Beneath the Tree of Heaven

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Holograms

Kennedy knelt before the tiny altar, facing his great-great-grandfather. A scented spill burned in the pot between him and the figure, its smoke curling and drifting through the bright planes of the hologram. The old man was looking down at his progeny, concerned, one hand extended slightly, as if to comfort him.

“Your problems are grave ones, Joseph, yet you must look within yourself and find the inner strength to cope with them.” Kennedy looked down, his eyes tormented. “It is no use, Grandfather. I’ve tried, yet I can find no peace. Wherever my eyes look there are walls, inside and out. Sleep evades me, and when it comes it is tormented by dreams in which every man’s hand is raised against me.” The old man was silent a moment, as if this situation had taxed the limitations of his programming; then he sighed. “There is only one solution, Joseph. You must retire from public life for a time. Become a sleeping dragon. Yet even as I suggest this I can’t help but feel that you’re holding something back from me. A man . grows tired of the world, certainly, but you are young and at the height of your powers. I cannot understand—“ “We live in different times, Grandfather. There was more certainty in your age. A man knew what was expected of him. But now. . . well, the rules change daily.”

The old man shrugged. “If you say so, Joseph—yet I find it strange. If a man is truly himself he is like a rock, and though the waters rise, they will flow about him, and when they recede he will still be there, solid and unmoved, while all else has been swept away.” His eyes dwelt on his great-great-grandson a moment. “You must decide what kind of man you wish to be, Joseph. A leaf or a rock.” Kennedy bowed low, then took the spill from the pot. At once the misted figure vanished, leaving the room feeling cold and empty. He stood slowly, an ache of tiredness in his limbs, a heaviness in his chest. If he had thought to find answers here he had been wrong. Yet the old man was right in one respect—he had to make a choice, and not merely about his political future. Much more was at stake than that. As he came out of the room he stopped, surprised to find his wife, Jean, waiting there for him.

“What is it?”

Her voice was quiet, frightened. “There’s been an attack. On Mary Lever’s headquarters.”

“Aiya . . . When was this?”

“An hour back. Details are only just coming through. They’re not sure who carried it out—no one’s claimed it yet—but there are rumors it might have been the Black Hand.”

He shivered, then let her lead him through. An hour back. “I must phone Michael. ...”

“Don’t you think he’ll have enough to worry about—“

“No”—he shook his head—“you don’t understand. I was probably the last person to see her. I met her ... an hour and a half back. I... Oh shit! They were probably waiting for her. ...”

She stared at him. “You met her? Why?”

“Wu Shih. He wanted me to persuade her. I knew I couldn’t, but I met her anyway. I wanted to... well, to tell her she was right. To build bridges, I guess. I...” He sighed heavily, then went across to the vid-phone and tapped out Michael’s private contact number, turning to look back at Jean as he waited to be connected.

“Wu Shih asked you?”

He nodded. “He said it was my last chance.” He saw the movement in her face—the realization of what that meant. Like himself she and his sons were wired, small control strips inserted in their skulls. If Wu Shih had lost patience he might choose to use those devices to harm or maim them. Kennedy looked away, pained by the thought of it. That threat—that constant shadow—had been with him more than two years now, yet he had never grown used to it. Not for a single moment. Wherever they went—whatever they did—they were never free of it. It made hostages of them all.

As the screen chimed he turned back, looking up into Michael Lever’s face.

“Michael...”

“Joe! You’ve heard, then.”

“Just now. I... Is Mary okay?”

“She’s fine.”

“Thank the gods!” He laughed, relieved. “What happened?” Michael frowned. “It’s not clear yet, but it looks like they were after Mary. The whole thing was set up very carefully.”

Kennedy stared at his old friend a moment, then nodded. “I’m sorry. It

must be a nightmare. Look, I’ll leave you be. If there’s anything I can do

. . .”

“Sure. Thanks.”

He cut connection, then turned. Jean was still watching him.

“What?” he asked, for once unable to read her. She came across and held him, clinging to him, it seemed, as if afraid to let go. “Let’s get away,” she said, a real urgency in her voice. “Now. While we still can.”

wu shih stared up at the screen, watching as a very angry Mary Lever talked into camera, pouring out all of her hurt and frustration for the viewing billions. Most of the T’ang’s senior officials stood behind him in the room. They had gathered at his urgent summons. Now they waited, wondering what he would do.

As the item finished, Wu Shih turned, his own anger on a very short fuse.

