As he came she cried out, convulsing beneath him, thrusting up against him as if to split herself, her hands gripping his buttocks fiercely while he groaned as if he'd been speared, forcing his seed deep into her, each thrust now like a dagger blow, his teeth gritted, his whole face contorted in a rictus of pain. Again! Again! Again!
HE WOKE AN HOUR LATER, his head nestled between her breasts, her arms about his neck and shoulders. For a while he lay there, contented, happy simply to listen to her gentle breathing, to feel the soft warmth of her flesh against his own. Like paradise, he thought. Then, knowing he must get back, he gently broke from her, easing up off the bed.
He stood there a moment, staring at her, aroused once more by the sight of her. It would be easy simply to stay here for a day or two. To sleep and make love and damn the world outside. After all, that was a T'ang's privilege. But a T'ang had responsibilities, too, and right now the world was a place of threats and chaos. Right now the world would allow him only a few snatched moments of pleasure.
He shuddered, then began to dress. For a moment he had forgotten everything—everything but her. He smiled, remembering. The first time had been fierce, like the violent coupling of animals, the second tender, softly, astonishingly gentle. And between ... He laughed, surprised by it. Between times he had fallen in love with her.
Fastening the last button of his jacket, he turned, looking at her again, then went across and, leaning over her, planted gentle kisses on her neck, her cheek, her brow.
"Tonight," he whispered. Then, moving back, he straightened up, preparing himself to go out and face the greater world once more.
Tonight, he thought, knowing that there was at least this one sweet certainty amid all else. I shall come to you tonight, my darling Shu-sun.
But first there was one other matter to be settled.
THEY WERE IN TRANSIT when it began—traveling south from Milan garrison, their cruiser flitting less than a hundred ch'i above the City's roof, as if across a vast, smooth snowscape.
"What's happening?" Tolonen demanded, leaning across to touch Von Pasenow's arm.
The ex-Major looked up and grimaced. "It looks like their contact has arrived. They're decamping. If we don't hit them now ..."
"Then hit them," Tolonen said sternly. "But remember what I said. I want at least one of them alive. Tell your men to shoot to disable if they can, not to kill."
"And if they suicide?"
"That's a risk we'll have to take."
Von Pasenow stared at him a moment, then nodded and got back on to his man in Cosenza.
They arrived ten minutes later, setting down beside one of the security hatches. By then it was all over.
"Let's hope they've left us something," Tolonen said as they climbed down from the craft.
"Or someone," Von Pasenow said beneath his breath, fearing the Worst.
Down below it was chaos. Someone had shot at one of the Shen T'se before the ambush was properly set. As a result more than twenty of their own men had been killed or critically wounded. Of the Shen T'se, only one was still alive, and that was because they had blown off both his arms and one of his feet. He lay in one of the rooms, under heavy guard, his wounds freeze-staunched, his condition kept stable by the Resuscitation Machine he was strapped to.
Tolonen went to inspect the dead first, spending a long time staring at the five Shen T'se, murmuring to himself about loyalty and trust, and wondering aloud how such men as these could be bought. Eventually he left them and came through, frowning fiercely as he studied the half-conscious man.
"You know him?" Von Pasenow asked.
"I did," Tolonen answered. "Or thought I did. He was a good man." He heaved a sigh, then sniffed deeply. "But then, men are not to be taken at face value any longer."
The Marshal turned, looking directly at Von Pasenow. "It began with that rascal DeVore. From him it was contracted by my erstwhile son-in-law, Hans Ebert. And from there, it seems, it has spread, like some contagious disease. The disease of seeming. It hollows a man and replaces him with a shadow, a puppet man, dancing to another's orders. So here."
He went across and stood over the wounded Shen T'se, his face pained.
"Sergeant Hoff ... do you know who's speaking to you?"
Hoff s eyes slowly opened. "Marshal Tolonen? Is that you?"
"Hoff ... I need to know a few things, and I need to know them now."
Hoff shook his head.
"I'll make it simple, Sergeant. You tell me now I'll kill you, quickly and mercifully. You know I can do that, don't you?"
Hoff nodded, suddenly more alert.
"If you keep silent, however"—Tolonen sniffed—"well, I think you've a good enough imagination, neh, Sergeant? I could keep you alive, what, thirty, maybe forty years. And every day of that you would be in agony. In a hell that would make your present condition seem like bliss. So ... what is it to be? A quick death or an eternity of suffering?"
Hoff closed his eyes and groaned. "What do you want to know?"
"Who bought you? Who paid you? Who gave you your orders?" He paused, then, leaning closer. "And here's the big one. Where's the boy? Tell me that and I may even offer you a better deal."
Hoff shivered, then opened his eyes again, looking directly at the old man.
"Our contact was a man named Ruddock. He's a Minor Official according to his Security file, but in point of fact he's one of the main mediators between ourselves and the White T'ang's organization."
"Go on."
Hoff grimaced, closing his eyes briefly, then began again. "The paymaster was Li Min himself. As for who gave us our orders ... it was Rheinhardt."
Tolonen laughed. "I don't believe you."
Hoff s eyes stared back at him, a cold certainty in them. "There was a secret meeting, two weeks back, up north. In Goteborg or someplace like that. More than two dozen people attended that meeting, our commander and a number of other high-ranking Security officers among them. Rheinhardt chaired it. The purpose of that meeting was to try to assess just who would come out on top in the event of a war between Li Yuan and Li Min."
Tolonen let out a long breath. "You have proof?"
Hoff nodded. "Our commander . . . Needham . . . swore a personal oath to Rheinhardt. He had us do the same." Again he grimaced, the pain clearly returning as the quick-shot medication wore off. "When the order came from on high we did as we were told."
"I see." The old man nodded, then looked once more to Von Pasenow. "I couldn't understand it," he said. "A Shen T'se unit. Their loyalty is unquestionable. But this, if true, explains it." He looked back to Hoff. "So where's the boy?"
Hoff swallowed dryly, then shook his head. "I don't know. We handed him over back at Linz on our way down here. To a tall man with an oxlike face. Had a shoulder wound. Pale, cadaverous face."
"Li Min's man?"
"I ... I guess so."
Tolonen stared at him a long while, then slowly shook his head.
"I don't believe you, you know that, Hoff? Oh, the part about being in Li Min's pay—that rings true. As for the rest, well ... I think you're out to make mischief for Li Yuan. Rheinhardt—" he laughed, his voice suddenly louder, more authoritative—"I know Helmut Rheinhardt, and he would as soon slit his own throat as think of committing treason against his Master."
He leaned in to the man, placing the fingers of his left hand—the golden, metallic fingers—against the cauterized stump of Hoff s right arm and pressed, gently at first and then with greater and greater pressure.
Hoff screamed.
"Now, Sergeant," Tolonen said, his rocklike face hovering above the sweating man, "let's begin again from the beginning, eh? We've plenty of time, after all. All the time in the world . . ."