The Art of War (14 page)

DeVore waited, tensed, counting. At thirty the screen of the handset went blank and he gave the signal. Immediately his men spilled out of the corridor and began to cross the bridge. If his inside man had failed they would be cut down instantly. But the guns remained silent. Beyond them, on the far side of the bridge, the great doors stayed open.

DeVore switched channels on the handset quickly, making sure. All three were blank, the transmission signals dead. He smiled, then, tucking the set inside his one-piece, followed his men out on to the bridge.

Inside, he found things well advanced. The level had been sealed off and all four of the big transit lifts secured. On the floor to one side a line of captives lay face down, bound at hand and foot. Most of the prisoners were only partly dressed, while two were completely naked. Only the five-man duty squad were fully dressed, but even they had been too surprised to put up any fight. Down below his men would be moving through the levels, securing all major entry points to the arsenal itself, isolating any remaining defenders scattered about these uppermost levels.

Much depended now on how the
Ping Tiao
fared, fifty levels down. If they could seal off the barracks and hold their gate all would be well. But even if they didn’t, it would be more their loss than his. He needed the weapons, it was true, but there was something far more important here. Something he hadn’t bothered to mention in the briefing.

He turned and called the lieutenant across.

‘Which of these is the duty captain?’

The lieutenant went down the line, then stopped and bent down to touch the back of one of the half-dressed men.

‘Good. Take him into the guardroom.’

While two of his men lifted the captain under the shoulders and dragged him away, DeVore turned to Lehmann. Of all of them he looked most at ease in the simple
Ping Tiao
clothes they were wearing.

‘Stefan… Come here.’

Lehmann came across, then followed him into the guardroom.

The captain had been placed in a chair, his back to them. One of the men was busy binding him about the chest and legs.

‘Who are you?’ he was demanding as DeVore entered. ‘You’re not
Ping Tiao.
I can see that, despite your clothes and those fish symbols about your necks. You’re too sharp, too well organized. Those scum wouldn’t know how to break into a foodstore.’

‘You’re quite right, Captain,’ DeVore said, coming round and sitting on the table edge, facing him.

The man’s eyes widened. ‘DeVore!’

DeVore laughed softly, then signalled for the two men to leave. When they were gone he looked past the man at Lehmann, who nodded and turned to lock the door.

‘Good.’ DeVore smiled. ‘Now to business.’

The captain glared at him defiantly. ‘What business? I have no business with you, DeVore.’

‘No?’ DeVore reached into the breast pocket of his one-piece and took out something small and flat and round, its white casing like a lady’s compact. Looking across at the captain, he smiled. ‘You have a nice family, Captain Sanders. A beautiful wife, two fine sons and the baby girl. Well, she’s divine. A pretty little thing.’

Sanders watched, horrified, as DeVore opened the casing and activated the hologram within.

‘You have them?’ Sanders looked up at DeVore, swallowing drily, then looked back down at the tiny holo of his family, noting the look of anguish on his wife’s face, the way the boys huddled against her.

DeVore smiled. ‘As I said. To business.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Six numbers and five letters.’

Sanders understood at once. ‘The lift…’

‘Yes.’

It was a secret one-man shaft that went down from this level to the floor of the stack. He had seen it once, when he had been inspecting Helmstadt, eleven years ago; had travelled down and seen first-hand how it was defended. Now he would use what he knew.

Sanders hesitated, staring at the hologram. ‘And if I do… they’ll go free?’

‘Of course.’ DeVore snapped the case shut and slipped it back into the pocket of his one-piece. ‘You might consider me a traitor, Captain Sanders, but I’m still a man of my word.’

Sanders studied DeVore a moment longer, doubt warring with fear in his eyes, then he nodded. ‘All right. But it won’t help you.’

‘No?’ DeVore leaned back slightly. ‘Well, we’ll see, neh? Just give me the code. I’ll do the rest.’

Five thousand
li
to the east, in the magnificent palace at Astrakhan on the shore of the great inland sea, the Seven were in Council. As was their way, they sat not at a great table but in low, comfortable chairs drawn into a circle at one end of the room. Their manner seemed casual, as though they had met as friends to drink and talk of old times, yet here, on such occasions, all major policy decisions were made. Behind the T’ang, on simple stools, sat those sons who were attending – four in all, including Li Shai Tung’s son, Li Yuan – while at a desk behind Tsu Ma sat two scribes. In this, the second session of the day, they had come at last to the central issue: the matter of the Confiscations. Tsu Ma was just coming to the end of his speech, leaning forward in his chair, his words a strong echo of Li Shai Tung’s.