“Doesn’t anyone have any information on this?” Fen Cho-hsien looked about him, then decided to act as spokesman for them all. “First indications, Chieh Hsia, are that it’s the Black Hand. The ruthlessness of the attack—“ u—could have been carried out by almost anyone,” Wu Shih interrupted him. “No, Master Fen, I don’t believe it’s that simple. Besides, I thought we’d dealt with those bastards. Are you telling me that even after our action against them, they were still able to put a six-man squad into the field at a moment’s notice?”

“Maybe we were not as successful as we thought. It was, after all, hard to tell just how much of their organization we destroyed. This would surely be a perfect way for them to demonstrate that they survived our action.” “And have they claimed this outrage?”

Fen Cho-hsien looked down. All there knew the answer. “No, Chieh Hsia. But maybe that is because they would not wish to be associated with it publicly. They have as much reason as we to fear what she is doing, yet Mary Lever has won a great deal of support among what they see as their natural constituency. Word has got out down there about what she has been doing and a number of the media channels that serve the Lowers have picked up on the story. The Black Hand would know that and would undoubtedly want to do something about it. Any strengthening of her hand would be a weakening of theirs. The only answer would be to kill her. But to kill her and admit it... that would be a different thing.” Wu Shih stroked his beard, considering this, then frowned. “What you say has merit, Master Fen. Even so, I remain unconvinced. I have read General Althaus’s reports on the action against the Hand, and I tend to agree with his conclusions. We may not have destroyed their whole network, but we inflicted enough damage on them to make it unlikely, if not perhaps impossible, for them to mount an attack like this for some time. Yet if it wasn’t them, who was it? Who else would want Mary Lever dead?” “The Old Men, perhaps, Chieh Hsia?”

Wu Shih turned to his Minister of Trade. “Old men? Which old men, Minister Yun?”

“Forgive me, Chieh Hsia. I refer to a group of individuals who have formed a covert organization dedicated to bringing down Michael Lever. These are primarily his major trading rivals, but there are a lot of other interested parties, including a number of Lever’s father’s former allies.” “I see. And you think it’s possible they might have had a hand in this?” “More than possible, Chieh Hsia. To strike at Lever through his wife would be a most effective way of weakening him. It is said that he has relied heavily on her since his accident.”

Wu Shih nodded. It was an interesting possibility, and the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. He had known, of course, that Michael Lever had made enemies, but it had not come to his notice that such opposition was organized. If they could use that. . . He went across and stood before his Minister. “Find out what you can about them, Minister Yun, and, if necessary, offer them encouragement. But be careful to make sure no trail comes to this door. If they succeed, they alone must be seen to be to blame.”

°Chieh Hsia!”

“Now go ... I wish to be alone.”

Slowly they filed from the room. Only his Chancellor, Fen Cho-hsien, hung back.

“Yes, Master Fen?”

“Forgive me, Chieh Hsia, but one small matter remains.” Wu Shih nodded, understanding without needing to be reminded. He had still to decide what to do about Kennedy.

It was very simple. His attempts to use Kennedy to bridle the North

American radicals had failed. The threat to his family had brought some

success, but increasingly Kennedy had tugged against the bit. The knife

had been held to his throat too long, perhaps, and, lacking use, the

weapon had lost its edge. Maybe it was time to remind him of its

sharpness.

“All right,” he said, “I want you to do this. . . .”

MICHAEL HEARD THE FRONT DOOR SLAM and got Up hurriedly from his desk. Crossing to the door he cursed the harness for slowing him down, yet without a succession of the lightweight exoskeletons he’d never have got close to being mobile again. Alive, he reminded himself. We’re both still alive . . . hang on to that!

He stopped just outside the door, seeing her at the far end of the hallway, talking to the staff who had gathered to greet her. For a moment he gazed at her, relieved simply to see her there, afraid that the image of her he’d seen on the screen had been a lie; then, starting toward her, he called her name.

“Em. . .”

She turned, seeing him, then rushed across and embraced him, burying her head in his chest, her hands gripping his back fiercely. “Em. . . Em . . .” he murmured, kissing the crown of her head, close to tears suddenly. “Was it awful?”

She looked up at him. “I’ve got to speak out, Michael. In public.” “I thought you said plenty,” he said, beginning to smile, but she put a finger to his lips.

“No. I mean about the Old Men—and Kennedy. All of it. What a stinking mess it all is. I’ve got to let them know.”

He frowned. “Kennedy? Why Kennedy?”

There was a sudden anger in her eyes. “Because he was behind this.”

“No. You’re wrong, Em. Joe just wouldn’t do something like that. It’s

not—“

“—his style?” She shivered. The tension in her was palpable. “Then why the meeting? It makes no sense. No, not unless he wanted me safely out of the way while his hirelings butchered my people.” Michael stared at her, astonished. “No ... No, Em. He’s not like that. Besides, he called me just after the news broke. He seemed really shaken up by it. Concerned for you.”

