For a moment he followed the chain of logic that led out from that thought, then sat again, shaking his head. No, not Wiegand. His instinct was against it. In any case, Wiegand didn’t have either the balls or the imagination for such a thing. And yet, if not Wiegand, then who?
Again he sighed, deciding to put the base on full alert. In case he was wrong. In case Wiegand had made a deal and was planning to lead Tolonen back here to the Wilds.
Emily Ascher was angry. Very angry. She trembled as she faced her four compatriots on the central committee of the Ping Tiao, her arm outstretched, her finger stabbing towards Gesell, the words spat out venomously.
‘What you did was vile, Bent. You’ve tainted us all. Betrayed us.’
Gesell glanced at Mach then looked back at his ex-lover, his whole manner defensive. The failure of the attack on the Plantations had shaken him badly and he was only now beginning to understand what effect the Bremen backlash would have on their organization. Even so, he was not prepared to admit he had been wrong.
‘I knew you’d react like this. It’s exactly why we had to keep it from you. You would have vetoed it –’
She gave a high-pitched laugh, astonished by him. ‘Of course I would! And rightly so. This could destroy us –’
Gesell lifted his hand, as if to brush aside the accusation. ‘You don’t understand. If our attack on the Plantations had succeeded –’
She batted his hand away angrily. ‘I understand things perfectly. This was a major policy decision and I wasn’t consulted.’ She turned her head, looking across at the other woman in the room. ‘And you, Mao Liang? Were you told?’
Mao Liang looked down, shaking her head, saying nothing. But that wasn’t so surprising: since she had replaced Emily in Gesell’s bed, it was as if she had lost her own identity.
She looked back at Gesell. ‘I understand, all right. It’s back to old patterns. Old men meeting in closed rooms, deciding things for others.’ She made a sound of pure disgust. ‘You know, I really believed we were beyond all that. But it was all lip-service, wasn’t it, Bent? All the time you were fucking me, you really despised me as a person… After all, I was only a woman. An inferior being. Not to be trusted with serious matters.’
‘You’re wrong –’ Gesell began, stung by her words.
‘I don’t know how you’ve the face to tell me I’m wrong after what you’ve done. And you, Mach. I know this was all your idea.’
Mach was watching her, his eyes narrowed slightly. ‘There was good reason not to involve you. You were doing so well at recruiting new members.’
Again she laughed, not believing what she was hearing. ‘And what’s that worth now? All that hard work, and now you’ve pissed it all away. My word. I gave them my word as to what we were, and you’ve shat on it.’
‘We’re Ko Ming,’ Gesell began, a slight edge to his voice now. ‘Revolutionaries, not fucking hospital workers. You can’t change things and have clean hands. It isn’t possible!’
She stared back at him witheringly. ‘Murderers, that’s what they’re calling us. Heartless butchers. And who can blame them? We destroyed any credibility we had last night.’
‘I disagree.’
She turned, looking at him. ‘You can disagree as much as you like, Jan Mach, but it’s true. As of last night this organization is dead. You killed it. You and this prick here. Didn’t you see the trivee pictures of the children who died? Didn’t you see the shots of those beautiful, blond-haired children playing with their mothers? Didn’t something in you respond to that?’
‘Propaganda –’ began Quinn, the newest of them, but a look from Gesell silenced him.
Ascher looked from one to the other of them, seeing how they avoided her eyes. ‘No? Isn’t there one of you with the guts to admit it? We did that. The Ping Tiao. And this time there’s nothing we can do to repair the damage. We’re fucked.’
‘No,’ Mach said. ‘There is a way.’
She snorted. ‘You’re impossible! What way? What could we possibly do that could even begin to balance things in our favour?’
‘Wait and see,’ Mach said, meeting her eyes coldly. ‘Just wait and see.’
DeVore sat back on the sofa, looking about him at the once opulently furnished room, noting how the fabrics had worn, the colours faded since he had last come here. He picked up one of the cushions beside him and studied it a moment, reading the Mandarin pictograms sewn into the velvet. Here men forget their cares. He smiled. So it had been, once. But now?
