For a moment he was perfectly still, watching her, a tiny thrill of delight rippling through him. She was so strong, so perfectly formed. He felt his flesh stir and gave a soft laugh, going across.
He closed his eyes, embracing her from behind, the warm softness of her skin, that sense of silk over steel, intoxicating. She turned, folding into his arms, her face coming up to meet his in a kiss.
"You must go," she said, smiling.
"Must I?"
"Yes, you must. Besides, haven't you had enough?"
He shook his head, his smile broadening. "No. But you're right. I must go. There's much to be done."
Her smile changed to a look of concern. "You should have slept. . ."
He laughed. "And you'd have let me?"
She shook her head.
"No. And nor could I with you beside me."
"The time will come ..."
He laughed. "Maybe. I can't imagine it, but. . .
She lifted her hand. "Here."
He took the two pills from her and swallowed them down. They would keep him awake, alert, for another twelve to fifteen hours—long enough to get things done. Then he could sleep. If she'd let him.
"Is it important?" Marie asked, a note of curiosity creeping into her voice.
"It is the T'ang's business," he answered cryptically, stone-faced, then laughed. "You must learn patience, my love. There are things I have to do ... well, they're not always pleasant."
She put a finger to his lips. "I understand. Now go. I'll be here, waiting, when you get back."
He stood back from her, at arm's length, his hands kneading her shoulders gently, then bent forward, kissing her breasts. "Until then . . ."
She shivered, then came close again, going up on tiptoe to kiss the bridge of his nose. "Take care, my love, whatever it is."
"Okay, Major Karr. You can take off the blindfold."
Karr removed the green silk headband and looked about him, surprised. "Where are we? First Level?"
The servant lowered his head respectfully, but there was a smile on his face. He was too wary, too experienced in his Master's service, to be caught by such a blatant attempt to elicit information, but he was also aware that, blindfolded as he was, Karr knew he had been taken down the levels, not up.
"If you would follow me . . ."
Karr smiled and followed, taken aback by the elegance of the rooms through which they passed. He had not thought such luxury existed here just above the Net, but it was not really that surprising. He had read the report on the United Bamboo; had seen the financial estimates for the last five years. With an annual turnover of one hundred and fifteen billion yuan, Fat Wong, the big boss of United Bamboo, could afford luxuries like these. Even so, it was unexpected to find them in such a setting. Like finding an oasis on Mars.
It was nothing like the palace of a T'ang, of course; even so, there was something impressive about this place, if only that it was set amid such squalor.
Karr looked down, noting that the floor mosaic mirrored that of the ceiling overhead. Nine long, thick canes of bamboo were gripped by a single, giant hand, the ivory yellow of the canes and the hand contrasted against the brilliant emerald green of a paddy field. Karr smiled, thinking of how often he had seen that symbol, on the headbands of dead runners trapped in Security ambushes, or on the packaging of illicitly smuggled goods that had made their way up from the Net. And now he was to meet the head behind that grasping hand—the 489 himself. The servant had stopped. Now he turned, facing Karr again, and bowed deeply. "Forgive me, Major Karr, but I must leave you here. If you would go through, my Master will be with you in a while."
Karr went through, past a comfortably furnished anteroom and out into a long, spacious gallery with a moon door at each end. Here, on the facing walls, were displayed the banners of the thirty or more minor Triads that the United Bamboo had conquered or assimilated over the centuries. Karr made his way down the row, stopping at the last of the banners.
He reached up, touching the ancient silk gently, delicately, conscious that it was much older than the others hanging there. The peacock blue of the banner had faded, but the golden triangle at its center still held something of its former glory. In the blue beside each face of the triangle was embroidered a Han word, the original red of the pictograms transformed by time into a dull mauvish-brown, like ancient bloodstains. He gave a little shudder, then offered the words softly to the air.
"Tian. Nan Jen. Tu."
Heaven. Man. Earth. He turned, meaning to study the banners on the other wall, then stopped, noticing the figure that stood inside the moon door at the far end of the gallery.
"You walk quietly, Wong Yi-sun. Like a bird."
Fat Wong smiled, then came forward, his cloth-clad feet making no sound on the tiles.
"I am delighted to meet you, Major Karr. Your reputation precedes you."
Karr bowed, then looked up again, noting how the smile remained even as Wong's eyes looked him up and down, assessing him.
Contrary to public expectations, Fat Wong was not fat at all. Quite the contrary—he was a compact, wiry-looking man, who in his peach silks and bound white feet looked more like a successful First Level businessman than the reputedly savage leader of one of the seven biggest Triads in City Europe. Karr had read the file and seen holos of Wong; even so, he found himself unprepared for the soft-spokenness of the man, for the air of sophistication that seemed to emanate from him.
"1 am honored that you would see me, Wong Yi-sun. A thousand blessings upon your sons."
"And yours, Major. I understand you are recently married. A fine, strong woman, I am told." Wong's smile broadened. "I am happy for you. Give her my best regards. A man needs a strong wife in these unhappy times, neh?"
Karr bowed his head. "Thank you, Wong Yi-sun. I will pass on your kind words." Fat Wong smiled and let his eyes move from Karr's figure for the first time since he had entered the room. Released from his gaze, Karr had a better opportunity of studying the man. Seen side-on, one began to notice those qualities that had made Wong Yi-sun a 489. There was a certain sharpness to his features, a restrained tautness, that equated with reports on him. When he was younger, it was said, he had gone into a rival's bedroom and cut off the man's head with a hatchet, even as he was making love to his wife, then had taken the woman for his own. Later, he had taken the name Fat Wong, because, he claimed, the world was a place where worm ate worm, and only the biggest, fattest worm came out on top. From then on he had worked day and night to be that worm—to be the fattest of them all. And now he was. Or almost.
"I noticed you were admiring the ancient silk, Major. Do you know the history of the banner?"
Karr smiled. "I have heard something of your history, Wong Yi-sun, but of that banner I am quite ignorant. It looks very old."
Wong moved past Karr, standing beneath the banner, then turned, smiling up at the big man.
"It is indeed. More than four hundred years old, in fact. You say you know our history, Major Karr, but did you realize just how old we are? Before the City was, we were. When the City no longer is, we shall remain."
Wong's smile broadened, and Karr, watching him, remembered what Novacek had told him—that the higher officials of the Triads never smiled in the company of strangers—and felt wrong-footed once more.
Wong Yi-sun moved down the row of banners, then turned, facing Karr again.
"People call us criminals. They say we seek to destroy the social fabric of Chung Kuo, but they lie. Our roots are deep. We were founded in the late seventeenth century by the five monks of the Fu Chou monastery—honorable, loyal men, whose only desire was to overthrow the Ch'ing, the Manchu, and replace them with the rightful rulers of Chung Kuo, the Ming. Such was our purpose for a hundred years. Before the Manchu drove us underground, persecuting our members and cutting dff our resources. After that we were left with no choice. We had to improvise."