‘…but that would be folly. There’s no better way to put an end to all this bitterness and rivalry. At one stroke we can stabilize the market and placate those who, however mistakenly, might otherwise feel ill served by our generosity to those who sided with us.’

Tsu Ma paused and looked about the circle of his fellow T’ang, self-assured, his mouth and eyes forming a smile.

‘Which is why I have no hesitation in seconding Li Shai Tung’s proposal. The stewardship system will achieve the end we seek.’

There was a murmur of agreement from the older T’ang, but even as Tsu Ma sat back, Wang Sau-leyan leaned forward, his round face tensed with anger, his eyes hard. He spoke bitterly, staring about him angrily, challengingly.

‘Can I believe what I hear? Have we not just fought a war? A war which, by the power of Heaven, we won. If that is so, why should we fear the bitterness of our enemies? Why should we seek to placate them? Would they have done the same? No! They would have destroyed us. And what then? What would they have offered us? Nothing! Not even the dignity of a decent burial. And yet you sit here worrying about your enemies and their feelings. Well, I say forget them! We must reward our friends! Publicly, so all can see. What better way to encourage support for the Seven?’

Wei Feng sat forward in his chair, his face grim, his hands spread in a gesture that suggested his despair at Wang’s words.

‘That’s foolish talk, Wang Sau-leyan! Loyalty cannot be bought. It is like a tree. Long years go into its making. Your scheme would have us
buy
our friends.’ He laughed scornfully. ‘That would reduce our friendships to mere transactions, our dealings to the level of the marketplace.’

Wang Sau-leyan stared back at Wei Feng, his eyes narrowed.

‘And what is wrong with the marketplace? Is it not that selfsame market that gives us our power? Be honest now – what’s the truth of it? Does the love of our subjects sustain us, or is it the power we wield? Is there anyone here who does not fear the assassin’s knife? Is there a single one of us who would walk the lowest levels unprotected?’ Wang laughed scornfully and looked about him. ‘Well, then, I ask again – what is so wrong with the marketplace? Wei Feng says I speak foolishly. With respect, cousin Wei, my thoughts are not idle ones. You are right when you talk of loyalty as a tree. So it was. But the War has felled the forests. And are we to wait a dozen, fifteen years for the new seed to grow?’ He shook his head. ‘We here are realists. We know how things stand. There is no time to grow such loyalty again. Times have changed. It is regrettable, but…’

He paused, spreading his hands.

‘So. Let me ask again. What is wrong with rewarding our friends? If it achieves our end – if it breeds a kind of loyalty – why question what it is that keeps a man loyal? Love, fear, money… in the end it is only by force that we rule.’

There was a moment’s silence after he had finished. Li Shai Tung had been looking down at his hands while Wang was speaking. Now he looked up and, with a glance at Tsu Ma and Wu Shih, addressed the Council.

‘I hear what my cousin Wang says. Nevertheless, we must decide on this matter. We must formulate our policy here and now. I propose that this matter is put to the vote.’

Wang Sau-leyan stared at him a moment, then looked down. There was to be no delay, then? No further debate? They would have his vote now? Well, then, he would give them his vote.

Tsu Ma was leaning forward, taking a small cigar from the silver and ivory box on the arm of his chair. He glanced up casually. ‘We are agreed, then, cousins?’

Wang Sau-leyan looked about him, watching his fellow T’ang raise their hands then let them fall again.

‘Good,’ said Tsu Ma, ‘then let us move on quickly…’

Wang spoke up, interrupting Tsu Ma. ‘Excuse me, cousin, but have you not forgotten something?’

Tsu Ma met his eyes, clearly puzzled. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘The vote. You did not ask who was against.’

Tsu Ma laughed awkwardly. ‘I beg pardon…?’

‘Six hands were raised. Yet there are seven here, are there not?’

Wang Sau-leyan looked about him, seeing the effect his words were having on his fellow T’ang. Like so much else, they had not expected this. In Council all decisions were unanimous. Or had been. For one hundred and twenty-six years it had been so. Until today.

It was Li Shai Tung who broke the silence. ‘You mean you wish to vote against? After all we’ve said?’

