Authors: David Wingrove
Her eyes looked up at him, wide, for one brief moment afraid of him – of the power in him – then she looked away, laughing, covering her momentary slip; hoping he had not seen through,
into
her.
‘Sweet Flute!’ she called lightly, looking past him, then looking back at him, smiling again. ‘Bring the
ch’un tzu
’s present.’
She placed her hand lightly against his chest, then stood up, moving past him but letting her hand brush against his hair then rest upon his shoulder, maintaining the contact between them, feeling a tiny inner thrill when he placed his hand against the small of her back.
Sweet Flute was her
mui tsai
, a pretty young thing of fifteen her husband had bought Chuang Lian for her last birthday. She approached them now demurely, her head lowered, the gift held out before her.
She felt the young officer shift on the bed behind her, clearly interested in what she had bought him, then, dismissing the girl, she turned and faced him, kneeling to offer him the gift, her head bowed.
His smile revealed his pleasure at her subservient attitude. Then, with the smallest bow of his head, he began to unwrap the present. He let the bright red wrapping fall, then looked up at her. ‘What is it?’
‘Well, it’s not one of the Five Classics...’
She sat beside him on the bed and opened the first page, then looked up into his face, seeing at once how pleased he was.
‘Gods...’ he said quietly, then laughed. A soft, yet wicked laugh. ‘What
is
this?’
She leaned into him, kissing his neck softly, then whispered in his ear. ‘It’s the
Chin P’ing Mei
, the Golden Lotus. I thought you might like it.’
She saw how his finger traced the outlines of the ancient illustration, pausing where the two bodies met in that most intimate of embraces. Then he turned his head slowly and looked at her.
‘And I brought you nothing...’
‘No,’ she said, closing the book, then drawing him down beside her, her gown falling open. ‘You’re wrong, Hans Ebert. You brought me yourself.’
The eighth bell was sounding as they gathered in Nocenzi’s office at the top of Bremen fortress. Besides Nocenzi, there were thirteen members of the General Staff, every man ranking captain or above. Ebert had been among the first to arrive, tipped off by his captain, Auden, that something was afoot.
Nocenzi was grim-faced. The meeting convened, he came swiftly to the point.
‘Ch’un tzu
, I have brought you here at short notice because this evening, at or around six, a number of senior Company Heads – twenty-six in all – were assassinated, for no apparent reason that we can yet make out.’
There was a low murmur of surprise. Nocenzi nodded sombrely, then continued.
‘I’ve placed a strict media embargo on the news for forty-eight hours, to try to give us a little time, but we all know how impossible it is to check the passage of rumour, and the violent death of so many prominent and respected members of the trading community
will
be noticed. Moreover, coming so closely upon the attack on Helmstadt Armoury, we are concerned that the news should not further destabilize an already potentially explosive situation. I don’t have to tell you, therefore, how urgent it is that we discover both the reason for these murders and the identity of those who perpetrated them.’
One of the men seated at the front of the room, nearest Nocenzi, raised his hand.
‘Yes, Captain Scott?’
‘Forgive me, sir, but how do we know these murders are connected?’
‘We don’t. In fact, one of the mysteries is that they’re all so very different – their victims seemingly unconnected in any way whatsoever. But the very fact that twenty-six separate assassinations took place within the space of ten minutes on or around the hour points very clearly to a very tight orchestration of events.’
Another hand went up. Nocenzi turned, facing the questioner. ‘Yes, Major Hoffmann?’
‘Could this be a Triad operation? There have been rumours for some time that some of the big bosses have been wanting to expand their operations into the higher levels.’
‘That’s so. But no. At least, I don’t think so. Immediate word has it that the big gang bosses are as surprised as we are by this. Two of the incidents involved small Triad-like gangs – splinter elements, possibly trying to make a name for themselves – but we’ve yet to discover whether they were working on their own or in the pay of others.’
Ebert raised his hand, interested despite himself in this new development. He would much rather have still been between the legs of the Minister’s wife, but if duty called, what better than this?
‘Yes, Major Ebert?’
