Beneath the Tree of Heaven

“Must you go so soon, Cousin Ma?”

Tsu Ma came forward and embraced Wu Shih, then turned, looking back up the ramp to where his craft awaited him inside the hangar. “I’m afraid I must. My spies tell me there’s trouble afoot, and the only way to deal with trouble is to head it off... especially when it’s the Ministry who are involved.”

“The Ministry?” Wu Shih raised an eyebrow. “Is it something I should know about?”

Tsu Ma let his hand rest on his cousin’s shoulder briefly looking past him at the sunlit palace, at the lotus-strewn pools and delightful arbors of the great garden that surrounded them, then met the old man’s eyes again, a faint reassuring smile on his lips. “It’s nothing you should lose any sleep over, Wu Shih. A routine matter, you might say. But I’ll send you a complete transcript of the meeting, if you wish.” Wu Shih gave a wintry smile. “I would welcome that.” “Good. Then I must go. As Sun Tzu so wisely said, surprise is the ultimate in generalship.”

“That sounds ominous, Cousin. You talk as if we were at war with them.” “Well, aren’t we?” Tsu Ma’s face was stern a moment, then broke into a broad smile. “I jest. But they can be difficult, neh? It would not harm to shake them up a little.”

Wu Shih nodded, then embraced Tsu Ma one last time. “Safe journey, Cousin Ma. I enjoyed your company more than mere words can say.” “And I yours, dear Cousin.”

Tsu Ma turned away, making his way up the ramp. Halfway up, however, he turned, remembering something.

“Oh, and, Cousin. . . when you visit me next time, bring that young maid of yours—the pretty one—with you. There was not time . . .” Wu Shih’s heavily lined face broke into a grin. “Count it as done, cousin.

Now get going. The dragons await you!”

that night she slept badly, plagued by dreams of bullet-ridden corpses that rose up from the earth and turned to her, their broad, dark faces laughing cruelly.

Ghosts . . . there were supposed to be no ghosts in this land, yet wherever she looked, whatever rooms she unlocked in her memory, ghosts stepped from the darkness to greet her. The woman’s corpse, that was herself . . . how her own life would surely have ended had DeVore not interceded.

Quietly she rose from bed and crept from the room, making her way silently to the kitchen. There, in the darkness overlooking the great lawn, she sat, remembering.

Five years ago she’d come here to America, a refugee from the collapse of the Ping Tiao in Europe. DeVore had helped her; had given her a new identity, and a chance at a new life. She had meant to start again here, to go down level and reorganize, but then she had fallen in love . . . with Michael, her employer, defying his father to marry him. For a time it had worked—for a time she had forgotten what she’d come here to do. But tonight, seeing those images, recalling what she’d found in the West Wing among the crates, she remembered why she had come. The Land Without Ghosts . . . She understood. It was the land they all inhabited now. The City. A place without history, without any real connection to the earth. But now all the ghosts were coming back. She could sense them, clamoring to be let in. Their silent faces were everywhere, like watchers at a window.

With a shudder she stood, knowing now that something had to change—either she or the great edifice surrounding her. Ping Tiao she’d been—a “Leveler,” a terrorist. Ping Tiao she remained, for all her newfound wealth.

That’s it, she thought. That’s what I have to do. For there could be no compromise, no real peace for her, until either she or the City was gone from the earth.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Small Things

IS THIS ALL OF IT?”

The young lieutenant came to attention. “That’s it, sir. Everything we couldn’t place.”

Chen looked about him at the cluttered storeroom, wondering where to start. Use your eyes, look for the unexpected—so Karr had always told him, but where among all this trash did one start? “Okay. If you’d ask Captain Johnson to bring the records of the operation to me. I’ll start sorting through this lot.” “Sir.”

Chen saw the man hesitate and waited, knowing, even before he said it, what he was going to ask.

“Forgive me, sir, but what exactly are you looking for? I mean, we’ve taken this level apart looking for the File. If it was here, we’d have found it.”