Wei Feng, sat beside him, shook his head. ‘It isn’t done,’ he said quietly. ‘It just isn’t our way…’

‘Why not?’ Wang asked, staring at him defiantly. ‘We are Seven, not one, surely? Why must our voice be singular?’

‘You misunderstand…’ Tsu Ma began, but again Wang cut in.

‘I misunderstand nothing. It is my right to vote against, is it not? To put on record my opposition to this item of policy?’

Tsu Ma hesitated, then gave a small nod of assent.

‘Good. Then that is all I wish to do. To register my unease at our chosen course.’

At the desk behind Tsu Ma the secretary, Lung Mei Ho, had been taking down everything that was said for the official record, his ink brush moving quickly down the page. Beside him his assistant had been doing the same, the duplication ensuring that the report was accurate. Now both had stopped and were looking up, astonished.

‘But that has been done already, cousin Wang. Every word spoken here is a matter of record. Your unease…’ Tsu Ma frowned, trying to understand. ‘You mean you really
do
wish to vote against?’

‘Is it so hard to understand, Tsu Ma?’ Wang looked past the T’ang at the scribe, his voice suddenly hard. ‘Why aren’t you writing,
Shih
Lung? Did anyone call these proceedings to a halt?’

Lung glanced at his master’s back, then lowered his head hurriedly, setting down Wang’s words. Beside him his assistant did the same.

Satisfied, Wang Sau-leyan sat back, noting how his fellow T’ang were glaring at him now or looking amongst themselves, uncertain how to act. His gesture, ineffective in itself, had nonetheless shocked them to the bone. As Wei Feng had said, it wasn’t done. Not in the past. But the past was dead. This was a new world, with new rules. They had not learned that yet. Despite all, the War had taught them nothing. Well, he would change that. He would press their noses into the foul reality of it.

‘One further thing,’ he said quietly.

Tsu Ma looked up, meeting his eyes. ‘What is it, cousin Wang?’

The sharpness in Tsu Ma’s voice made him smile inside. He had rattled them – even the normally implacable Tsu Ma. Well, now he would shake them well and good.

‘It’s just a small thing. A point of procedure.’

‘Go on…’

‘Just this. The princes must leave. Now. Before we discuss any further business.’

He saw the look of consternation on Tsu Ma’s face; saw it mirrored on every face in that loose circle. Then the room exploded in a riot of angry, conflicting voices.

DeVore braced himself as the lift fell rapidly, one hand gripping the brass and leather handle overhead, the other cradling the severed head against his hip. They had quick-frozen the neck to stop blood seeping against his uniform and peeled away the eyelids. In time the retinal pattern would decay, but for now it was good enough to fool the cameras.

As the lift slowed he prepared himself, lifting the head up in front of his face. When it stopped, he put the right eye against the indentation in the wall before him, then moved it away, tapping in the code. Three seconds, then the door would hiss open. He tucked the head beneath his arm and drew his gun.

‘What’s happening up top?’

The guard at the desk was turning towards him, smiling, expecting Sanders, but he had barely uttered the words when DeVore opened fire, blowing him from his seat. The second guard was coming out of a side room, balancing a tray with three bowls of
ch’a
between his hands. He thrust the tray away and went for his sidearm, but DeVore was too quick for him. He staggered back, then fell and lay still.

DeVore walked across to the desk and set the head down, then looked about him. Nothing had changed. It was all how he remembered it. In eleven years they had not even thought of changing their procedures. Creatures of habit, they were – men of tradition. DeVore laughed scornfully. It was their greatest weakness and the reason why he would win.

He went to the safe. It was a high-security design with a specially strengthened form of ice for its walls and a blank front that could be opened only by the correct sequence of light pulses on the appropriate light-sensitive panels. That too was unchanged.
It won’t help you
– that’s what Sanders had said. Well, Sanders and his like didn’t think the way he thought. They approached things head on. But he…

DeVore laughed, then took the four tiny packets from the tunic and, taking out their contents, attached them to the ice on each side of the safe’s rectangular front. They looked like tiny hoops, like snakes eating their own tails. Four similar hoops – much larger, their destructive capacity a thousand times that of these tiny, ring-like versions – had begun it all, ten years earlier, when they had ripped the Imperial Solarium apart, killing the T’ang’s Minister Lwo Kang and his advisors. Now their smaller brothers would provide him with the means to continue that War.