“Concerned? Wise up, Michael. What else would he do? No, it was a warning.

First the meeting, the polite request to back off, and then the attack.” “It was a coincidence, that’s all. Shit . . . you being with him, that probably saved your life!”

She stared at him. “What?”

“Think, Em. Think hard. Just what would he gain by having you killed?” “Nothing. But you’re not listening to me, Michael. He wasn’t trying to kill me, just warn me off.”

“But why? I can’t see why.”

“Maybe because what I’m doing shows up the hollowness of all his posturing. And maybe because he blames me for what happened with you.” He closed his eyes. “Aiya!”

“It’s true, Michael. You just can’t see it, that’s all!” “Look, I know you’re angry, Em . . . and hurt. But you’re not thinking straight. You should calm down. Count to ten.” “No!” She pushed away from him, angry with him suddenly. “I could count to a million and this feeling wouldn’t go from me. They’ve got to be stopped, Michael, before they kill us all.”

“Em . . . Sweetheart...”

She put her hands up, fending off his attempt to embrace her again. “No, Michael. Listen to me. My anger . . . it’s the only thing I’ve got. I have to speak out. To say what hasn’t been said and show what hasn’t been shown. It’s my duty. Can’t you see that?” “Sure. I understand. But you have to step back. This once you just have to. Tomorrow. Do it tomorrow, once you’ve had time to think things through a little more coolly. Right now . . . well, right now is not the time. Security have promised results—and fast. So let them announce the findings of their investigation. Then speak up. I’ll back you. You know I will. But don’t fly at it like this. It’ll only rebound on you. And I’d hate to see that.”

She stared at him, slowly calming, then gave a tiny nod. “Good,” he said, reaching out and holding her to him again. “Now come through to the living room. I think we could both do with a good stiff drink.”

nan ho sat back, locking his fingers together, and let out a long breath. Tsu Ma’s Chancellor, Yang T’ing-hsi, had just been on with the latest news from his spies in Wang Sau-leyan’s household in Alexandria. They had found the renegades! An Sheng, the I Lung, and a number of other prominent conspirators were there, guests, it was presumed, of the odious T’ang of Africa.

It did not surprise him. In fact he had half expected to find Wang’s fat handprint at the back of all. Yet it did create a problem, and not a small one either. If Wang Sau-leyan were the sponsor of this rebellion, then he would have to be deposed. Yet that might prove a lot more difficult than it first seemed.

He was not well liked, either by his subjects or his peers, and yet he was a T’ang, a Son of Heaven, and they would need proof positive before they could accuse him publicly. If he denied sheltering the traitors, they would have, perhaps, to take them from him forcibly. And that would be no easy task. No. For once knowing was not enough. They had to force his hand somehow ... or fight him.

Nan Ho stood, then made his way through to where Li Yuan, he knew, was exercising.

As the Captain of the Guard announced him, he waited, rehearsing phrases in his head. Yet when Li Yuan came out, toweling himself down, the first thing he said was “Have you found them, Master Nan?” “We have, Chieh Hsia.”

“In Africa?”

He nodded.

“Which of them?”

He gave eleven names, An Sheng’s last, and saw how, despite himself, Li Yuan was surprised by how high the conspiracy had reached. The young T’ang considered a moment, then nodded.

“And Tsu Ma? What does he say?”

“He wishes to consult with you, Chieh Hsia.” “Of course . . .” He turned, throwing the towel to one of the bare-chested servants who stood, head bowed, just beyond him, then put his arms out as another brought a tunic and fastened it about him. “What do you think, Master Nan? Have we enough to challenge our cousin?” Nan Ho grimaced. “I... do not think so, Chieh Hsia. Not publicly.” “No. But privately . . .” He smiled, glad, it seemed, to have something positive to do. “All right. I shall consult Tsu Ma and Wu Shih and see what they have to say. Then I shall speak with our cousin, the T’ang of Africa, and find out just what he has to say for himself.”

“major kao . . . chen . . . I wasn’t expecting you.” Hannah stood in the doorway to her suite of rooms, a work smock about her waist. Her hair was tied back, her face and hands smeared with ash. Behind her two servants glanced up from their tasks, then carried on. “I had to come to find out how you were.” There was a momentary tightness in her face, and then she smiled. “I’m bearing up. You know what they say. Work hard enough and you can forget anything.”

