Wingrove, David - Chung Kuo 02 (8 page)

Gesell laughed.
"Come clean,
Shih
Turner. Tell us the real reason why
you're here."

DeVore stepped
forward, appealing suddenly to them all, not just Gesell, knowing
that this was the point where he could win them over.

"It's true.
The War has taken many whose funds supported my activities. But
there's more to it than that. Things have changed. It's no longer a
struggle in the Above between those in power and those who want to
be. The conflict has widened. As you know. It's no longer a question
of who should rule, but whether or not there should be rulers at
all."

Gesell sat back.
"That's so. But what's your role in this? You claim you've
killed a Tang."

"And
Ministers, and a T'ang's son . . ."

Gesell laughed
shortly. "Well, whatever. But still I ask you: why should we
trust you?"

DeVore leaned
forward and placed his hands on the edge of the table. "Because
you have to. Alone, both of us will fail. The
Ping Tiao
will
go down into obscurity, or at best earn a footnote in some historical
document as just another small fanatical sect. And the Seven . . ."
He heaved a huge sigh and straightened up. "The Seven will rule
Chung Kuo forever."

He had given
them nothing. Nothing real or substantial, anyway. As Gesell had so
rightly said, all they had was half a map, an ear. That and his own
bare-faced audacity in daring to knock on their door, knowing they
were ruthless killers. Yet he could see from their faces that they
were more than half convinced already.

"Unwrap the
package,
Shih
Gesell. You'll find there's something else
besides an ear inside."

Gesell
hesitated, then did as DeVore had asked. Setting the ear aside, he
unfolded the transparent sheet and placed it beside its matching
half.

"I have
three hundred and fifty trained men," DeVore said quietly. "If
you can match my force we'll take the Helmstadt Armory two days from
now."

Gesell stared at
him. "You seem very sure of yourself,
Shih
Turner.
Helmstadt is heavily guarded. It has complex electronic defenses. How
do you think we can take it?"

"Because
there will be no defenses. Not when we attack."

Quickly,
confidently, he spelled out his plan, holding back only the way he
had arranged it all. When he'd finished, Gesell looked to his
colleagues. He had noted what DeVore had said, in particular the part
about the high-profile media publicity the
Ping Tiao
would
gain from the attack, publicity that was sure to swell their ranks
with new recruits. That, and the prospect of capturing a significant
stockpile of sophisticated weaponry, seemed to have swung the
decision.

Gesell turned to
him. "You'll let us confer a moment,
Shih
Turner. We are
a democratic movement. We must vote on this."

DeVore smiled
inwardly.
Democracy, my ass. It's what
you
want, Gesell.
And I think you're clever enough to know you've no option but to go
along with me.

Giving the
slightest bow, he walked out of the room. He had only to wait a few
minutes before the door opened again and Gesell came out. He stood
facing the Ping Two leader.

"Well?"

Gesell stared at
him a moment, coldly assessing him. Then, with the smallest bow, he
stepped back, holding out his arm. "Come in,
Shih
Turner.
We have plans to discuss."

* *
*

the girl WAS
DEAD. Haavikko sat there, distraught, staring at her, at the blood
that covered his hands and chest and thighs, and knew he had killed
her.

He turned his
head slightly and saw the knife, there on the floor where he
remembered dropping it; he shuddered, a wave of sickness, of sheer
self-disgust washing over him. What depths, what further
degradations, lay ahead of him? Nothing. He had done it all. And now
this.

There was no
more. This was the end of that path he had set out upon ten years
ago.

He turned back,
looking at her. The girl's face was white, drained of blood. Such a
pretty face it had been in life, full of laughter and smiles, her
eyes undulled by experience. He gritted his teeth against the sudden
pain he felt and bowed his head, overcome. She could not have been
more than fourteen.

He looked about
the room. There, draped carelessly over the back of the chair, was
his uniform. And there, on the floor beside it, the tray with the
empty bottles and the glasses they had been drinking from before it
happened.