‘Is there any discernible pattern in these killings? I mean, were they all
Hung Mao
, for instance, or were the killings perhaps limited to a particular part of the City?’
Nocenzi smiled tightly. ‘That’s the most disturbing thing about this affair. You see, the victims are mixed. Han and
Hung Mao.
Young and old. And the locations, as you see...’ he indicated the map that had come up on the screen behind him ‘...are scattered almost randomly. It makes one think that the choice of victims may have been random. Designed, perhaps, to create the maximum impact on the Above. Simply to create an atmosphere of fear.’
‘
Ping Tiao?
’ Ebert asked, expressing what they had all been thinking. Before the attack on Helmstadt it would have been unthinkable – a laughable conclusion – but now...
‘No.’
Nocenzi’s certainty surprised them all.
‘At least, if it is
Ping Tiao
, then they’re slow at claiming it. And in all previous
Ping Tiao
attacks, they’ve always left their calling cards.’
That was true. The
Ping Tiao
were fairly scrupulous about leaving their mark – the sign of the fish – on all their victims.
‘There are a number of possibilities here,’ Nocenzi continued, ‘and I want to assign each of you to investigate some aspect of this matter. Is this Triad infiltration? Is it the beginning of some kind of violent trade war? Is it, in any respect, a continuation of Dispersionist activity? Is it pure terrorist activity? Or is it – however unlikely – pure coincidence?’
Captain Russ laughed, but Nocenzi shook his head. ‘No, it’s not entirely impossible. Unlikely, yes, even improbable, but not impossible. A large number of the murders had possible motives. Gambling debts, company feuds, adultery. And however unlikely it seems, we’ve got to investigate the possibility.’
Ebert raised his hand again. ‘Who’ll be co-ordinating this, sir?’
‘You want the job, Hans?’
There was a ripple of good-humoured laughter, Ebert’s own amongst it.
Nocenzi smiled. ‘Then it’s yours.’
Ebert bowed his head, pleased to be given the chance to take on something as big as this at last. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Nocenzi was about to speak again when the doors at the far end of the room swung open and Marshal Tolonen strode into the room. As one the officers stood and came to sharp attention, their heads bowed.
‘
Ch’un tzu!
’ Tolonen said, throwing his uniform cap down on to the desk and turning to face them, peeling off his gloves as he did so. ‘Please, be seated.’
Nocenzi moved to one side as the Marshal stepped forward.
‘I’ve just come from the T’ang. He has been apprised of the situation and has given orders that we are to make this matter our first priority over the coming days.’ He tapped his wrist, indicating the tiny screen set into his flesh. ‘I have been listening in to your meeting and am pleased to see that you understand the seriousness of the situation. However, if we’re to crack this one we’ve got to act quickly. That’s why I’ve decided to overrule General Nocenzi and assign each of you two of the murder victims.’
Hoffmann raised his hand. ‘Why the change, sir?’
‘Because if there’s any pattern behind things, it ought to be discernible by looking at the facts of two very different murders. And with thirteen of you looking at the matter, we ought to come up with
something
pretty quickly, don’t you think?’
Hoffmann bowed his head.
‘Good. And, Hans... I appreciate your keenness. It’s no less than I’d expect from you. But I’m afraid I’ll have to tie your hands somewhat on this one. That’s not to say you won’t be Co-ordinator, but I want you to work closely with me on this. The T’ang wants answers and I’ve promised him that he’ll have them before the week’s out. So don’t let me down.’
Ebert met the Marshal’s eyes and bowed his head, accepting the old man’s decision, but inside he was deeply disappointed. So he was to be tied to the old man’s apron strings yet again! He took a deep breath, calming himself, then smiled, remembering suddenly how Chuang Lian had taken his penis between her tiny, delicate toes and caressed it, as if she were holding it in her hands. Such a neat little trick. And then there was her
mui tsai
... what was her name...? Sweet Flute. Ah, yes, how he’d like to play that one!
He raised his eyes and looked across at Tolonen as General Nocenzi began to allocate the case files. Maybe the Marshal would be ‘in command’ nominally, but that was not to say he would be running things. Russ, Scott, Fest, Auden – these were
his
men. He had only to say to them...