He sighed. “You should be easier on yourself, Hannah. That shoulder—you should be resting it. Besides, your father . . .” She looked back at him, clear-eyed. “I shall grieve for my father when I’m ready. Right now”—she shrugged—“well, I guess I’m just not ready yet.” “You’re staying here, then . . . even after what happened?” She nodded. “This is my home. At least, the nearest to a real home I’ll ever have. What happened . . . well, it happened, neh? I can’t change that, and I sure as hell won’t run away from it. So yes . . . I’ll stay here. I’ll make some changes, of course. My stepmother’s rooms ...” She looked down again, swallowing. Chen, watching her, understood. So much had happened that she still couldn’t take it all in. All of her family were dead—all, that was, except her stepsister, and she was like a stranger to her. There was nowhere, really, for her to go. Yet to continue living here, alone ... it seemed wrong somehow. “Why don’t you come and live with us? Wang Ti wouldn’t mind— we’ve room, and ...”

She smiled. “Look, I’m grateful, Kao Chen. It’s a nice thought, and you’re a good man, but. . . well, I have to stay here.” “But it’s so big. All these rooms. Won’t you be lonely?” “No, I—“ She stopped, as if remembering something, then disappeared through the door. A moment later she returned, holding a silk-paper envelope carefully between the forefinger and thumb of her left hand. Chen took it from her, noting the broken imperial seal on the back of it, and took out the letter.

It was an Edict, a special Edict granting a pardon to her father. He looked back at her, grinning, delighted for her, then handed it back. She slipped it into the pocket of her smock. “I’ve been thinking, Chen. Trying to to fit everything into place. My father spent his life in the service of an ideal. A foul ideal, admittedly, but . . . well, I understand why he did it. To have some kind of direction, some kind of focus for your life—we all need that, don’t we? So I’ve decided that I’ll use my life. Focus it. You know, like that woman in the news—the rich woman, Mary Lever.” Her face was wistful now, her eyes suddenly distant. “I want to be what my father ought to have been.” He nodded. “I see that. But you’re still only sixteen. It’ll be nine years before you come of age. What will happen to you?” She laughed. “It seems I’m to be made an Imperial Ward. Someone will be appointed. Tolonen, perhaps, or, more likely, General Rhein-hardt. They’ll make all the big decisions on my behalf. But that doesn’t matter. It isn’t really that important. What is important is that I hold on to what I’ve learned and put it to good use.”

He frowned, not quite understanding what she meant. Yet there was a determination about her that impressed him—that had impressed him from the start.

“And you?”

Her question took him by surprise. “I’ve some unfinished business. Wilson ... all that was a shock to me. To find that the man closest to you is in the Ministry’s pay.”

“But not the only one, neh? It seems Security was riddled with the I Lung’s men.”

“Yes . . .”

“Oh,” she added, lowering her voice. “By the way. The T’ang’s special forces—his Shen T’se—came and searched the apartment while I was still in the hospital. It was a thorough job, so the servants say. They took anything they thought might prove incriminating against the First Dragon, including my Magic Theater.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And the File?” The word Aristotle had been on the tip of his tongue, but it remained unspoken. “They took that too. Later on one of them—a Captain—came and questioned me about it.”

“And what did you say?”

“That it was my father’s.”

“And they accepted that?”

“Why should they doubt it? It was the kind of thing he dealt in, after all.”

“Yes.” But the thought of it made him go cold. It had all been a very close call. “Well... I’d better go.”

“Good luck,” she said, smiling, offering her hand. He took it, pressing it firmly, then bowed his head. “And you, Shang Han-A. Keep in touch, huh?” “I shall.”

wang sau-leyan turned on his throne, facing the camera, his bloated, moonlike face moving forward until it filled the huge screen. “Yes, Cousin, how can I help you?”

Li Yuan took a breath, then launched in. “It has come to my attention that certain persons are accepting your hospitality.” “Persons, Cousin? Come ... be more specific. I have many guests. Whom could you possibly mean?”

Li Yuan controlled his anger, realizing that Wang was baiting him. “I mean certain traitors. Prince An Sheng and the I Lung among them.” “Ah ...” Wang smiled. “So you’ve heard, eh? But tell me ... you talk of traitors. Surely there’s inconclusive evidence to talk of treachery? Or have my cousins information I’ve not been privy to?” Out of sight of the camera Li Yuan bunched his fists. “There’s evidence enough, Cousin. Those men are traitors. They plotted to bring down the Seven and murder all our families.”

“I see.” Wang hesitated, stroking his chins, then smiled. “And our cousins Tsu Ma and Wu Shih, do they agree with you?” “They do.”

“Then there’s no question of it, neh?”

“No question,” Li Yuan answered firmly, wondering what Wang was up to.

“Well,” he said, “as you’ve heard, let me show you.” He moved back in the great chair, then signaled to the camera. Slowly it turned, looking past him, until it focused on a line of kneeling figures. “Are these the ones?”

