All Security garrisons were marked in a heavier shade of yellow, Bremen to the northwest, close to the coast, Kiev to the east, almost off the map, Bucharest far to the south; these three the most important of the twenty shown. Weimar, to the southeast of Bremen, was marked with a golden circle, forming a triangle with the Berlin garrison to the northeast.
Two large areas were marked in red, both in the bottom half of the map. One, to the left, straddled the old geographic areas of Switzerland and Austria; the other, smaller and to the right, traced the border of old Russia and cut down into Rumania. In these ancient, mountainous regions—the Alps and the Carpathians—the City stopped abruptly, edging the wilderness. They formed great, jagged holes'in its perfect whiteness.
Again in the top right-hand section of the map the dominant whiteness ceased abruptly in a line extending down from Danzig hsien to Poznan, and thence to Krakow and across to Lvov, ending on the shores of the Black Sea, at Odessa. This, shaded the soft green of springtime, was the great growing area, where the Hundred Plantations—in reality eighty-seven—were situated; an area which comprised some twenty-eight percent of the total landmass of City Europe. DeVore's own plantation was in the northwest of this area, adjoining the garrison at Lodz.
He let them study the map a while, accustoming themselves once again to its details, then drew their attention to the large red-shaded area to the bottom left of the map.
To him the outline of the Swiss Wilds always looked the same. That dark red shape was a giant carp turning in the water, its head facing east, its tail flicking out toward Marseilles hsien, its cruel mouth open, poised to eat Lake Balaton, which, like a tiny minnow, swam some three hundred It to the east. Seven of the great Security garrisons ringed the Wilds—Geneva, Zurich, Munich, and Vienna to the north, Marseilles, Milan, and Zagreb to the south. Strategically that made little sense, for the Wilds were almost empty, yet it was as if the City's architect had known that this vast, jagged hole—this primitive wilderness at the heart of its hivelike orderliness—would one day prove its weakest point. '
As, indeed, it would. And all the preparedness of architects would not prevent the City's fall. He leaned forward and jabbed his finger down into the red, at a point where the carp's backbone seemed to twist.
"Here!" he said, looking about him and seeing he had their attention. "This is where our base will be."
He reached into the drawer beneath the table and drew out the transparent template, then laid it down over the shaded area. At once that part of the map seemed to come alive; was overlaid with a fine web of brilliant gold, the nodes of which sparkled in the overhead light.
They leaned closer, attentive, as he outlined the details of his scheme. Three nerve centers, built deep into the mountainsides, joined to a total of eighteen other fortresses, each linked by discrete communication systems to at least two other bases, yet each capable of functioning independently. The whole thing hidden beneath layers of ice and rock, untraceable from the air: a flexible and formidable system of defenses from which they would launch their attack on the Seven. And the cost?
The cost they knew already. It was a staggering sum. Far more than any one of them could contemplate. But together . . .
DeVore looked from face to face, gauging their response, coming to Weis last of all.
"Well, Shih Weis? Do you think your backers would approve?"
He saw the flicker of uncertainty at the back of Weis's eyes, and smiled inwardly. The man was still conditioned to think like a loyal subject of the T'ang. Even so, if he could be pushed to persuade his backers . . .
DeVore smiled encouragingly. "You're happy with the way funds will be channeled through to the project, I assume?"
Weis nodded, then leaned forward, touching the template.
"This is hand drawn. Why's that?"
DeVore laughed. "Tell me, Shih Weis, do you trust all your dealings to the record?"
Weis smiled and others about the table laughed. It was a common business procedure to keep a single written copy of a deal until it was considered safe for the venture to be announced publicly. It was too easy to gain access to a company's computer records when everyone used the same communications web.
"You want the T'ang to know our scheme beforehand?"
Weis withdrew his hand, then looked at DeVore again and smiled. "I think my friends will be pleased enough, Major."
DeVore's face did not change immediately, but inwardly he tensed. It had been agreed beforehand that they would refer to him as Shih Scott. Weis, he was certain, had not forgotten that, nor had he mentioned his former Security rank without some underlying reason.
You're dead, thought DeVore, smiling pleasantly at the man as if amused by his remark. As soon as you're expendable, you're dead.
"I'm delighted, Shih Weis. Like yourself, they will be welcome anytime they wish to visit. I would not ask them to fund anything they cannot see with theif own eyes."
He saw the calculation at the back of Weis's eyes that greeted his comment—saw how he looked for a trap in every word of his—and smiled inwardly. At least the man was wise enough to know how dangerous he was. But his wisdom would not help him in this instance.
DeVore turned to Barrow. "And you, Under Secretary? Have you anything to add?"
Barrow had succeeded to Lehmann's old position, and while his contribution to this scheme was negligible, his role as leader of the Dispersionist faction in the House made his presence here essential. If he approved then First Level would approve, for he was their mouthpiece, their conscience in these times of change.
Barrow smiled sadly, then looked down. "I wish there were some other way, Shih Scott. I wish that pressure in the House would prove enough, but I am realist enough to know that change—real change—will only come now if we push from every side." He sighed. "Your scheme here has my sanction. My only hope is that we shall never have to use it against the Seven."
"And mine, Barrow Chen." DeVore assured him, allowing no trace of cynicism to escape into his voice or face. "Yet as you say, we must be realists. We must be prepared to use all means to further our cause. We Europeans have been denied too long."
Afterward, alone with Berdichev and Douglas, he talked of minor things, concealing his pleasure that his scheme had their sanction and—more important—their financial backing. Times have certainly changed, he thought, admiring a small rose quartz snuff bottle Douglas had handed him from a cabinet to one side of the study. Three years ago they would have hesitated before speaking against the Seven; now—however covertly—they sanction armed rebellion.
"It's beautiful," he said. And indeed it was. A crane, the emblem of long life, stood out from the surface of the quartz, flanked by magpies, signifying good luck; while encircling the top of the bottle was a spray of peonies, emblematic of spring and wealth. The whole thing was delightful, almost a perfect work of art, yet small enough to enclose in the palm of his hand.
"One last thing, Howard."
DeVore raised his head, aware of the slight hesitation in Berdichev's voice. "What is it? Is there a problem?"
"Yes and no. That is, there is only if you feel there's one."
DeVore set the rose quartz bottle down and turned to face his friend. "You're being unusually cryptic, Soren. Are we in danger?"
Berdichev gave a short laugh. "No. It's nothing like that. It's ... well, it's Lehmann's son."
DeVore was silent a moment. He looked at Douglas, then back at Berdichev. "Lehmann's son? I didn't know Pietr had a son."
"Few did. It was one of his best-kept secrets."