The thought made him smile. And Tolonen, glancing across at him at that moment, saw his smile and returned it strongly.
It was well after ten when Chen arrived back at the apartment. Wang Ti and the children were in bed, asleep. He looked in on them, smiling broadly as he saw how all four of them were crowded into the same bed, the two-year-old, Ch’iang Hsin, cuddled against Wang Ti’s chest, her hair covering her plump little face, the two boys to her right, young Wu pressed close against his elder brother’s back.
He stood there a moment, moved, as he always was, by the sight of them, then went back through to the kitchen and made himself a small
chung
of
ch’a.
It had been a long day, but there was still much to do before he could rest. He carried the porcelain
chung
through to the living-room and set it down on the table, then moved the lamp close, adjusting its glow so that it illuminated only a tight circle about the steaming bowl. He looked about him a moment, frowning, then went across to the shelves, searching until he found the old lacquered box he kept his brushes and ink block in.
He set the box down beside the
chung
, then went out into the hall and retrieved the files from the narrow table by the door, beneath his tunic.
He paused, then went back and hung his tunic on the peg, smiling, knowing Wang Ti would only scold him in the morning if he forgot.
Switching off the main light, he went back to the table and pulled up a chair. Setting the files down to his right, he sat back a moment, yawning, stretching his arms out to the sides, feeling weary. He gave a soft laugh then leaned forward again, reaching for the
chung.
Lifting the lid, he took a long sip of the hot
ch’a.
‘Hmm... that’s good,’ he said quietly, nodding to himself. It was one of Karr’s. A gift he had brought with him last time he had come to dinner.
Well, my friend
, he thought;
now I’ve a gift for you.
He reached across and drew the box closer, unfastening the two tiny catches, then flipped the lid back.
‘Damn it...’ he said, making to get up, realizing he had forgotten water to mix the ink, then reached for the
chung
again and dipped his finger, using the hot
ch’a
as a substitute. He had heard tell that the great poet, Li Po, had used wine to mix his ink, so why not
ch’a
? Particularly one as fine as this.
He smiled, then, wiping his finger on his sleeve, reached across and drew the first of the files closer.
Today he had called in all the favours owed him; had pestered friend and acquaintance alike until he’d got what he wanted. And here they were. Personnel files. Income statements. Training records. Complete files on each of the six men who had died at Helmstadt. The so-called
Ping Tiao
he had checked up on. Their files and two others.
He had gone down to Central Records, the nerve-centre of Security Personnel at Bremen. There, in Personnel Queries, he had called upon Wolfgang Lautner. Lautner, one of the four senior officers in charge of the department, was an old friend. They had been in officer training together and had been promoted to captain within a month of each other. Several times in the past Chen had helped Lautner out, mainly in the matter of gambling debts.
Lautner had been only too happy to help Chen, giving him full access to whatever files he wanted – even to several that were, strictly speaking, ‘off limits’. All had gone smoothly until Chen, checking up on a personnel number that had appeared on several of the files, came up against a computer block.
He could see it even now, the words pulsing red against the black of the screen.
INFORMATION DENIED. LEVEL-A CODE REQUIRED.
Not knowing what else to do, he had taken his query direct to Lautner. Had sat there beside him in his office as he keyed in the Level-A code. He remembered how Lautner had looked at him, smiling, his eyebrows raised inquisitively, before he had turned to face the screen.
‘Shit...’ Lautner had jerked forward, clearing the screen, then had turned abruptly, looking at Chen angrily, his whole manner changed completely. ‘What in fuck’s name are you doing, Kao Chen?’
‘I didn’t know...’ Chen had begun, as surprised as his friend by the face that had come up on the screen, but Lautner had cut him off sharply.
‘Didn’t know? You expect me to believe that? Kuan Yin preserve us! He’s the last bastard I want to find out I’ve been tapping into his file. He’d have our balls!’
Chen swallowed, remembering. Yes, he could still feel Ebert’s spittle on his cheek, burning there like a badge of shame. And there, suddenly, he was, a face on a screen, a personnel coding on the files of three dead ex-Security men. It was too much of a coincidence.