Li Yuan stared, astonished. All eleven of those named by Nan Ho knelt there. Their hands were bound behind them, their heads shaven. They stared into the camera, hollow eyed. For a moment he stared at them, wondering why they were so silent . . . then he saw. Their bloodied mouths were empty. Wang Sau-leyan had pulled their teeth and cut out their tongues! “Those are the men,” he said quietly, a shiver of disgust passing through him.

“And these men are known traitors . . . that’s what you said, neh?”

Li Yuan let out a breath, then nodded.

“In which case”—Wang heaved himself up out of his throne and went across, standing beside An Sheng. He smiled, then signaled to the guard behind him—“execute the traitor!”

“Cousin!” Li Yuan cried out, but it was too late. The guard stepped up and, pulling An Sheng’s head back, dragged a knife across his throat.

wu shih was standing in the lower garden when the message came. Pao En-fu bowed low, then came two paces toward him, what looked like a black footstool beneath one arm.

“Chieh Hsia, your cousin, the T’ang of Africa, wishes to speak with you.” “Wang Sau-leyan?” Wu Shih laughed with disbelief. “What in the gods’ names could that rogue want?”

“He would not say, Chieh Hsia, only that it was urgent. I took the liberty of bringing a portable holo-unit.”

Wu Shih nodded. “Thank you, Master Pao. Put it down, then leave me.”

“Chieh Hsia.”

Pao En-fu set the portable down, then backed away, moving quickly out of earshot. Wu Shih waited a moment, then gave the “voice only” command. At once the image of his cousin, the T’ang of Africa, materialized in the air. He had his back to Wu Shih.

“Cousin? Are you there?”

“I am here, Wang Sau-leyan. What do you want?”

Wang turned to face the sound. “I hoped to be able to see you, Wu Shih.

Where are you? In your garden?”

“I am here,” he answered. He was damned if he was going to tell the bastard where he was.

Wang shrugged. “You heard what happened, I take it?”

“I heard.”

“Then we can sleep safely once more, neh, Cousin? Or so one might believe.

...”

Wu Shih stared at the gross shape of his cousin suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“Only that there are many ways to betray one’s fellows. . . .” Wang reached into his silks and withdrew a folded slip of paper. “You know, when the I Lung first came to me yesterday evening, he sought to buy my trust. He offered certain papers—things he had unearthed while going about his dark and shadowy business. Among them was this.” He tapped the paper against the fingers of his other hand, then smiled. “I am told it is authentic. That this copy was taken direct from the original. But such things are hard to prove, neh? Most things can be copied these days, and seals and documents better than most. Yet I am convinced of the authenticity of this. It ... rings true, shall we say.” Wu Shih moved slightly to one side, out of the predatory gaze of his bulky cousin.

“What is it?”

Wang turned toward his voice again, untroubled, it seemed, by the necessity. “It is an agreement. A letter, to be more accurate, written by our cousin Wei Chan Yin to Li Yuan, expressing his loyalty.” “His loyalty? How do you mean? Our cousin Wei is a T’ang in his own right.

Why, he—“

He stopped, understanding. Was that why Wei Chan Yin had been so quiet in Council? Was that why he always voted, without hesitation, the way his cousin Yuan voted?

Even so, it still made little sense. Wu Shih shook his head. “It must be forged.”

Wang nodded. “That is exactly what I thought. Yet even under torture the I Lung insisted it was genuine. He said to ask Wei Chan Yin, but. . . well, he would not admit to it now, would he?”

“No . . .” Wu Shih turned, beginning to pace to and fro, disturbed by what he’d heard, then turned back. “Show me the document!” Wang held it up. Wu Shih bent close, studying it. It certainly looked like Wei Chan Yin’s hand. Even so ...

“Would you send me a copy, Cousin?”

Wang folded the sheet and slipped it back inside his silks. “Of course. One is already on its way to you. I took the liberty of sending a special messenger. It would not do for such a thing to fall into another’s hands.” Wu Shih shuddered. “Cousin, I—I am grateful for your confidence. I cannot say how I feel right now, but—“ “Of course,” Wang said hurriedly. “I understand. This must have come as a great shock to you. If it helps at all, I know exactly how you feel. It... well, it undermines us, neh?”

Wu Shih stared at his cousin’s image, blindly it seemed, then grunted his assent.

“I’ll leave you, then, Cousin Shih.”

Wu Shih waved vaguely at the image, forgetting it could not see him, then added. “Oh, and thank you, Cousin. . . .” “It was but my duty. Until tomorrow ...”