He closed his
eyes, then shivered violently, seeing it all again—the images
forming with an almost hallucinatory clarity that took his breath. He
uttered a small moan of pain, seeing himself holding her down with
one hand, striking at her in a frenzy with the knife, once, twice, a
third time, slashing at her breasts, her stomach, while she cried out
piteously and struggled to get up.

He jumped to his
feet and turned away, putting his hands up to his face. "Kuan
Yin preserve you, Axel Haavikko for what you've done!"

Yes, he saw it
all now. It all led to this. The drinking and debauchery, the
insubordination and gambling. This was its natural end. This
grossness. He had observed his own fall, from that moment in General
Tolonen's office to this . . . this finality. There was no more.
Nothing for him but to take the knife and end himself.

He stared at the
knife. Stared long and hard at it. Saw how the blood was crusted on
its shaft and handle, remembering the feel of it in his hand. His
knife.

Slowly he went
across, then knelt down next to it, his hands placed on either side
of it. End it now, he told himself. Cleanly, quickly, and with more
dignity than you've shown in all these last ten years.

He picked up the
knife, taking its handle in both hands, then turned the blade toward
his stomach. His hands shook, and for the briefest moment, he
wondered if he had the courage left to carry the thing through. Then,
determined, he closed his eyes.

"Lieutenant
Haavikko, I've come to see—"

Haavikko turned
abruptly, dropping the knife. The pimp, Liu Chang, had come three
paces into the room and stopped, taking in the scene.

"Gods!"
the Han said, his face a mask of horror. He glanced at Haavikko
fearfully, backing away; then turned and rushed from the room.

Haavikko
shuddered, then turned back, facing the knife. He could not stand up.
All the strength had gone from his legs. Nor could he reach out and
take the knife again. His courage was spent. Nothing remained now but
his shame. He let his head fall forward, tears coming to his eyes.

"Forgive
me, Vesa, I didn't mean . . ."

Vesa. It was his
beloved sister's name. But the dead girl had no name. Not one he
knew, anyway.

He heard the
door swing open again; there were footsteps in the room, but he did
not lift his head. Let them kill me now, he thought. Let them take
their revenge on me. It would be no less than I deserve.

He waited,
resigned, but nothing happened. He heard them lift the girl and carry
her away, then sensed someone standing over him.

Haavikko raised
his head slowly and looked up. It was Liu Chang. "You disgust
me." He spat the words out venomously, his eyes boring into
Haavikko. "She was a good girl. A lovely girl. Like a daughter
to me."

"I'm sorry
. . ." Haavikko began, his throat constricting. He dropped his
head, beginning to sob. "Do what you will to me. I'm finished
now. I haven't even the money to pay you for last night."

The pimp
laughed, his disgust marked. "I realize that, soldier boy. But
then, you've not paid your weight since you started coming here."
Haavikko looked up, surprised. "No. It's a good job you've got
friends, neh? Good friends who'll bail you out when trouble comes.
That's what disgusts me most about your scat. You never pay. It's all
settled for you, isn't it?"

"I don't
know what you mean. I—"

But Liu Chang's
angry bark of laughter silenced him. "This. It's all paid for.
Don't you understand that? Your friends have settled everything for
you." ;

Haavikko's voice
was a bemused whisper. "Everything . . . ?"

"Everything."
Liu Chang studied him a moment, his look of disgust unwavering, then
he leaned forward and spat in Haavikko's face.

Haavikko knelt
there long after Liu Chang had gone, the spittle on his cheek a badge
of shame that seemed to burn right through to the bone. It was less
than he deserved, but he was thinking about what Liu Chang had said.
Friends . . . What friends? He had no friends, only partners in his
debauchery, and they would have settled nothing for him.

He dressed and
went outside, looking for Liu Chang.

"Liu Chang.
Where is he?"

The girl at the
reception desk stared at him a moment, as if he were something foul
and unclean that had crawled up out of the Net, then handed him an
envelope.

Haavikko turned
his back on the girl, then opened the envelope and took out the
single sheet of paper. It was from Liu Chang.

