Ice and Fire: Chung Kuo Series (15 page)

As, indeed, it would. And all the preparedness of architects would not prevent the
City’s fall. He leaned forward and jabbed his finger down into the red, at a point
where the carp’s
backbone seemed to twist.

‘Here!’ he said, looking about him and seeing he had their attention. ‘This is where
our base will be.’

He reached into the drawer beneath the table and drew out the transparent template,
then laid it down over the shaded area. At once that part of the map seemed to come
alive; was overlaid with a
fine web of brilliant gold, the nodes of which sparkled in the overhead light.

They leaned closer, attentive, as he outlined the details of his scheme. Three nerve
centres, built deep into the mountainside, joined to a total of eighteen other fortresses,
each linked by
discreet communication systems to at least two other bases, yet each capable of functioning
independently. The whole thing hidden beneath layers of ice and rock, untraceable
from the air: a
flexible and formidable system of defences from which they would launch their attack
on the Seven.

And the cost?

The cost they knew already. It was a staggering sum. Far more than any one of them
could contemplate. But together…

DeVore looked from face to face, gauging their response, coming to Weis last of all.

‘Well,
Shih
Weis? Do you think your backers would approve?’

He saw the flicker of uncertainty at the back of Weis’s eyes, and smiled inwardly.
The man was still conditioned to think like a loyal subject of the T’ang. Even so,
if he could be
pushed to persuade his backers…

DeVore smiled encouragingly. ‘You’re happy with the way funds will be channelled through
to the project, I assume?’

Weis nodded, then leaned forward, touching the template.

‘This is hand drawn. Why’s that?’

DeVore laughed. ‘Tell me,
Shih
Weis, do you trust all your dealings to the record?’

Weis smiled and others about the table laughed. It was a common business procedure
to keep a single written copy of a deal until it was considered safe for the venture
to be announced publicly.
It was too easy to gain access to a company’s computer records when everyone used
the same communications web.

‘You want the T’ang to know our scheme beforehand?’

Weis withdrew his hand, then looked at DeVore again and smiled. ‘I think my friends
will be pleased enough, Major.’

DeVore’s face did not change immediately, but inwardly he tensed. It had been agreed
beforehand that they would refer to him as
Shih
Scott. Weis, he was certain, had not forgotten
that, neither had he mentioned his former Security rank without some underlying reason.

You’re dead
, thought DeVore, smiling pleasantly at the man as if amused by his remark.
As soon as you’re expendable, you’re dead
.

‘I’m delighted,
Shih
Weis. Like yourself, they will be welcome any time they wish to visit. I would not
ask them to fund anything they cannot see with their own
eyes.’

He saw the calculation at the back of Weis’s eyes that greeted his comment – saw how
he looked for a trap in every word of his – and smiled inwardly. At least the man
was wise
enough to know how dangerous he was. But his wisdom would not help him in this instance.

DeVore turned to Barrow. ‘And you, Under Secretary? Have you anything to add?’

Barrow had succeeded to Lehmann’s old position, and whilst his contribution to this
scheme was negligible, his role as leader of the Dispersionist faction in the House
made his presence
here essential. If he approved then First Level would approve, for he was their mouthpiece,
their conscience in these times of change.

Barrow smiled sadly, then looked down. ‘I wish there were some other way,
Shih
Scott. I wish that pressure in the House would prove enough, but I am realist enough
to know that
change – real change – will only come now if we push from every side.’ He sighed.
‘Your scheme here has my sanction. My only hope is that we shall never have to use
it
against the Seven.’

‘And mine, Barrow Chen,’ DeVore assured him, allowing no trace of cynicism to escape
into his voice or face. ‘Yet, as you say, we must be realists. We must be prepared
to use
all means to further our cause. We Europeans have been denied too long.’

Afterwards, alone with Berdichev and Douglas, he talked of minor things, concealing
his pleasure that his scheme had their sanction and – more important – their
financial backing. Times have certainly changed, he thought, admiring a small rose
quartz snuff bottle Douglas had handed him from a cabinet to one side of the study.
Three years ago they would
have hesitated before speaking against the Seven; now – however covertly – they sanctioned
armed rebellion.