Slowly the image faded. Slowly the sunlight seemed to return, as if from far away.

Wu Shih turned, looking about him, seeing not the natural harmony, the greenness, of the garden, but a mess of irregular shapes, a whole vast sea of lengthening shadows.

And if this proves true?

If this were true, then it would be the end of things between them, for such a breach of trust. . .

He shook his head violently and groaned. Untrue. It had to be untrue! Li Yuan . . . why, Li Yuan was like a son to him. He would never have put his name to such a thing.

Never? he asked himself, remembering the wording of the document and how it reminded him of the way Yuan spoke. Never was a long time, and Li Yuan was a young man, and young men were notoriously impatient. Maybe so, yet there was no earthly reason why Wei Chan Yin should submit to Yuan. No reason whatsoever. Whereas Wang— Wang could only benefit from this.

Yes, he thought. Yet Wang would never have come up with something so simple and direct. Not unless it were true. What’s more, it rang true that the I Lung should have tried to buy his safety with such a tidbit of information. So maybe—

Wu Shih let out a shivering sigh, then turned away, cramp pains making him wince and clutch his side as he made his way down the long path, heading for the palace.

If this proves true . . .

jean had stopped crying now, but it made it no better. He understood now how futile it had been, how stupid even to think he could outwit Wu Shih. Why, it was like trying to outrun Fate.

So here he was at last, faced by it. His sons were gone—taken while he and Jean sat paralyzed.

Yes, he understood all right. Understood now what the wires meant—had experienced now that total abnegation of the individual will, that crushing of the self. It had been dreadful, the most dreadful thing he had ever suffered. He had ceased to be himself. Had watched, like a prisoner in his own skull, as they bound his darling sons and dragged them screaming from the room. As in a nightmare—a nightmare where one could not even feel; where one was reduced to the state of a machine—a thing that watched, dull eyed and uncaring, all human qualities removed. Now nothing remained.

Kennedy eased back, moving away from his now-sleeping wife, then put his feet to the floor and stood, walking slowly, silently away. In the doorway he stood a moment, looking back into the darkened room at her, his face creased with pain. Then, knowing there was no choice, he went through into the bathroom and began to prepare himself for the broadcast.

“wake up! Come on, you bastard, wake up!”

Cornwell grunted, then turned slowly onto his back. “Wha—?”

Chen poked him hard in the guts. “Up! Now!”

Comwell’s eyes jerked open. “What the . . . ?” Then he saw who it was.

“You! What the hell are you doing in here?”

Chen threw the warrant down onto his chest. “Read it! Then get dressed.

I’ve something I want to show you.”

Grunting, Cornwell got up into a sitting position. He glared at Chen, pulling his silks tighter about his bloated stomach. “Have you no manners, Major? Can’t you wait outside or something?” Chen shook his head. “Just read it and shut up!” Comwell’s eyes flared with rage. His voice hissed from him. “I’ll have you for this, you fucker! I’ll go to Rheinhardt. He’ll have your balls, you Chink shit!”

Chen raised an eyebrow. “Just read the warrant, Shih Cornwell. Oh, and you might just note whose signature is at the bottom!” Cornwell picked up the warrant and prized off the seal, then unfolded it and read. “Rheinhardt?” He looked back at Chen suspiciously. “Okay . . . but what the fuck is going on?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Now get dressed. Or do you want to come like that?”

An hour later they sat there, knee to knee in the sedan, having come, it seemed, to a final halt.

“So?” Cornwell asked, leaning toward Chen. “Where are we?” Cornwell was blindfolded and cuffed, yet he seemed much more relaxed than he’d been at first. He had clearly not expected anyone to come to his Mansion. And the warrant. . . that had certainly dented his self-esteem. But as time had gone by he’d grown in confidence and had begun haranguing Chen again, threatening him with the direst retribution once things were “straightened out.” Chen had sat there in silence throughout, content to watch his prisoner, knowing that he was beyond all words, all insults. Why, it was almost funny to hear the big man bluster on. Yet the joke was wearing thin.

“Well?” Cornwell insisted. “Answer me, you dumb, pug-faced Chink!”

Chen ignored his question. Instead, he leaned across and undid the cuffs. Cornwell looked up blindly, surprised, then reached up and removed his blindfold. “About fucking time,” he said, blinking. “Now, what’s going on? I demand to know.”

“Demand?” Chen laughed humorlessly. “You like demanding, don’t you, Shih Cornwell?

“Sure. It gets me what I want. And what I want right now are explanations. You burst into my Mansion, blindfold and cuff me, and bring me fuck knows where, all on the basis of some vague instruction to assist with inquiries. Now, if I don’t get some answers and soon, then I’m going to make so much trouble that you’ll wish you’d never been born.” Chen stared back at him, stone-faced. “I had to make sure you’d come.”

