The Art of War (19 page)

Chen drew the
chung
closer, comforted by its warmth against his hands. He could still recall what Ebert had said to him, that time when they had raided the Overseer’s House – the time young Pavel had died. Could remember vividly how Ebert had stood there, looking towards the west where Lodz Garrison was burning in the darkness, and said how much he admired DeVore.

Yes, it all made sense now. But the knowledge had cost him Lautner’s friendship.

He lifted the lid from the
chung
and drank deeply, as if to wash away the bitter taste that had risen to his mouth.

If he was right, then Ebert was DeVore’s inside man. It would certainly explain how the
Ping Tiao
had got into Helmstadt Armoury and stripped it of a billion
yuan’s
worth of equipment. But he had to prove that, and prove it conclusively. As yet it was mere coincidence.

He began working through the files again, checking the details exhaustively, page by page, looking for something – anything – that might point him in the right direction.

He had almost finished when he heard a movement on the far side of the room. He looked up and saw young Wu in the darkness of the doorway. Smiling, he got up and went across, lifting the five-year-old and hugging him to his chest.

‘Can’t you sleep, Kao Wu?’

Wu snuggled into his father’s shoulder. ‘I want a drink,’ he said sleepily, his eyes already closed.

‘Come... I’ll make you one.’

He carried him through, dimming the kitchen light. Then, one-handed, he took a mug from the rack and squeezed a bulb of juice into it.

‘Here...’ he said, holding it to the child’s lips.

Wu took two sips, then snuggled down again. In a moment he was asleep again, his breathing regular, relaxed.

Chen set the mug down, smiling. The warm weight of his son against his shoulder was a pleasant, deeply reassuring sensation. He went back out, into the hallway, and looked across to where he had been working. The files lay at the edge of the circle of light, face down beside the empty
chung.

It was no good; he would have to go back. He had hoped to avoid it, but it was the only way. He would have to risk making direct enquiries on Ebert’s file.

He looked down, beginning to understand the danger he was in. And not just himself. If Ebert
were
DeVore’s man, then none of them was safe. Not here, nor anywhere. Not if Ebert discovered what he was doing. And yet, what choice was there? To do nothing? To forget his humiliation and his silent vow of vengeance? No. Even so, it made him heavy of heart to think, even for a moment, of losing all of this. He shivered, holding Kao Wu closer, his hand gently stroking the sleeping boy’s neck.

And what if Lautner had taken steps to cover himself? What if he had already gone to Ebert?

No. Knowing Lautner he would do nothing. And he would assume that Chen would do nothing, too. Would gamble on him not taking any further risks.

Achh
, thought Chen bitterly;
you really didn’t know me, did you?

He took Wu through to his bed and tucked him in, then he went through to the other bedroom. Wang Ti was awake, looking back at him, Ch’iang Hsin’s tiny figure cuddled in against her side.

‘It’s late, Chen,’ she said softly. ‘You should get some sleep.’

He smiled. ‘I should, but there’s something I have to do.’

‘At this hour?’

He nodded. ‘Trust me. I’ll be all right.’

Something about the way he said it made her get up on to one elbow. ‘What is it, Chen? What are you up to?’

He hesitated, then shook his head. ‘It’s nothing. Really, Wang Ti. Now go to sleep. I’ll be back before morning.’

She narrowed her eyes, then, yawning, settled down again. ‘All right, my husband. But take care, neh?’

He smiled, watching her a moment longer, filled with the warmth of his love for her, then turned away, suddenly determined.

It was time to make connections. To find out whether Ebert really was in DeVore’s pay.

Outside it was dark, the evening chill, but in the stables at Tongjiang it was warm in the glow of the lanterns. The scents of hay and animal sweat were strong in the long, high-ceilinged barn, the soft snorting of the animals in their stalls the only sound to disturb the evening’s silence. Li Yuan stood in the end stall, feeding the Arab from his hand.