‘It’s beautiful,’ he said. And indeed it was. A crane, the emblem of long life, stood
out from the surface of the quartz, flanked by magpies, signifying good luck; while
encircling the top of the bottle was a spray of peonies, emblematic of spring and
wealth. The whole thing was delightful, almost a perfect work of art, yet small enough
to enclose in the palm of
his hand.

‘One last thing, Howard.’

DeVore raised his head, aware of the slight hesitation in Berdichev’s voice. ‘Is there
a problem?’

‘Yes and no. That is, there is only if you feel there’s one.’

DeVore set the rose quartz bottle down and turned to face his friend. ‘You’re being
unusually cryptic, Soren. Are we in danger?’

Berdichev gave a short laugh. ‘No. It’s nothing like that. It’s… Well, it’s Lehmann’s
son.’

DeVore was silent a moment. He looked at Douglas, then back at Berdichev. ‘Lehmann’s
son
? I didn’t know Pietr had a son.’

‘Few did. It was one of his best-kept secrets.’

Yes, thought DeVore,
it certainly was. I thought I knew everything about you all – every last tiny little,
dirty little thing – but now you surprise me
.

‘Illegitimate, I suppose?’

Berdichev shook his head. ‘Not at all. The boy’s his legal heir. On Lehmann’s death
he inherited the whole estate.’

‘Really?’

That too was news to him. He had thought Lehmann had died intestate – that his vast
fortune had gone back to the Seven. It changed things dramatically. Lehmann must have
been worth at
least two billion yuan.

‘It was all done quietly, of course, as Lehmann wished.’

DeVore nodded, masking his surprise. There was a whole level of things here that he
had been totally unaware of. ‘Explain. Lehmann wasn’t even married. How could he have
a son and
heir?’

Berdichev came across and stood beside him. ‘It was a long time ago. Back when we
were at college. Pietr met a girl there. A bright young thing, but unconnected. His
father, who was still
alive then, refused to even let Pietr see her. He threatened to cut him off without
a yuan if he did.’

‘And yet he did, secretly. And married her.’

Berdichev nodded. ‘I was one of the witnesses at the ceremony.’

DeVore looked away thoughtfully; looked across at the window wall and at the gathering
in the garden room beyond it. ‘What happened?’

For a moment Berdichev was quiet, looking back down the well of years to that earlier
time. Then, strangely, he laughed; a sad, almost weary laugh. ‘You know how it is.
We were young. Far
too young. Pietr’s father was right: the girl wasn’t suitable. She ran off with another
man. Pietr divorced her.’

And she took the child with her?’

The look of pain on Berdichev’s face was unexpected. ‘No. It wasn’t like that. You
see, she was four months pregnant when they divorced. Pietr only found out by accident,
when
she applied to have the child aborted. Of course, the official asked for the father’s
details, saw there was a profit to be made from the information and went straight
to Lehmann.’

DeVore smiled. It was unethical, but then so was the world. And Pietr made her have
the child?’

Berdichev shook his head. ‘She refused. Said she’d kill herself first. But Pietr hired
an advocate. You see, by law the child was his. It was conceived within wedlock and
while she
was his wife any child of her body was legally his property.’

‘I see. But how did hiring an advocate help?’

‘He had a restraining order served on her. Had her taken into hospital and the foetus
removed and placed in a MedFac nurture unit.’

‘Ah. Even so, I’m surprised. Why did we never see the child? There was no reason to
keep things secret.’

‘No. I suppose not. But Pietr was strange about it. I tried to talk to him about it
several times, but he would walk out on me. As for the boy, well, he never lived with
his father, never
saw him, and Pietr refused ever to see the child. He thought he would remind him too
much of his mother.’

DeVore’s mouth opened slightly. ‘He loved her, then? Even after what she did?’

Adored her. It’s why he never married again, never courted female company. I think
her leaving killed something in him.’

‘How strange. How very, very strange.’ DeVore looked down. ‘I would never have guessed.’
He shook his head. And the son? How does he feel about his father?’

‘I don’t know. He’s said nothing, and I feel it impertinent to ask.’

DeVore turned and looked directly at Berdichev. ‘So what’s the problem?’

‘For the last three years the boy has been my ward. As Pietr’s executor I’ve handled
his affairs. But now he’s of age.’