Chen smiled tightly, trying to keep his temper. “But it was here, and you didn’t find it. Which means one of two things. Either it’s still here or someone got it out.”

“I still don’t see—“

Chen raised a hand, silencing him. “No, you don’t, so leave me to it, neh? I’ve much to do. Oh, and have someone bring me a chung of ch’a, Lieutenant. This is thirsty work, and the hour’s late.” “Sir!”

Chen saw the slight stiffening in the man’s back and understood. The young officer didn’t like this kind of interference, and maybe— just maybe—he didn’t like the idea of a Han bossing him about. But that was as maybe. He would do as he was told and like it, or he’d find himself in front of a disciplinary board.

The lieutenant saluted. Chen watched him go, then turned back, setting to work. There might be nothing here, then again, something among all this trash might explain how the File was smuggled out. Because one thing was certain—it had been smuggled out.

For a time he sifted through the piles, working methodically, checking each item thoroughly before moving on. At first there was nothing, then, with a laugh, he came upon something he recognized. “Found something, Major Kao?”

Chen half turned, looking up at the newcomer. It was the Captain, Johnson.

Chen stood, facing him, holding out what he’d unearthed from the pile. “I’ve been trying to order one of these for my son. Three months we’ve waited, but nothing. And here it is. Just the bit we wanted. Mind you, it probably doesn’t work. They cost over twenty yuan to replace. I can’t imagine anyone throwing one away!”

Johnson took the flat, black rectangular piece and studied it, turning it over between his hands. Handing it back to Chen he shrugged. “What is it?” “It’s a resonance box. It comes from a sketchboard—you know, one of those computer graphics machines. This particular bit controls the surface plasticity. It’s the most sensitive part of the machine, so I’m told. Mind you, they only tell you that once the damn thing’s broken and you have to order a new part. If they told you before you bought the thing...” Chen laughed, hefting it in his hand. It was strange, because the part looked almost new. It was barely worn, almost as if it were straight out of its wrapping.

Johnson smiled. “Maybe you should keep hold of it. Just in case. I mean, no one will miss it.”

Chen nodded. “Maybe I will.” Then, realizing that the Captain had the operation file under his arm, he grew serious again. “I hear you lost two men.”

“That’s right. One of them was married. Two young boys.” “I’m sorry.” Chen pocketed the resonance box, then put his hand out, taking the file from the Captain. “And between us, Captain Johnson, I’m as unhappy as you at being here. I don’t want to tread on your toes. But General Rheinhardt is under a lot of pressure to get results on this. You understand?”

The Captain smiled. “I understand, Major Kao. We’ll cooperate all we can. But this one baffles me. We tore the whole deck apart to find the File, but nothing. As for anyone smuggling it out, well, we strip-searched everyone who came or went. The list of names is there. A few minor criminals, but otherwise nothing. A complete blank.” Chen studied the list a moment, flicking forward and backward, then looked back at Johnson. “You’re sure this is complete? Are you certain there wasn’t anyone else?”

Johnson hesitated. “Well. . .”

Chen sighed, exasperated. “Who was it? A senior official? Someone from another Security force? Who?”

“A girl. Well, a young woman, I guess you’d call her.” Chen stared at the Captain, astonished. “You mean, you let someone walk out of a top security area without searching them?”

“There were exceptional circumstances, sir. Besides, she wasn’t a

suspect.”

“Kuan Yin! In this kind of operation everyone is a suspect!” “You don’t understand, sir. She was the daughter of a Junior Minister. And not just any Junior Minister. She was Shang Mu’s daughter.” “Shang Mu? You mean that Shang Mu? The I Lung’s right-hand man?”

Johnson nodded.

“Ah. . .”

“You understand, then?”

“You’re absolutely certain it was she?”

“Absolutely, sir. I had two of my men escort her home.”

“I see.” Chen considered a moment. The Captain was probably right. Shang

Mu’s daughter was the last person likely to be involved in this. Nor would

he, in Johnson’s place, have risked offending the Junior Minister by

strip-searching his daughter—not unless it was really necessary. Even so

...