Lieutenant
Haavikko, Words cannot express the disgust I feel. If I had my way
you would be made to pay fully for what you have done. As it is, I
must ask you never to frequent my House again. If you so much as come
near, I shall pass on my record of events to the authorities,
"friends" or no. Be warned.

Liu Chang.
_;
.....

He stuffed the
paper into his tunic pocket then staggered out, more mystified than
ever. Outside, in the corridor, he looked about him, then lurched
over to the public drinking fountain inset into the wall at the
intersection. He splashed his face then straightened up.

Friends. What
friends? Or were they friends at all?

Liu Chang knew,
but he could not go near Liu Chang. Who then?

Haavikko
shivered, then looked about him. Someone knew. Someone had made it
their business to know. But who?

He thought of
the girl again and groaned. "I don't deserve this chance,"
he told himself softly. And yet he was here, free, all debts settled.
Why? He gritted his teeth and reached up to touch the spittle that
had dried on his cheek. Friends, It gave him a reason to go on. To
find out who. And why.

* *
*

DEVORE TOOK OFF
his gloves and threw them down on the desk; then he turned and faced
his lieutenant, Wiegand, lowering his head to dislodge the lenses
from his eyes.

"Here."
He handed the lenses to Wiegand, who placed them carefully in a tiny
plastic case he had ready. "Get these processed. I want to know
who those other four are."

Wiegand bowed
and left. DeVore turned, meeting the eyes of the other man in the
room.

"It went
perfectly. We attack Helmstadt in two days."

The albino
nodded, but was quiet.

"What is
it, Stefan?"

"Bad news.
Soren Berdichev is dead."

DeVore looked at
the young man a moment, then went and sat behind his desk, busying
himself with the reports that had amassed while he was away. He spoke
without looking up.

"I know. I
heard before I went in. A bad business, by all accounts, but useful.
It may well have alienated the Mars settlers. They'll have little
love for the Seven now, after the destruction of the pipeline."

"Maybe . .
." Lehmann was silent a moment, then came and stood at the edge
of the desk looking down at DeVore. "I liked him, you know.
Admired him."

DeVore looked
up, masking his surprise. He found it hard to believe that Stefan
Lehmann was capable of liking anyone. "Well," he said,
"he's dead now. And life goes on. We've got to plan for the
future. For the next stage of the War."

"Is that
why you went to see those scum?"

DeVore stared
past Lehmann a moment, studying the map on the wall behind him. Then
he met his eyes again. "I have news for you, Stefan."

The pink eyes
hardened, the mouth tightened. "I know already."

"I see."
DeVore considered a moment. "Who told you?"

"Wiegand."

DeVore narrowed
his eyes. Wiegand. He was privy to all incoming messages, of course,
but he had strict instructions not to pass on what he knew until
DeVore authorized it. It was a serious breach.

"I'm sorry,
Stefan. It makes it harder for us all."

The Notice of
Confiscation had come in only an hour before he had gone off to meet
the
Ping Tiao
, hot on the heels of the news of Berdichev's
death. In theory it stripped Lehmann of all he had inherited from his
father, making him a pauper, but DeVore had pre-empted the Notice
some years back by getting Berdichev to switch vast sums from the
Estate in the form of loans to fictitious beneficiaries. Those
"loans" had long been spent—and more besides—on
constructing further fortresses, but Lehmann knew nothing of that. As
far as he was concerned, the whole sum was lost.

Lehmann was
studying him intently. "How will it change things?"

DeVore set down
the paper and sat back. "As far as I'm concerned it changes
nothing, Stefan. All our lives are forfeit anyway. What difference
does a piece of paper bearing the seals of the Seven make to that?"

There was the
slightest movement in the young man's ice-pale face. "I can be
useful. You know that."

"I know."
Good, thought DeVore. He understands. He's learned his lessons well.
There's no room for sentimentality in what we're doing here. What's
past is past. I owe him nothing for the use of his money.

"Don't
worry," he said, leaning forward and picking up the paper again.
"You're on the payroll now, Stefan. I'm appointing you
lieutenant, as from this moment. Ranking equal with Wiegand."

Yes, he thought.
That should take the smile from Wiegand's face.