“Yeah? Then why all that shit with the cuffs and blindfold?”

“Because I felt like it.”

Cornwell stared at him a long moment, then laughed. “You know what. . . I’m beginning to like you, Major Kao. You’re not bad for a Chink. I can see why they made you Major. You’ve got balls.” Chen felt himself go cold. To be hated by a bastard like Cornwell was fine and natural, but to be admired by him . . . that was abominable. That was, if it was genuine admiration, and not another of his games. “Why don’t we talk for a bit?” he said, sitting back. “We’ve a bit of time while things are being set up.”

“Set up? What are you talking about?”

“You know how it is, Shih Cornwell. We have to prepare things.” He smiled coldly. “You must have done a lot of preparation in your time.” Cornwell narrowed his eyes. “What are you angling at, Major? Is this a shakedown? Is that what it is?”

“Now, why should you think that?”

“Because I know how your lot are. Why, I must have paid more to unofficial ‘funds’ than you’ve seen in regular salary. Five, ten times as much!” Chen nodded, as if impressed. “You must have done a lot of deals like that to get where you are. You’ve come a long way.” Cornwell leaned forward. “Too fucking right. I didn’t have no rich daddy bankrolling me, like some of those bastards. I had nothing. I climbed. And I took care of myself. Not like those soft cunts I had to work with. A pack of weak-kneed bastards they were! Shitheads!” He gave an ugly laugh, his broad-lipped mouth opening wetly. “You have to be hard in business. You can’t afford scruples. You know what I mean, Major?” “Oh, I know what kind of world it is we live in, Shih Cornwell. I was an orphan. Down there, beneath the Net.”

Cornwell eyed him with renewed interest. “The Net, eh? So how did you . .

. you know, get up here?”

Chen’s smile was like acid. “I killed a Minister.” Cornwell stared at him a moment, then roared with laughter. “Killed a Minister... I like that. Fucking good! But seriously, what did you do?” “I was kwai. You heard of that?”

Cornwell nodded, impressed despite himself. “You were good, I assume?”

“I survived.”

He leaned closer, his perfumed bulk almost touching Chen. “So what was it like?”

“Like?”

“You know, killing men for a living—what did that feel like?” Chen stared back at the man, feeling a revulsion so deep, so intense, that it was like a fire in his veins. He wanted to punch those gross features and keep on punching until they were a bloody mess, yet he kept his face a blank, showing nothing.

“It was a long time ago. . . . You forget.”

“Forget?” Cornwell whistled through his teeth. “I sure as hell wouldn’t!

Shit! You did it that often?”

Chen nodded. “I’ve seen all kinds of vileness.”

“Sure . . . and paid for some, I bet!”

Chen looked down at the hand Cornwell had placed on his knee. Slowly the fat man removed it.

“So?” Cornwell said. “How much do you want?”

“Want? Did I say I wanted anything?”

“Come on ... we’re alone here, right? That’s why you brought me here.” He smiled encouragingly. “So come on ... what’s it worth to get you off my back?”

“What if I said I wasn’t interested in your money?” “Then I’d say you were full of crap, Major Kao! Money, that’s all that matters in this world. Without it you’re nothing. With it... well, you can have anything you want.”

“Maybe. But what if I still don’t want it?”

Cornwell eyed him carefully. “You want on the payroll, then?”

“You have many officers on your books, Shih Cornwell?”

“A few ... no names. You know how it is.”

“And Wilson? Was he one of them?”

Cornwell sighed ostentatiously. “Pity about Wilson. I heard he got snuffed. But, yeah ... he was on my books. Helpful, neh? Sure fucked you up last time out! I thought you had me for a moment, but... no evidence, no case, huh?” He smiled. “No hard feelings, though, eh, Major? You and me ... I reckon we understand each other. I reckon we can work together real well.”

“And those workers you sacked—the ones your man killed—what about them?”

Cornwell frowned. “What the fuck are you still going on about them for? Forget those fuckers. What do they matter? The question is, do you want in, and if so, at what level?”

Chen stood, then tugged the curtain back. “Out!”

“What?”

“You heard me. Out. There’s someone I want you to meet.” Cornwell stared sourly at him a moment, then got up, squeezing out of the sedan. Chen followed.

The corridor was empty, deserted. There was noise—there was always noise—but it was distant, muted. Cornwell looked about him, his face wrinkled with disgust at the litter-strewn floor. “Where the fucking hell are we?”

Chen made no answer, only pushed him forward, shoving him with the heel of his right palm, each shove releasing some of the anger, the tension, he was feeling.

