—the surface installation—while giving no hint of the labyrinth of tunnels that lay beneath.
Gesell glanced at Mach, then looked back, a faint sneer on his lips.
"You want me to say I'm impressed—is that it, Shih Turner?"
"Did I say that?"
Gesell leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. "No. But you're very much a product of your level. And your level likes to impress all those beneath it with the grandeur of their works."
"That's true enough. And are you impressed? Are my works grand enough for you?"
DeVore kept his words light yet challenging, concealing his distaste for the man. Arrogant little bastard. He thought he knew everything. He was useful just now, admittedly—a key to things. But once he'd unlocked a few doors he could be discarded.
He waited for Gesell to respond, but it was Mach who answered him.
"It's very pretty, Shih Turner, but what's it all for? The enemy is in there, in the City, not out here in the Wilds. I don't see the point of building something like this."
DeVore stared back at Mach, then nodded. How astute of you, he thought. How clever to penetrate so far with just one look. But you haven't seen it all. You haven't seen the great hangars, the missile silos, the training halls. And because you haven't, you've no idea what this really is. To you this seems a mere shadow of Bremen, a great fortress designed with only one thought in mind: to protect itself against attack. But this is different. My aim is not to defend my position here but to attack my opponents. To cut their lines and penetrate their territory. "So you think all this a waste of time?"
He saw how Mach looked to Gesell, then lowered his head slightly, letting Gesell take charge again. That concession was further confirmation of what he already suspected. The ideas, the very words the Ping Tiao used—these belonged to Mach. But it was Gesell who held the power. Gesell to whom Mach demurred when his words had to be turned into actions, Gesell leaned forward. "Wasteful, yes. But not a total waste. You seem beyond the reach of the Seven here, and that's good. And I've seen how your men fight. They're well-trained, well-disciplined. In that respect we could learn from you." DeVore hid his surprise at Gesell's candidness. "But?"
Gesell laughed and looked about him. "Well, look at this place! It's so cut off from the realities of what's going on. So isolated. I mean, how can you know what's happening—what's really happening in the levels—when you're so far from it all." DeVore was smiling. "Is that what you think?"
He clicked his fingers. At once a panel slid back overhead and a bank of screens lowered itself into the room: screens that showed scenes from a dozen different levels of the City. Turning back, DeVore saw how impressed they were despite themselves.
"What do you want to see?" he asked. "Where would you like to go in the City? My cameras are everywhere. My eyes and ears. Watching and listening and reporting back. Taking the pulse of things."
As he spoke the images changed, moving from location to location, until, when he clicked his fingers a second time, they froze, all twelve screens showing the same image.
"But that's Shen Lu Chua's man, Yun Ch'o . . ." Gesell began, recognizing the figure below the camera.
"It's Ottersleben," said Mach quietly. "Level 34. He must have taken this earlier."
DeVore studied them, saw how Mach looked down, as if considering what this meant, then looked back up again, watching as a dozen images of himself led a dozen Ping Tiao assault squads in the raid on their comrade Yun Ch'o's apartment. Beside him, Gesell was leaning forward, fascinated by the unfolding action. He saw the brief fight, saw Yun Ch'o fall, mortally wounded; then watched as the eight hostages—the eight Security officers Turner had told them would be there—were led out into the corridor. When it was over Gesell looked back at Turner, smiling tightly.
"That was clever of you, Turner. A nice trick. But it doesn't mean much really, does it?"
"Like the T'ang's ear, you mean, or the map of Helmstadt?" DeVore laughed, then moved closer. "You're a hard man to convince, Shih Gesell. What must I do to satisfy you?"
Gesell's features hardened. "Show me the other maps. The maps of Bremen."
"And in return?"
But before Gesell could answer, the woman, Ascher, interrupted him.
"You're talking deals here, but it's still a mystery to me, Shih Turner. If you're so powerful, if you can do so much, then why do you need us? This base you've had built, the raid on Helmstadt, the killing of Wang Hsien—any one of these things is far beyond anything we could do. So why us?"
Gesell was glaring at her angrily. DeVore studied the Ping Tiao leader a moment, then half turned, looking back at the woman.
"Because what I can do is limited."
She laughed coldly, staring back at him, her dislike unconcealed. "Limited by what?"
"By funding. By opportunity."
"And we have those?"
"No. But you have something much more valuable. Your organization has potential. Vast potential. All this—everything I've patiently built over the last eight years—is, as Shih Mach so rightly described it, inflexible. Your organization is different. It's a kind of organism, capable of vast growth. But to achieve that you need to create the best climate for that growth. What we did yesterday was a beginning. It raised your public profile while giving you considerable firepower. Both things strengthened you considerably. Without me, however, you would have had neither."
Gesell interrupted. "You're wrong. You needed us."
DeVore turned back. "Not at all. I could have taken Helmstadt on my own. You've seen my men, Shih Gesell. You've even remarked on how good their training and discipline is. Well, I've a thousand more where they came from. And a thousand beyond them. No, I asked you to join me yesterday because such a relationship as we must forge has to be reciprocal. There has to be give and take. I gave you Helmstadt. As, in time, I'll give you Bremen. But you must give me something back. Not a great thing. I'd not ask that of you yet. But some small thing to cement our partnership. Some favor 1 might find it difficult to undertake myself."
"A small thing?" Gesell was staring at him suspiciously.
"Yes. I want you to kill someone for me. A child."
"A child?"
DeVore clicked his fingers. The images on the screens changed; showed a dozen separate portraits of an adolescent girl, her ash-blond shoulder-length hair loose in some shots, tied in plaits in others. Her straight-boned slender figure was caught in a dozen different poses, dressed casually as if at home, or elegantly in the latest First Level fashions.
"But that's . . ."
"Yes," DeVore said, looking up at the screens. "It's Jelka Tolonen. Marshal Tolonen's daughter."
JELKA HAD JUST FINISHED her exercises when her father entered the exercise hall. Her instructor, Siang Che, seeing him, bowed then backed away, busying himself at the far end of the gym.
She turned, hearing a different tread, then laughed, her young face breaking into a great beam of a smile. "Daddy! You're back early!" She ran across, reaching up to hug him to her. "What's up? I didn't expect you until the weekend."
"No," he said, smiling down at her, lowering his head to kiss her brow. "I'd almost forgotten . . ."
"Forgotten what?"
Tolonen put one hand on her shoulder. "Not here. Let's go through to your rooms. I'll talk to you once you've changed, neh?"
He stood there, looking about her room while she showered. It was not a typical young girl's room. Not by any means. In a box in one comer were flails and batons, practice swords, chucks and staffs, while high up on the wall was a brightly colored painting of Mu-Lan, the famous warrior heroine, dressed in full military armor, her expression fierce as she took up a defensive pose. Old maps and charts covered the front of the built-in wardrobes to the left, while to the right most of the wall space was filled with Jelka's own hand-drawn designs—machines and weaponry, their ugly purpose disguised somehow by the sleek elegance of her pen.