"Aren't they beautiful, Wong Yi-sun? Aren't they just peaches?"
Fat Wong smiled, looking across to where the three young boys sheltered in the skirts of their mother, Yun Yueh-hui's daughter.
"They are little emperors, Yueh-hui. If they were my grandsons I would want no more from life."
Dead Man Yun's face creased into a rare smile. He laughed, then slapped Fat Wong's back robustly. "That is so, Wong Yi-sun. I am a blessed man. The gods have truly smiled on me."
Fat Wong reached out, embracing his old friend briefly, touched by his words. One could not count on much in this life, but Yun Yueh-hui had been a staunch ally these past ten years. As safe as T'ai Shan.
"You know what to say?"
Yun nodded, his face impassive. "I know my part in this, Yi-sun, and I am happy with it. We have no choice. We must cleanse ourselves of this scourge before it overwhelms us."
"Indeed." Fat Wong moved back, watching as Yun turned, giving final instructions to his servants. Then, at Yun's signal, they went back into the dining room, the two of them following the servants and their heaped trays.
The others were waiting for them there: Ho Chin, Feng Shang-pao, and Li Chin, the three Bosses looking up from their places at the great oval table. It was a long time since they had met like this, and Fat Wong, looking about him, felt a vague sadness that this should pass. But pass it must. The Great Wheel had turned. Change was inevitable. And he could not let old friendships stand in the way of that. Not unless he wished his family's banner to hang in another's hall.
Fat Wong sat, smiling at each of his fellows in turn, then watched as the servants set out the bowls—thirty courses in all—at the center of the table.
"Why, this is excellent," Three-Finger Ho said, speaking for them all. "It is many years since I ate snake and monkey-brains."
Yun lowered his head slightly. "I am honored that you like my humble fare. But come, ch'un tzu. Let us begin. Before the rice grows cold."
They had met tonight to deal with Lehmann, to settle things, once and for all, but for a time their talk steered clear of the matter, as if it were a jagged rock. Fat Wong was happy with this, savoring the meal, the flow of casual pleasantries, but as the servants began to clear the bowls, he turned the conversation, bringing it directly to the point.
"So what are we to do about this upstart? How are we to rid ourselves of this pai nan jenl"
The term brought smiles from about the table; but they were tense, nervous smiles that faded quickly. "The white man." It was how they had come to talk of Lehmann among themselves, as if the term distinguished him from the other Hung Moo. Moreover, it was apt. For everywhere he went, death—the White T'ang—seemed to follow.
"Let us kill him," Three-Finger Ho said bluntly. "Hire a shoo lin to assassinate him."
"It has been tried," General Feng said, wiping his fingers on the wet cloth, then handing it to the servant behind him. "Whiskers Lu tried it, but our friend was too clever for him. No, if we are to strike, it must be through someone close to him. Someone he trusts."
"Difficult," Li the Lidless interjected, sucking at his fingers noisily. "He lets few come close to him, and those are fiercely loyal. I doubt we would find one among them who would take our blood money. No. We would be better off fighting him."
"A war?" Fat Wong asked, eyeing Li from across the table. "An all-out war, to the death?"
Beside him, Dead Man Yun looked down.
"Exactly," Li Chin said, leaning across to take the last few cashews from one of the bowls before the servant cleared it. "Five against one. How could we lose?"
Fat Wong looked down, suddenly apprehensive. If Li Chin's idea took hold he was in trouble. The agreement he had reached with Li Yuan—whatever its merits in the long run-—depended in the short term on him maintaining peace down here in the Lowers. Were he to break that agreement, who knew how Li Yuan might react? Had his preparations been more advanced he might have risked it. But he was not ready yet. He could not afford to antagonize Li Yuan.
"Is that wise?" he asked quietly, meeting Li's staring, egglike eyes with a show of apparent openness. "I have some sympathy for your view, Li Chin, but think of the cost, the disruption to our enterprises. Have we not always said that it is better to make money than fight wars? Is that not why we have thrived while others have gone under?"
"Maybe so," Li answered. "But when the east wind blows, the wise man bows before it. We must bow to the inevitable, Wong Yi-sun. We must fight the pai nan jen, before it is too late."
"Is war the only course left to us, brother Li?" Dead Man Yun asked, gesturing for his servants to leave the room. "Have we exhausted every other option?"
Li Chin turned, facing Yun. "Every day that passes makes him stronger. Can you not see it, Yun Yueh-hui? We can delay no longer. We must act. At once."
Yun nodded. "Of course. That is why we are here tonight, neh? To deal with this problem before it becomes insoluble. But we must think hard before setting out on such a venture. War is like a fire, easy to start, but hard to control. I do not rule it out. No. But we must save it for our final option, when all else has failed."
Li looked about him, seeing how the others were nodding in agreement and sat back, shrugging. "So what do you propose?"
Yun glanced briefly at Wong Yi-sun, then looked back at Li, his dark eyes staring back unblinkingly from his death-mask face. "I say we starve him out. Destroy his markets. Attack him indirectly, through his middlemen. Undermine him and make his rule untenable."
"And if that fails?"
"Then we fight him."
Li considered a moment, then nodded. "Okay. But how long do you propose we give ourselves? Six months? A year?"
"Six months," Fat Wong said, hiding his satisfaction. Yes, and then there would be war. But not against Lehmann. No. For by that time he would have swallowed Lehmann up, pearl-handled knife and all. "East winds . . ." he said, lifting his wine cup and looking about the table. "Here's to east winds!"
FROM WHERE THEY STOOD, high up on a Fourth Level balcony, overlooking the busy thoroughfare, the two men could see the loaded carts being wheeled back toward the interdeck transit elevator. Lehmann's men were everywhere, keeping the inquisitive at bay, making sure the operation went smoothly and without a hitch.
"You've covered yourself?" Lehmann said, not looking at the man beside him, his eyes taking in everything that was happening down below.
"Naturally," the Major answered casually. "It'll be weeks before they sort out the mix-up. And even then they won't be certain just what happened."
"And your Captains know nothing?"
The Major smiled broadly. "No more than the men. As I said, it's all a question of overlays. Of contradictory information. My man's good. One of the best when it comes to manipulating the records. When the T'ing Wei come to investigate the matter, they'll find two sets of information—two versions of events—and both will be corroborated."
Lehmann glanced at the officer. "And the money?"
"Don't worry, my friend. It's salted away where no prying eyes will find it. As I said, I'm a patient man. Six years from now I can take early retirement, if I want it, that is. When I do, I can look forward to a nice little nest egg, neh? And all this will have been forgotten by then. No one will notice if I live like a T'ang. They will think merely that I have invested wisely over the years."
He laughed, but Lehmann, beside him, was silent, thoughtful. He had paid the Major two and a half million to set this up. A further two and a half was due once this was done. In return he got munitions worth half that much, maybe even less. But it was worth it. Because this way no one would know they had them. This way no rival Boss would get to hear what he was up to.