“Here,” he said finally, stopping in front of an unmarked door. “This is it.”

Cornwell turned, glaring at him. “I’ll have you, you little fucker. You had your chance, but now . . . well, I’ll break you, right? You’ll be lucky if you’re guarding a shit pile when I’m finished with you!” Chen smiled tightly. “Rather apt, wouldn’t you say?”

“What. . . ?”

“You. How you treat people, the things you do. It’s shit, that’s what it is. You think the world is made in your image—that it’s all up for grabs and the biggest, fattest maggot gets to eat it all. Well, it isn’t like that. Not for everyone. But you”—Chen shook his head, disgusted, then drew his gun—“we might as well all be holograms for all you care. Isn’t that right?”

Cornwell’s eyes widened. “I don’t understand.”

“Knock. Go on. Knock on the door.”

Cornwell turned, then knocked timidly.

“Louder! Come on, let them know you’re there!”

Cornwell looked back at him, fearful now. “Who? Who are you talking

about?”

“The scum. You know ... Or don’t you remember?” The door behind him slid back. A woman stood there, and behind her an elderly Han. Beyond him were a dozen or more others, big men with the look of manual workers. Cornwell stared openmouthed at them, then turned back, his eyes ablaze with fear.

“No . . .” he said, falling to his knees in front of Chen and grabbing at his tunic. “No, Kao Chen, you can’t! Whatever you want, just name it. I—“ Chen placed the gun to Cornwell’s brow, directly between his eyes, and pushed. “Inside. Now.”

Slowly Cornwell got to his feet, then turned, facing the doorway. As he did the woman stepped back, as if inviting him in, yet there was something hard and relentless about her face, something unforgiving. “Deals . . .” Chen said, his voice heavy with disgust. “Why don’t you go and make a deal?”

And, planting his boot in Cornwell’s rump, he pushed, sending him sprawling into the room.

“it’s just starting,” Michael said, touching her gently on the shoulder.

“Do you want to see?”

“In a moment. I just want to finish this.” She sat there, her anger a still and perfect thing within her. Kennedy ... it all kept coming back to Kennedy.

Michael’s voice came again, from the other room this time. “Em?”

“Okay!”

Damn the man! Damn all his deals and fake deals! And damn him for being the smooth-tongued, charming con man that he was! She went through and stood behind where Michael was seated, staring past him at the image on the screen.

“What’s he saying?”

“Shhh . . . this is important. He’s . . .”

Kennedy looked odd. And then she realized why. He wasn’t smiling for once. “We had such hopes,” he was saying. “We wanted to make such changes to our world. But sometimes our hands are tied. Sometimes ...” He hesitated, a visible shudder passing through him. “Let me tell you something. This afternoon the T’ang of North America, Wu Shih, took my children—my two boys, Robert and William. They’re his hostages now. I say that, but in fact we’ve all of us been hostages for some time now, Jean, myself, and the boys. . . .”

She listened, horrified, as he gave the details, understanding slowly coming to her.

“And that’s why,” he concluded, “I have to do this. To make this small, perhaps futile gesture, to try to put things right somehow. The dream”—he sighed heavily—“my good friend Michael Lever was right when he spoke a few days ago. It seems as if the dream died long ago. “Anyway”—Kennedy straightened, facing the camera with something of his old determination—“it’s like this. I booked this ‘live’ slot earlier and recorded this message an hour or so back. What you see, then, is an image of an image ... a hologram.” He gave a faint, pained smile. “The real me, Joseph Kennedy, is dead. Or will be, by the time this goes out.” “What?” She put her hand to her mouth. Michael was on his feet. “Free,” he said. “That’s all I ever wanted, I guess ... to be free. And now. . .”

The image shivered, crackled, disappeared, to be replaced a moment later by one of the channel anchormen. He looked up, bemused, his mouth not working for a moment, then, swallowing, he began to read a news item. “Aiya...” Michael moaned, his face distraught. “No ... No ...” She stared at him, bewildered. Wrong, she thought. How could I have been so wrong?

“Em. . .”

She held him, clinging on, a great weight of sorrow pressing down on her as she imagined how it must have been for him. To have had to live with that every day. And now he was gone. . . . She closed her eyes. Suddenly it all seemed much less substantial than it had been only moments before. Suddenly more . . . hollow. Michael was leaning against her, sobbing. Comfort me, he seemed to be saying. Hold me and take away my hurt. But this once she could do nothing for him, for the hurt she felt was greater than his own—was as big as the world itself.

“Where now?” she murmured softly, her voice laced with pain and loss. “Oh, gods, where now?”