He looked up as Mu Chua entered, one of her girls following with a fully laden tray. She smiled at him, lines tightening about her eyes and at the corners of her mouth.
‘I thought you might like some ch’a while you were waiting, Shih Reynolds.’
He sat forward, giving the slightest bow of his head. ‘That’s kind of you, Mother.’
As the girl knelt and poured the ch’a, DeVore studied Mu Chua. She too was much older, much more worn than he remembered her. In her sixties now, she seemed drawn, the legendary ampleness of her figure a thing of the past. Death showed itself in her: in the sudden angularity of her limbs and the taut wiriness of her muscles; in the slackness of the flesh at neck and arm and breast. He had known her in better days, though it was unlikely she remembered him.
She was watching him, as if aware of how he looked at her. Even so, when she spoke again, her smile returned, as strong as ever. He smiled back at her. Though the body failed, the spirit lived on, in spite of all she’d suffered.
‘Shall I let him know you’re here?’
He shook his head, then took the offered bowl from the girl. ‘No, Mu Chua. I’ll wait.’
She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the girl then back to him. ‘In that case, is there anything you’d like?’
Again he smiled. ‘No. Though I thank you. Just let him know I’m here. When he’s done, that is.’
He watched her go, then looked about him, wondering. Mu Chua’s old protector, the Triad boss, Feng Chung, had died three years back, leaving a power vacuum down here below the Net. Rival Triads had fought a long and bloody war for the dead man’s territory, culminating in the victory of Lu Ming-Shao, or ‘Whiskers Lu’ as he was better known. No respecter of fine detail, Lu had claimed Mu Chua’s House of the Ninth Ecstasy as his own, letting Mu Chua stay on as Madam, nominally in charge of things. But the truth was that Lu ran things his way these days, using Mu Chua’s as a clearing house for drugs and other things, as well as for entertaining his Above clients.
Things had changed, and in the process Mu Chua’s had lost its shine. The girls here were no longer quite so carefree, and violence, once banned from the house, was now a regular feature of their lives.
So the world changes, thought DeVore, considering whether he should make Whiskers Lu an offer for the place.
‘Has something amused you?’
He turned sharply, surprised that he’d not heard Ebert enter, then saw that the Major was bare-footed, a silk pau drawn loosely about his otherwise naked body.
DeVore set the ch’a bowl down beside him and stood, facing Ebert.
‘I thought you were in a hurry to see me?’
Ebert smiled and walked past him, pulling at the bell rope to summon one of the girls. He turned back, the smile still on his lips. ‘I was. But I’ve had time to think things through.’ He laughed softly. ‘I ought to thank you, Howard. You knew that Tolonen would screen his staff officers, didn’t you?’
DeVore nodded.
‘I thought so.’
There was a movement to their right, a rustling of the curtains, and then a girl entered, her head lowered. ‘You called, Masters?’
‘Bring us a bottle of your best wine and two…’ He looked at DeVore, then corrected himself, ‘No, make that just one glass.’
When she was gone, DeVore looked down, for the first time letting his anger show.
‘What the fuck are you up to, Hans?’
Ebert blinked, surprised by DeVore’s su
dden hostility. Then, bridling, he turned, facing him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I ought to kill you.’
‘Kill me? Why?’
‘For what you did. It didn’t take much to piece it together. There was really no other possibility. No one else knew enough about our plans to attack the Plantations. It had to be you who blew the whistle.’
Ebert hesitated. ‘Ah… that.’ Then, unbelievably, he gave a little laugh. ‘I’m afraid I had to, Howard. One of our captains got a whiff of things. If it had been one of my own men I could have done something about it, but the man had already put in his report. I had to act quickly. If they’d taken them alive…’
DeVore was breathing strangely, as if preparing to launch himself at the bigger man.
‘I’m sure you see it, Howard,’ Ebert continued, looking away from him. ‘It’s like in wei chi. You have to sacrifice a group sometimes, for the sake of the game. Well, it was like that. It was either act or lose the whole game. I did it for the best.’
