"Well, Soucek? What do you think the bastard wants?"
K'ang's lieutenant, Soucek, was an exercise in contrast to his boss. A tall, almost spiderish man, he had a face designed for mourning: long and bony, with slate-gray eyes that were like the eyes of a dead fish, and lips that seemed drawn by the finest of needles t» a tight slit. He was a man of few words.
"A deal. Maybe a partnership."
"A partnership . . ." K'ang laughed, but his eyes were cold, calculating. He had lost four men to Lehmann already, and there was the growing feeling among the rest that this new man was some kind of power. He cut his laughter off abruptly and turned away, sniffing in deeply.
He had toyed with the idea of bringing Lehmann here and killing him. That would be simplest, easiest. But something stopped him. He had failed once, and besides, maybe he could use him. Make him a lieutenant, like Soucek. The idea attracted K'ang. With such a man in harness who knew what he might achieve? He might even drive Lo Han back in the north and gain access to the lucrative drug trade that came down from Munich stack. And who knew what might come of that?
K'ang looked up again, meeting Soucek's eyes, a faint smile on his well-fleshed face. -"Okay. Set things up. Let's meet the bastard."
k'ang was sitting on the leather sofa, cradling a tumbler of wine in his left hand, when Soucek came in.
"He's here." Soucek laughed; a strange sound coming from that humorless face. "And he's alone. There's no sign of his two henchmen."
K'ang took that in, then nodded. "Good. Bring him in. And make sure there are three or four of our best men in here with us. I don't want to take any chances. Is he armed?"
"Maybe," said Soucek. "He said he'd kill the first man that tried to frisk him."
K'ang laughed uncomfortably. Waving Soucek away, he got up heavily and walked across to the bar. Refilling his glass, he went through what he knew of Lehmann once more, looking for a handle. The strangest thing was that Lehmann had no history. One moment he hadn't been there; the next, there he was. His two associates, Haller and Becker, were faces from the Munich underworld. They had worked for Lo Han before they'd crossed him. Somehow Lehmann had bossed it over them, then, without warning, had muscled in on his, K'ang's, territory. And that was it. The sum total. Except that Lehmann was trained. And, if the reports were accurate, he had heavy munitions. The sort Security used.
So was he a plant? A Security infiltrator? The possibility had made K'ang check through his contacts, costing him dearly for a simple "No." But even before he'd had it confirmed, he had ruled it out. Why should Security bother with the likes of him? They had bigger fish to fry. And anyway, he paid his dues—not light ones either—to keep their eyes turned aside.
Whatever he was, Lehmann didn't fit. And K'ang, who wanted some kind of peace in those stacks and levels the Kuei Chuan Triad allowed him to control, needed him to fit. A deal would be best, but if not a deal, then he'd try again. And again, until Lehmann was a corpse.
That thought was in his mind as he turned to face the door.
Soucek was standing there, one thin-boned hand on the jamb, his body turned away from K'ang, looking out into the corridor. From another door, behind K'ang and to his right, came three of his best men. Killers. Good men to have behind you in a situation like this.
K'ang sipped at his wine, then nodded to himself, knowing how he would play it. As he watched, Soucek backed into the room slowly and stood to the side. The shape of his gun showed clearly through the thin material of his trousers, his hand hovering close by. K'ang smiled at him, as if to say, "Leave this to me," then moved forward a pace.
At that moment Lehmann came into the room.
There was a sudden, perceptible heightening of tension in the room. Two things were evident at once. Lehmann was tall, taller even than the gangly Soucek. And he was an albino. Skin and hair were a deathly white—a pallor emphasized by the whiteness of his simple,
armless tunic and his close-fitting trousers. Even his gun, which he held loosely in his left hand, the barrel pointed at the floor, was painted white. White . . . the color of death.
K'ang heard the sharp indraw of breath of the men behind him. The muscle in his right cheek twitched, but he controlled it and slowly raised a hand in welcome, meeting the albino's eyes. He smiled, exuding confidence, but at the pit of his stomach he was experiencing something he hadn't felt in years. Fear. A plain, naked fear.
AT FIRST Lehmann let K'ang A-yin do all the talking, knowing that his simple presence there, silent among them, the big gun resting in his hand, was eloquent enough. He had seen at once how it was— saw where the real power lay—and, behind the solemn mask of his face, had smiled.
"I can use you," K'ang was saying for the third time. "With me you could go far. I'd reward you well. Look after you."
K'ang was a big man, broad at the shoulders and well-muscled, but some of that muscle had gone to fat and there were definite signs of a paunch developing. K'ang had grown lazy, self-indulgent. Like most of these low-level tong bosses he had grown accustomed to the small luxuries that surrounded him. Moving up, he had cut himself off from the immediacy of the Lowers; had forgotten what had given him his power. Soucek, his deputy, was the real power here. Neither knew it, but the time would have come when Soucek challenged him for control. Now there was no need, for he, Lehmann, had preempted that struggle.
He let his eyes stray a moment, letting no sign of his distaste for the drabness, the sheer ugliness of the room, register on his face. This was the worst of it, he sometimes felt; not the claustrophobic inwardness of everything here, nor the overcrowded poverty of life in the Lowers, but the ugliness, the unmitigated absence of anything that pleased the eye. More than that he missed the mountains, the cold, sharp freshness of the air. Missed the purity of the ice.
"All right," he said, the words so sudden, so out of context, that K'ang's face wrinkled up, not understanding.
"I said all right," he repeated, tucking the gun into the strengthened web holster inside the top of his trousers. "I join you as lieutenant. Equal to Soucek here." He indicated the tall, gangly man without looking at him. "My two men . . . they work with me still, right?"
He could see that K'ang didn't like that. It meant divided loyalties. For a moment K'ang hesitated, then he nodded and held out his hand to make the bargain. It was a large, strong hand, but warm and overfleshed. There were rings on three of the fingers. By contrast Lehmann's hand was like steel, inflexible and cold.
"One further thing," Lehmann said, extending the handshake unnaturally, seemingly oblivious of K'ang's unease. "Your man, K'ang Yeh-su." *
K'ang looked down at his hand, then back up at Lehmann. "What of him?"
"Get rid of him."
"Why?"
"Because he warned me. Sold me information about you."
There was a movement in K'ang's face that betrayed not merely surprise but shock. K'ang Yeh-su was his nephew. His sister's son. For a moment he said nothing. Then, "Why do you tell me this?"
"Because he's weak. Corrupt. He would sell anyone for the same price." Lehmann hesitated, then added, "And because I'm your man now, aren't I?"
For a moment longer he held K'ang's hand, then, as if he had tired of the game, released it. But K'ang hardly noticed. Freed, he turned away and signaled to one of his men. "Bring Yeh-su. Say nothing to him. Just bring him."
"Jelka? Is that you?"
Jelka turned, making her way back down the unlit corridor to her father's study.