He looked down, suddenly embarrassed, but she had seen the movement in his eyes, the uncertainty in his face.
Letting the towel fall from her shoulders, she moved up, onto the end of the bed, moving toward him slowly, crawling on all fours, her breasts swinging gently beneath her, her eyes watching him all the while.
"Becky . . ." he said, the sound of it strange, almost pained, but it was too late. His need betrayed itself. She leaned over him, slowly unlacing his tunic.
"It's all right," she said softly, smiling down at him, her fingers caressing the smooth warmth of his chest. "You're home now, my love. Home."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Total War
0UT OVER THE GREAT northern ocean a storm was gathering. Air moistened and made lighter by the unseasonable heat began to rise rapidly, leaving behind it a low-pressure area that drew more air in along the surface of the ocean. That air in turn was moistened and warmed, rising in a great swirling chimney, spiraling in a counterclockwise direction, heading east on the North Atlantic Current, toward the great walled shores of City Europe.
From high above Chung Kuo, a satellite eye noted the buildup of cloud, the ominous shape, and passed impersonal warnings down to its land-based station. There, senior officials of the Ta Ssu Nung, the Superintendency of Agriculture, studied the computer-enhanced infrared images and consulted among themselves. It was a big storm, true, even at this stage, but as yet there was no need for alarm. The front was some two and a half thousand li out, approaching the Biscay Abyssal Plain, and the computer prediction of its course showed that it would in all probability strike the great uncharted island to the west of the Western Isle. There was an objection to this prediction. A very junior official suggested, in the most humble terms, that the area of high pressure moving slowly down from Iceland might push the great storm south. At the same time, a second area of high pressure, over the Iberian Peninsula, was moving north. The effect of this might be to channel the storm into a narrow corridor between the two—a corridor of moist, hot air that would serve only to feed the hurricane and increase its fury.
In the magnificently decorated offices of the Ta Ssu Nung there was a moment's consultation among the senior officials and then a decision was made. If the area of high pressure currently over Iceland were to move south, the cold air that the storm would entrain on its western flank might indeed add fuel to the developing storm, but it would also induce the low to turn to the northeast, thereby missing continental Europe. There were nods all around. All agreed that the storm constituted no threat to the City. In all likelihood it would spend itself over the uncharted island. And even if it was forced south, there was little real chance of damage. The walls of the City were sound, no agricultural regions lay in the path of the storm, and the sea defenses of the great ports of Brest and Nantes were adequate. A warning would be sent to the latter if necessary, but otherwise no action need be taken. There was no need to involve the T'ang or his staff.
Out at sea, however, the storm was gathering force. Six days of unrelenting heat had created unprecedented conditions in the North Atlantic. Moreover, the second area of high pressure, near the Iberian Peninsula, was beginning to feed warm air into the storm system, gradually strengthening the jet stream. Like a great mouth feeding upon the hot, moist air, the great swirl of the hurricane grew, increasing in speed as it went. And as it moved east, so too did the area of high pressure over the Icelandic Basin, changing direction, pushing the storm slowly, inexorably south.
IT WAS six MINUTES to four, and in the dimly lit silence of the corridors surrounding Ujpest stack, Soucek crouched, surrounded by three thousand of his men. Fifty ch'i along the corridor, out of sight beyond the left-hand turn, was the barrier. At this early hour only two men were manning this, the northwestern entrance to the i4K's heartland. Beyond the barrier, eighteen thousand of General Feng's best men slept on, unaware of what the dawn would bring.
Soucek looked about him and smiled, encouraging those nearest. They had planned long and hard for this, and now it was almost time.
Seventeen hundred li to the west, Visak and four thousand men were waiting, positioned about the Wo Shih Wo's heartland in Milan Hsien. Three thousand seven hundred li beyond that, in the corridors surrounding the Canton of Saragossa, Po Lao and a further three thousand men waited to infiltrate the heartland of the Yellow Banners. To the northeast, Lehmann himself led the largest of their forces, an army of fourteen thousand men, crouched in the corridors surrounding Metz, ready to take on Fat Wong and the United Bamboo.
They would hit at once. Four armies, taking on the full might of the Hung Mun at one go, outnumbered eight to one, but with the advantage of surprise. Surprise, and perfect planning.
Communications to the four heartlands would be cut at fourth bell. Minutes later, hallucinogenic and disabling drugs—small capsules placed in the ventilation systems weeks ago—would be pumped into the stacks.
At five minutes past four the first of the false broadcasts would be made, using the taped voices of their enemies' most trusted men; broadcasts that would override the local media stations, feeding deliberately contradictory messages directly into the heartlands.
At ten minutes past, the first of the bombs would go off—the first of many—spreading chaos and panic throughout the enemy stacks. Five minutes later, a series of chemical fires would be set off. Elevators would be shut down, exits blocked.
Maximum disruption, that was Lehmann's aim. Standing there yesterday, after putting the final touches to the plan, he had turned from the map and faced them, quoting Sun Tzu:
"Speed is the essence of war. Take advantage of the enemy's un-preparedness; travel by unexpected routes and strike him where he has taken no precautions."
And so it was, though the hours to come would tell just how unprepared their enemies were.
Soucek looked down at the timer on his wrist. Three minutes to. He turned, giving the signal for his men to put on their masks.
Key men had been bought in their enemies' camps. Men like the two on the barrier; like the guards to General Feng's private rooms. Already assassins were going about their work, creeping silently,
stealthily into forbidden rooms. Making it easier. Reducing the odds against them. Even so, it would be hard. Lehmann had said as much. For this was no skirmish, no simple test of strength, this was war, total war. A war for survival. By the end of today things would be different here below. Changed for all time.
Soucek shivered. And himself? Would he survive this day?
Fifteen seconds...
He raised his arm, tensed, looking about him hawkishly, his whole self gathered in the gesture, then brought it down sharply, hurling himself forward, a great wave of men following him down the corridor toward the barrier.
THIRD OFFICIAL K'UNG sat back in his chair, heaving a sigh of relief. It had been a tiring night tracking the progress of the storm, worrying that the high pressure area moving down from Iceland would push it farther south. But his worst fears seemed not to have materialized. The Icelandic high had drifted east, and after a worrying three hours the storm appeared to have stabilized, holding its course. Latest estimates showed that it would make landfall somewhere out over the southwestern tip of the Western Isle.
K'ung yawned, then looked about him, glad that he would be going off shift shortly. All about him his staff had their heads down, making reports and compiling information. But decisions. . . Well, he was glad he had not had to make a decision this night.