Wu Shih sat on his throne. Behind him giant dragons of gold and green were emblazoned on huge banners of red. Wu Shih wore yellow, the color of imperial authority, the nine dragons—eight seen and one hidden—emblazoned front and back. He watched silently as Kennedy went through the son kuei chiu k'ou, then nodded his satisfaction.
"You may lift your head, Shih Kennedy."
Kennedy looked up, surprised by the power, the resonance in Wu Shih's voice, and, at a glance, saw how things were. Here his victories in the recent polls mattered nothing. Here, knelt beneath the dragon throne, he understood.
Wu Shih stared down at him a moment, then laughed; humorlessly, imperiously.
"Things have changed since we last spoke, Shih Kennedy. You are more dangerous, more attractive than you were. How strange that seems, yet it was not wholly unexpected. Your success has merely hastened things. Has made it necessary for me to act a little sooner than I wished."
Kennedy looked for Wu Shih's hands and found them among the folds of yellow cloth. They were as he remembered them. Not soft, like his facial features, but hard and strong. The T'ang's face was deceptive, for it suggested that one might deal with this man, but not the eyes, the hands. They revealed the kind of man Wu Shih really was. A man of great power. Ruthless and uncompromising.
"I'll not prolong things, Shih Kennedy," Wu Shih said, leaning forward slightly, his omission of Kennedy's official rank the most casual of insults. "I take you for a clever man, one who can see how things are, therefore I'll not insult you with evasions, nor humor you with airy promises. No. I have brought you here for the simplest of reasons. To make a contract between us."
Kennedy opened his mouth slightly, then closed it, bowing his head.
"Good. I respect a man who understands how things really are. Such good sense saves time in explanations, and right now I am an impatient man."
From Wu Shih's smile, Kennedy understood that some irony was intended, but it passed him by. "I shall agree, of course, to whatever you ask, Chieh Hsia, but if it is to be a contract, might I know what consideration I should expect?"
The T'ang smiled tightly. "Of course." He paused, then nodded. The smile had gone. "For your part you will continue as you are, speaking out against the policies of the Seven and opposing our measures in the House. Seeming to be what you are not."
There was a moment's silence between them; a moment in which Kennedy, for the first time, understood exactly what was required of him. Feeling cold suddenly, alienated from himself, he slowly bowed his head, listening, knowing what was to come.
"You will continue to campaign as now. In fact, you will act in all respects as though no contract existed between us. Short of open insurrection, that is."
"And in return?"
"In return I will pay off all your campaign debts. More than that, I am prepared to fund an expansion of your activities and any incidental expenses that occur. Your friend Michael Levers medical bills, for instance."
Kennedy looked down, surprised, trying to make sense of things; but for the moment Wu Shih's purpose evaded him. There was a moment's silence, then Wu Shih spoke again.
"Your wife . . . how is she?"
"She is fine, Chieh Hsia."
"And your sons? Are they well after their treatment?"
He nodded, feeling a tightness at the pit of his stomach.
"That's good. I like them." Wu Shih laughed; a softer, more generous sound than before. "Indeed, I like you, Joseph Kennedy. You are a good man and I wish you no harm. However . . ."
Kneeling there, Kennedy felt that "however" hang in the air above him, like a vast weight about to fall.
"Well, let us be plain, Shih Kennedy. I am not blind to the currents of our times. I can see, for instance, that you are the man of the moment; that what you presently stretch your hand out to grasp will shortly be there within your palm."
Wu Shih leaned forward, his voice raised the slightest fraction. "Oh, and don't mistake me, either. I know how you see us. Cut off from things. Isolated behind a screen of Ministers and minor bureaucrats. Yet the truth is other than you think. Because we spend so much of our time up here you think we are out of touch. Secluded. But our history is full of events that warn of the dangers of seclusion, and we have made it our business to avoid this error—to trust no one and to know everything. This is Wu Shih you are dealing with, Shih Kennedy, not Han Huan Ti!"
For a brief moment Kennedy met the T'ang's dark, hawkish eyes and saw, rather than the scorn he'd expected, something that was almost respect.
Han Huan Ti, as every schoolchild knew, was an Emperor of the ancient Han dynasty who had ruled through his court eunuchs and had been totally cut off from the realities of his great empire. His reign had been an evil time, characterized by popular uprisings and opposed by scholars and soldiers alike. The point was not lost on Kennedy. "Then you know I have another meeting, Chieh Hsia?"
Wu Shih nodded. "Three days from now. With my old friends, the 'Sons.11 understand they wish to join your organization."
It was more than Kennedy knew. "Perhaps," he said. "And you would oppose that, Chieh Hsia?"
"Not at all. It would make sound political sense, after all. And with you to keep an eye for me . . ."
Kennedy's knees were beginning to ache. He shifted his weight gently. "Then this . . . contract makes no difference, Chieh Hsia?"
"On the contrary, it makes all the difference. For there will come a moment—a single moment—when you will think you have outgrown me."
Wu Shih paused, then stood up. Slowly he came down the steps until he stood there, over the American, his foot raised, touching the brow of the other.
"It is then, at that very moment, that our contract will find its meaning. Then, when you think it matters least, that it will bind you."
It had been the very lightest of touches, the merest brush of the T'ang's silk slipper against the flesh of his forehead, but behind that almost tender contact was .such a depth of brutality that Kennedy shuddered and felt his stomach tighten, his testicles contract, the naked reality of what he was doing hitting him.
"Come," said the T'ang, stepping back. "The machine is ready."
CHARLES LEVER strode about the room, red-faced and angry. He had been drinking heavily, and his temper hadn't been improved by the news his accountant had brought him.
"How much7." he demanded, turning back to face the sour-faced man who sat there in the chair in the corner of the room.
"About eleven million in all. Most of it drawn against bonds payable on his inheritance. High rates, but what does he care?"
Lever went to the table and poured another glass of brandy from the decanter, swilling it down thoughtlessly. "The scheming little bastard! And to think I wasted my sympathy on him!" He laughed unpleasantly. "Well, they won't see a /en! I'll disinherit the little shit! Then they can chase him for satisfaction!"
His lawyer, standing by the door, sighed and looked away, holding his tongue. There would be time later, when the old man had calmed down, to explain the difficulties of disinheriting Michael, not least of which was the fact that there was no one else to inherit. Not without tracing the most distant of relations.
"Will you see Hartmann now?" asked Lever's private secretary, poking his head around the door. It was the fourth time he had asked.
"Fuck Hartmann! What use is the bastard now?"
The head disappeared; went off to tell the ex-Representative— released pending trial on Lever's personal bond for twenty million— that his master was indisposed and could not see him yet.