‘So?’

‘So I’d like you to take charge of the boy for a while.’

DeVore laughed, genuinely surprised by Berdichev’s request. ‘Why? What are you up
to, Soren?’

Berdichev shook his head. ‘I’ve nothing to do with this, Howard. It’s what the boy
wants.’

‘The boy…’ DeVore felt uncomfortable. He had been wrong-footed too many times already
in this conversation. He was used to being in control of events, not the victim of
circumstance; even so, the situation intrigued him. What could the boy want? And,
more to the point, how had Lehmann’s son heard of him?

‘Perhaps you should meet him,’ Berdichev added hastily, glancing across at Douglas
as if for confirmation. ‘Then you might understand. He’s not… Well, he’s
not perhaps what you’d expect.’

‘Yes. Of course. When?’

‘Would now do?’

DeVore shrugged. ‘Why not?’

But his curiosity was intense. Why should the boy be not what he’d expect? ‘Is there
something I should know beforehand, Soren? Is there something strange about him?’

Berdichev gave a brief laugh. ‘You’ll understand. You more than anyone will understand.’

While Berdichev went to get the boy he waited, conscious of Douglas’s unease. It was
clear he had met the boy already. It was also clear that something about the young
man made him
intensely uncomfortable. He glanced at DeVore, then, making up his mind, gave a brief
bow and went across to the door.

‘I must be getting back, Howard. You’ll forgive me, but my guests…’

‘Of course.’ DeVore returned the bow, then turned, intrigued, wondering what it was
about the boy that could so thoroughly spook the seemingly imperturbable Douglas.

He did not have long to wait for his answer.

‘Howard, meet Stefan Lehmann.’

DeVore shivered. Despite himself, he felt an overwhelming sense of aversion towards
the young man who stood before him. It wasn’t just the shocking, skull-like pallor
of his face and hair,
or the unhealthy pinkness of his eyes, both signs of albinism, but something to do
with the unnatural coldness of the youth. When he looked at you it was as if an icy
wind blew from the far north.
DeVore met those eyes and saw through them to the emptiness beyond. But he was thinking,
Who are you? Are you really Lehmann’s
son? Were you really taken from your mother’s
womb and bred inside a nurture unit until the world was ready for you?

Red in white, those eyes. Each eye a wild, dark emptiness amidst the cold, clear whiteness
of the flesh.

He stepped forward, offering his hand to the albino but looking at Berdichev as he
did so. ‘Our eighth man, I presume.’

‘I’m sorry?’ Then Berdichev understood. ‘Ah, yes, I said I’d explain, didn’t I? But
you’re right, of course. Stefan was the first to be briefed. He
insisted on it. After all, he’s responsible for sixty per cent of the funding.’

DeVore looked down at the hand that held his own. The fingers were long, unnaturally
thin, the skin on them so clear it seemed he could see right through them to the bone
itself. But the young
man’s grip was firm, his skin surprisingly warm.

He looked up, meeting those eyes again, suddenly curious; wanting to hear the boy
speak.

‘So. You want to stay with me a while?’

Stefan Lehmann looked at him – looked through him – then turned and looked across
at Berdichev.

‘You were right, Uncle Soren. He’s like me, isn’t he?’

DeVore laughed, uncomfortable, then let go of the hand, certain now. The boy’s voice
was familiar – unnaturally familiar. It was Pietr Lehmann’s voice.

The albino was standing behind where he was sitting, studying the bank of screens,
when Peskova came into the room. DeVore saw how his lieutenant hesitated – saw the
flicker of pure aversion, quickly masked, that crossed his face – before he came forward.

‘What is it, Peskova?’

DeVore sat back, his eyes narrowed.

Peskova bowed, then glanced again at the albino. ‘There’s been unrest,
Shih
Bergson. Some trouble down on Camp Two.’

DeVore looked down at the desk. ‘So?’

Peskova cleared his throat, self-conscious in the presence of the stranger. ‘It’s
the Han woman, Overseer. Sung’s wife. She’s been talking.’

DeVore met his lieutenant’s eyes, his expression totally unreadable. ‘Talking?’

Peskova swallowed. ‘I had to act,
Shih
Bergson. I had to isolate her from the rest.’