You did it to save your own arse, thought DeVore, calming himself, trying to keep from killing Ebert there and then. It wouldn’t do to be too hasty. And maybe Ebert was right, whatever his real motive. Maybe it had prevented a far worse calamity. At least the fortresses were safe. But it still left him with the problem of dealing with the Ping Tiao.
‘So Wiegand’s dead?’
Ebert nodded. ‘I made sure of that myself.’
Yes, he thought. I bet you did. He forced himself to unclench his fists, then turned away. It was the closest he had come to losing control. Don’t let it get to you, he told himself, but it did no good. There was something about Ebert that made him want to let fly, whatever the consequences. But, no – that was Tolonen’s way, not his. It was what made the old man so weak. And Ebert, too. But he was not like that. He used his anger; made it work for him, not against him.
The girl brought the wine, then left them. As Ebert turned to pour, DeVore studied him, wondering, not for the first time, what Hans Ebert would have been had he not been born heir to GenSyn. A low-level bully, perhaps. A hireling of some bigger, more capable man, but essentially the same callous, selfish type, full of braggadocio, his dick bigger than his brain.
Or was that fair? Wasn’t there also something vaguely heroic about Ebert – something that circumstance might have moulded otherwise? Was it his fault that he had been allowed everything, denied nothing?
He watched Ebert turn, smiling, and nodded to himself. Yes, it was his fault. Ebert was a weak man beneath it all, and his weakness had cost them dearly. He would pay for it. Not now – he was needed now – but later, when he had served his purpose.
‘Kan pei!’ Ebert said, raising his glass. ‘Anyway, Howard. I’ve better news.’
DeVore narrowed his eyes. What else had Ebert been up to?
Ebert drank heavily from his glass, then sat, facing DeVore. ‘You’re always complaining about being underfunded. Well…’ his smile broadened, as if at his own cleverness ‘…I’ve found us some new backers. Acquaintances of mine.’
‘Acquaintances?’
Ebert laughed. ‘Friends… People sympathetic to what we’re doing.’
DeVore felt the tension creep back into his limbs. ‘What have you said?’
Ebert’s face cleared, became suddenly sharper. ‘Oh, nothing specific, don’t worry. I’m not stupid. I sounded them first. Let them talk. Then, later on, I spoke to them in private. These are people I trust, you understand? People I’ve known a long time.’
DeVore took a long breath. Maybe, but he would check them out himself. Thoroughly. Because, when it came down to it, he didn’t trust Ebert’s judgment.
‘What sums are you talking about?’
‘Enough to let you finish building your fortresses.’
DeVore gave a small laugh. Did Ebert know how much that was, or was he just guessing? One thing was certain: he had never told Hans Ebert how much even one of the great underground fortresses cost.
‘That’s good, Hans. I’ll have to meet these friends of yours.’
Mu Chua closed the door behind her, furious with Ebert. She had seen the bruises on the girl’s arms and back. The bastard! There’d been no need. The girl was only fourteen. If he’d wanted that he should have said. She’d have sent in one of the older girls. They, at least, were hardened to it.
She stood still, closing her eyes, calming down. He would be out to see her any moment and it wouldn’t do to let him see how angry she was. Word could get back to Lu Ming-Shao, and then there’d be hell to pay.
She shuddered. Life here could still be sweet – some days – but too often it was like today: a brutish struggle simply to survive.
She went to her desk and busied herself, making out his bill, charging him for the two sessions and for the wine and ch’a. She paused, frowning, as she thought of his guest. There was something strangely familiar about Shih Reynolds – as if they’d met some time in the past – but she couldn’t place him. He seemed a nice enough man, but could that really be said of anyone who associated with that young bastard? For once she wished she had overheard what they had been talking about. She could have – after all, Lu Ming-Shao had put in the surveillance equipment only four months back – but a lifetime’s habits were hard to break. She had never spied on her clients and she didn’t intend to start now, not unless Lu specifically ordered her to.
Mu Chua froze, hearing Ebert’s voice outside, then turned in time to greet him as he came through the door into her office.