‘Excellency...’

Li Yuan turned, smiling, at ease here with his beloved horses. ‘Ah... Master Nan. How did it go? Are my girls well?’

Nan Ho had pulled a cloak about his shoulders before venturing outdoors. Even so, he was hunched into himself, shivering from the cold.

‘They are well, my lord. I have arranged everything as you requested.’

Li Yuan studied him a moment, conscious of the hesitation. ‘Good.’ He looked back at the horse, smiling, reaching up to smooth its broad, black face, his fingers combing the fine dark hair. ‘It would be best, perhaps, if we kept this discreet, Master Nan. I would not like the Lady Fei to be troubled. You understand?’

He looked back at Nan Ho. ‘Perhaps when she’s out riding, neh?’

‘Of course, my lord.’

‘And, Nan Ho...’

‘Yes, my lord?’

‘I know what you think. You find me unfeeling in this matter. Unnatural, even. But it isn’t so. I love Fei Yen. You understand that?’ Li Yuan bent and took another handful of barley from the sack beside him, then offered it to the Arab, who nibbled contentedly at it. ‘And if that’s unnatural, then this too is unnatural...’

He looked down at his hand, the horse’s muzzle pressed close to his palm, warm and moist, then laughed. ‘You know, my father has always argued that good horsemanship is like good government. And good government like a good marriage. What do you think, Nan Ho?’

Master Nan laughed. ‘What would I know of that, my lord? I am but a tiny part of the great harness of State. A mere stirrup.’

‘So much?’ Li Yuan wiped his hand on his trouser leg, then laughed heartily. ‘No, I jest with you, Master Nan. You are a whole saddle in yourself. And do not forget I said it.’ He grew quieter. ‘I am not ungrateful. Never think that, Master Nan. The day will come...’

Nan Ho bowed low. ‘My lord...’

When he had gone, Li Yuan went outside, into the chill evening air, and stood there, staring up into the blackness overhead. The moon was low and bright and cold. A pale crescent, like an eyelid on the darkness.

And then?

The two words came to him, strong and clear, like two flares in the darkness. Nonsense words. And yet, somehow, significant. But what did they mean? Unaccountably, he found himself filled with sudden doubts. He thought of what he had said to Nan Ho of horsemanship and wondered if it were really so. Could one master one’s emotions as one controlled a horse? Was it that easy? He loved Fei Yen – he was certain of it – but he also loved Pearl Heart and her sister, Sweet Rose.
Could
he simply shut out what he felt for them as if it had never been?

He walked to the bridge and stood there, holding the rail tightly, suddenly, absurdly obsessed with the words that had come unbidden to him.
And then?

He shivered.
And then what?
He gritted his teeth against the pain he suddenly felt. ‘No!’ he said sharply, his breath pluming out from him. No. He would not succumb. He would ride out the pain he felt. Would deny that part of him. For Fei Yen. Because he loved her. Because...

The moon was an eyelid on the darkness. And if he closed his eyes he could see it, dark against the brightness inside his head.

But the pain remained. And then he knew. He missed them. Missed them terribly. He had never admitted it before, but now he knew. It was as if he had killed part of himself to have Fei Yen.

He shuddered, then pushed back, away from the rail, angry with himself.

‘You are a prince. A
prince
!’

But it made no difference. The pain remained. Sharp, bitter, like the image of the moon against his inner lid, dark against the brightness there.

Chen sat there, hunched over the screen, his pulse racing as he waited to see whether the access code would take.

Thus far it had been easy. He had simply logged that he was investigating illicit Triad connections. A junior officer had shown him to the screen then left him there, unsupervised. After all, it was late, and hardly anyone used the facilities of Personnel Enquiries at that hour. Chen was almost the only figure in the great wheel of desks that stretched out from the central podium.

The screen filled. Ebert’s face stared out at him a moment, life-size, then shrank to a quarter-size, relocating at the top right of the screen. Chen gave a small sigh of relief. It worked!

