Jelka hesitated, watching him a moment longer, seeing how he looked down at the book in his hand as if it were a mystery he needed to resolve; then she turned and went through into the other room, looking for Lu Cao.
"Well, what is it?"
Auden took Ebert to one side, out of earshot of the two guards. "I think we may have stumbled onto something."
Ebert smiled. "What kind of thing?"
"A link. A possible explanation for what happened the other night."
Ebert's smile broadened. "How good a link? Good enough to make me late for an appointment with the Minister's wife?"
Auden returned the smile. "I think so."
They went inside. The/ prisoner was a Han. A young man in his late twenties. He was well-dressed and neatly groomed but sweating profusely.
"Who is this?" Ebert asked, as if the man had no existence, no identity other than that which he or Auden gave him.
"He's a close relative of one of the murdered men. The victim was a merchant, Lu Tung. This is his third cousin, Lu Wang-pei. It seems he depended on Lu Tung for funds. To repay gambling debts and the like."
Lu Wang-pei had bowed his head at the mention of his name, but neither of the officers paid him the slightest attention. His eyes followed them as they moved about the room, but otherwise he was perfectly still. In this he had no choice for he was bound tightly to the chair.
Ebert looked about him at the sparsely furnished room. "So what have you found?"
"Forensic evidence shows that the bomb was hidden inside a package—a present delivered to Lu Tung's apartments only minutes before the explosion. It seems that our man here delivered that package."
"I see. So in this case we have our murderer?"
"Yes and no. Wang-pei had no idea what he was delivering. That's not to say he wasn't culpable in some small degree, because he did agree to deliver it." "For someone else?"
Auden smiled. "That's right. For three men. Business rivals of Lu Tung's, so they claimed. It seems they bought up our friend's gambling debts, then offered to wipe the slate clean if he'd do a little favor for them." "The package." "Exactly. They told him they wanted to frighten his uncle. To shake him up a little."
Ebert laughed. "Well. . . And so they did!"
"Yes," Auden looked down momentarily. "And there it would end, were it not for the fact that Wang-pei here didn't trust his new friends. He secreted a camera on himself when he went to make his collection. Here."
He handed the flat 3-D image to Ebert, then watched as his initial puzzlement changed into a smile of enlightenment. "DeVore . . ."
Auden nodded. "Yes. But it was the two at the front Wang-Pei dealt with. They did all the talking."
"And who are they?"
"One's an ex-Security man. Max Wiegand. A good man, it seems. He had an excellent service record."
"And the other?"
"We couldn't get a trace on him. But look at the pallor of his skin. He looks albinic. If so he might be wearing contact lenses to disguise the color of his eyes."
"Hmmm . . ." Ebert handed back the flat. "And what does our man here know?"
"Nothing much. I think he's telling the truth. I've checked on the gambling debts. I'd guess it happened exactly as he told us."
Ebert nodded, then turned, looking directly at the Han for the first time since he'd entered the room. "All right. Leave him with me a moment. I'll see whether we can find out anything more."
When Auden had gone, Ebert walked over and stood directly in front of the Han, looking down at him contemptuously.
"As far as I'm concerned, Shih Lu, I couldn't care a shit if you Han butchered one another until the corridors ran red. If that was all that was at stake here I'd let you go. But it's not. You made a mistake. A fortunate mistake for me. But for you . . ."
He lashed out viciously, catching the Han across the nose. Wang-pei drew his head back, groaning, his eyes wide with shock. Blood ran freely from his nose.
"Tell me the truth. What's your connection to these men? When did you first start working for them?"
Wang-pei began to shake his head, but Ebert hit him again; a stinging blow across the ear that made him cry out, his face distorted with pain.
"I never saw them before . . ." he began. "It's as I said—"
The third blow knocked him backward, the chair tilting out from under him. Ebert followed through at once, kicking him once, twice, in the stomach. Hard, vicious kicks that made the Han double up, gasping.
"You know nothing, eh? Nothing! You fuck-head! You pissing fuck-head chink! Of course you know nothing!"
He kicked again, lower this time. The Han began to vomit. Ebert turned away, disgusted. Of course he knew nothing. DeVore was not that stupid. But he had slipped up this time. He should have kept out of it. Should have let his two henchmen do all the front work.
The door beside him opened. ••••'
"Are you all right. . . ?"
He looked across at Auden, smiling. "I'm fine. But this one's dead." **
Auden stared back at him a moment, then nodded. "And the guards?"
Ebert looked back at the Han, his smile broadening. "They saw nothing. Okay? You deal with them, Will. I'll recompense you."
The Han lay there, wheezing for breath, his frightened eyes staring up at them imploringly.
Auden nodded. "All right. But why? After all, we have the link."
"Yes. And we're going to keep it, understand me? I want DeVore. I want to nail him. But I want it to be me. Me. Understand? Not some other bastard."
Auden looked down, his expression thoughtful. "I see."
"Good. Then I'll leave you to tidy things up. I've kept the Minister's wife waiting far too long already."
CHEN WAS WAITING for Haavikko when he came out of the Officers Mess. He hung back, careful not to let the young Hung Moo spot him even though he could see that Haavikko was the worse for drink. He smiled bitterly. Yes, that was in the file, too, along with all the brawling, the whoring, the gambling, and all the other derelictions of duty.
But that was as nothing beside the fact of his treason. Chen felt a shiver of anger ripple through him and let his hand rest momentarily on the handle of his knife. Well, he would cut a confession from him if he had to, piece by tiny piece. Because if Haavikko was behind the butchery at Helmstadt . . .
He stopped, moving in to the side. Up ahead of him Haavikko had paused, leaning against the wall unsteadily, as if about to be sick. But when a fellow officer approached him, he turned quickly, his movements exaggerated by drunkenness, letting out a string of obscenities. The officer put his hands out before him in apology, backing away, then turned and walked off, shaking his head.
Chen felt the bile rise again. Haavikko was a disgrace. To think what he might have become. And to waste it so ... He shook his head, then began to move again, keeping the man in sight.
Twenty levels down he watched as Haavikko fumbled with the combination to his door, then slumped against the wall, making three attempts at it before he matched his eye to the indented pad. Then Chen was moving quickly, running the last few ch'i as the door began to iris shut.
Haavikko swung round, his bleary eyes half-lidded, his jacket already discarded, as Chen came through into the room.
"What the fuck ... ?"
Chen had drawn his knife, a big knife with a wickedly curved blade that glinted razor-sharp in the overhead lights. "Haavikko? Axel Haavikko?"
He saw the flicker of fear in the young man's eyes as he staggered back and almost fell against the bed.
"What . . . what you want?" The words were slurred, almost incoherent.
"I think you know . . ." Chen began, moving closer. But suddenly Haavikko was no longer awkward, his movements no longer slow and clumsy. Chen found himself thrown backward by the man's charge, the knife knocked from his hand by a stinging blow. But before Haavikko could follow up, Chen had rolled aside and jumped to his feet again, his body crouched in a defensive posture.