‘Was it everything you wished for, Master?’
He laughed and reached out to touch her breast familiarly. ‘It was good, Mu Chua. Very good. I’d forgotten how good a house you run.’
Her smile widened, though inside she felt something shrivel up at his touch. Few men touched her these days, preferring younger flesh than hers. Even so, there was something horrible about the thought of being used by him.
‘I’m pleased,’ she said, bowing her head. ‘Here,’ she said, presenting her bill, the figures written in Mandarin on the bright red paper.
He smiled and, without looking at the bill, handed her a single credit chip. She looked down, then bowed her head again.
‘Why, thank you, Master. You are too generous.’
He laughed, freeing her breasts from her robe and studying them a moment. Then, as if satisfied, he turned to go.
‘Forgive me, Major Ebert…’ she began, taking a step towards him.
He stopped and turned. ‘Yes, Mother Chua?’
‘I was wondering… about the girl.’
Ebert frowned. ‘The girl?’
Mu Chua averted her eyes. ‘Golden Heart. You remember, surely? The thirteen-year-old you bought here. That time you came with the other soldiers.’
He laughed, a strangely cold laugh. ‘Ah, yes… I’d forgotten that I got her here.’
‘Well?’
He looked at her, then turned away, impatient now. ‘Look, I’m busy, Mu Chua. I’m Major now, I have my duties…’
She looked at him desperately, then bowed her head again, her lips formed into a smile. ‘Of course. Forgive me, Major.’ But inwardly she seethed. Busy! Not too busy, it seemed, to spend more than two hours fucking her girls!
As the door closed behind him she spat at the space where he had been standing, then stood there, tucking her breasts back inside her robe, watching her spittle dribble slowly down the red, lacquered surface of the door.
‘You bastard,’ she said softly. ‘I only wanted a word. Just to know how she is – whether she’s still alive.’
She looked down at the credit in her hand. It was for a thousand yuan – more than four times what she had billed him for – but he had treated it as nothing.
Perhaps that’s why, she thought, closing her hand tightly over it. You have no values because you don’t know what anything is really worth. You think you can buy anything.
Well, maybe he could. Even so, there was something lost in being as he was. H
e lacked decency.
She went to the drawer of her desk and pulled out the strong box, opening it with the old-fashioned key that hung about her neck. Rummaging about amongst the credit chips, she found two for two hundred and fifty yuan and removed them, replacing them with Ebert’s thousand. Then, smiling to herself, she felt amongst her underclothes and, after wetting herself with her finger, placed the two chips firmly up her clout.
She had almost saved enough now. Almost. Another month – two at the most – and she could get out of here. Away from Whiskers Lu and bastards like Ebert. And maybe she would go into business on her own again. For, after all, men were always men. They might talk and dress differently up there, but beneath it all they were the same creatures.
She laughed, wondering suddenly how many li of First Level cock she’d had up her in the fifty years she had been in the business. No. In that respect, nothing ever changed. They might talk of purity, but their acts always betrayed them. It was why she had thrived over the years – because of that darkness they all carried about in them. Men. They might all say they were above it, but, try as they would, it was the one thing they could not climb the levels to escape.
Fei Yen stood there before him, her silk robes held open, revealing her nakedness.
‘Please, Yuan… It won’t hurt me.’
His eyes went to her breasts, traced the swollen curve of her belly, then returned to her face. He wanted her so much that it hurt, but there was the child to think of.
‘Please…’
The tone in her voice, the need expressed in it, made him shiver then reach out to touch her. ‘The doctors…’ he began, but she was shaking her head, her eyes – those beautiful, liquid-dark eyes of hers – pleading with him.
‘What do they know? Can they feel what I feel? No… So come, Yuan. Make love to me. Don’t you know how much I’ve missed you?’
He shuddered, feeling her fingers on his neck, then nodded, letting her undress him, but he still felt wrong about it.
‘I could have hurt you…’ he said, lying beside her afterwards, his hand caressing her stomach tenderly.
The Broken Wheel Page 6