The file began: page after page of detailed service records.

Chen scrolled through, surprised to find how highly Ebert was rated by his superiors. Did he know what they thought of him? Had he had access to this file? Knowing Ebert, it was likely. Even so, there was nothing sinister here. Nothing to link him to DeVore. No, if anything, it was exemplary. Maybe it was simple coincidence, then, that Ebert had served with three of the dead men. But Chen’s instinct ruled that out. He scrolled to the end of the file, then keyed for access to Ebert’s accounts.

A few minutes later he sat back, shaking his head. Nothing. Sighing, he keyed to look at the last of the sub-files: Ebert’s expenses. He flicked through quickly, noting nothing unusual, then stopped.

Of course! It was an
expenses
account. Which meant that all the payments on it ought to be irregular. So what was this monthly payment doing on it? The amount differed, but the date was the same each month. The fifteenth. It wasn’t a bar invoice, for those were met from Ebert’s other account. And there was a number noted against each payment. A Security Forces service number, unless he was mistaken.

Chen scrolled back, checking he’d not been mistaken, then jotted the number down. Yes, here it was, the link. He closed the file and sat back, looking across at the central desk. It was quiet over there. Good. Then he would make this one last query.

He keyed the service number, then tapped in the access code. For a moment the screen was blank and Chen wondered if it would come up as before – INFORMATION DENIED. LEVEL-A CODE REQUIRED. But then a face appeared.

Chen stared at it a moment, then frowned. For some reason he had expected to recognize it, but it was just a face, like any other young officer’s face; smooth-shaven and handsome in its strange,
Hung Mao
fashion.

For a time he looked through the file, but there was nothing there. Only that Ebert had worked with the man some years before – in Tolonen’s office, when they were both cadets. Then why the payments? Again he almost missed it: was slow to recognize what was staring him in the face, there on the very first page of the file. It was a number. The reference coding of the senior officer the young cadet had reported to while he had been stationed in Bremen ten years earlier. Chen drew in his breath sharply.

DeVore!

He shut the screen down and stood, feeling almost light-headed now that he had made the connection
. I’ve got you now, Hans Ebert, he thought. Yes, and I’ll make you pay for your insult.

Chen picked up his papers and returned them to his pocket, then looked across at the central desk again, remembering how his friend Lautner had reacted – the sourness of that moment tainting his triumph. Then, swallowing his bitterness, he shook his head. So it was in this world. It was no use expecting otherwise.

He smiled grimly, unconsciously wiping at his cheek, then turned and began to make his way back through the web of gangways to the exit.

Yes
, he thought.
I’ve got you now, you bastard. I’ll pin your balls to the fucking floor for what you’ve done. But first you, Axel Haavikko. First you
.

Chapter 46

THICK FACE, BLACK HEART

D
eVore stood there on the mountainside, the lifeless bodies of the two alpine foxes dangling from leather thongs at his back, their fur smeared with blood. In his left hand he held the crossbow he had killed them with, in his right the two blood-caked bolts he had pulled from their flesh.

It was an hour after dawn and the mountains below him were wreathed in mist. He was high up where he stood, well above the snow-line. To his left, below him, the mountainside was densely wooded, the tall pines covering most of the lower slopes, stretching down into the mist. He laughed, enjoying the freshness of the morning, his breath pluming away from him. Surely there was no better sight in the world than the alps in high summer? He looked about him, then, slipping the bolts into the deep pocket of his furs, began to make his way down, heading for the ruins of the castle.

He was halfway down when he stopped, suddenly alert. There had been movement down below, among the ruins. He moved quickly to his right, his hand reaching for one of the bolts, hurriedly placing it into the stock and winding the handle.

He scrambled behind some low rocks and knelt, the crossbow aimed at the slopes below. His heart was beating fast. No one was meant to be out here at this hour. Even his own patrols...