The White Mountain (12 page)

‘Stay where you are. I'll inform the General at once. We'll get a special unit over to you within the next ten minutes.' He was leaning out of screen as he spoke, tapping a scramble code into the machine next to him. Then he turned back, facing Jelka again. ‘All right. They're on their way. The General will contact you directly. Stay by the board.' He paused and drew a breath. ‘How long ago did this happen?'

‘About an hour.' She shuddered, trying not to think of what she had left back up the levels. ‘I think they've gone now. But there are…' She swallowed
drily, then continued, steeling herself to say it. ‘There are bodies. My aunt and uncle. Some others. I don't know who.' She took a shuddering breath, so close to tears again that she found it difficult to control herself.

‘Listen to me, Jelka. Do exactly what I say. There should be a medical cupboard in the rest room next to you. You'll find some tranquillizers there. Take two. Only two. Then come back to the board and stay there. All right?'

She nodded and went off to do as she was told, but then she stopped and turned, looking back at the screen. Why was there no one here? Where
was
the guard unit? The pattern was all too familiar. Like the attack on the Wiring Project that time.

It hit her suddenly. This wasn't like the other attack on her. This had been set up. From inside. Someone had given the order for the unit to pull out. Someone at the top.

Which meant that she had to get out. Right away. Before they came for her.

Even as she turned and looked, the picture on the screen changed. Hans Ebert's face appeared, red-eyed, his cheeks unshaven. He had been summoned from his bed. ‘Jelka? Is that you? Come closer. Come over to the board.'

In a trance she went across and stood there, staring down at the screen.

‘Stay where you are. And don't worry. I'll be with you just as soon as I can.'

She stood there, a cold certainty transfixing her. Then, as his face vanished from the screen, she reached across and cut the connection. She laughed: a cold bitter laughter, then, not looking back, made her way across to the transit and went inside, pressing the down button.

It was ten minutes after four when Tolonen got to the Ebert Mansion. One of the goat-creatures greeted him and ushered him through to the study. It bowed low, then, in a deep, burred voice excused itself while it went to fetch its master. A moment later another of the creatures entered the room; taller, gaunter than the first, its dress immaculate. It came across to where the Marshal stood and asked him what he would have to drink.

‘Nothing, thank you,' he answered, not looking at the beast.

‘Would you like something to eat, Marshal?'

It stood close to him, almost at his elbow. He could hear its breathing,
smell its heavy musk beneath the artifice of its cologne.

‘No. Now leave me,' he said, waving it away.

‘Is there anything I can do for you, Excellency?' it persisted, seeming not to have heard what he had said, or seen his gesture of dismissal.

Tolonen turned and shook his head, meeting the creature's pink eyes. He had not noticed before how repulsive the creatures were; how vile their combination of sophistication and brutality. ‘I'm sorry,' he said tightly, controlling the irritation he was feeling, ‘but please leave me alone. I want nothing, I assure you.'

He watched it go, then shuddered, wondering if this would be the last time he would come here; whether by this he ended it all between himself and his oldest friend. He looked around, trying to distract himself, aware that the moment was drawing close, but it was no good: the words he had come to say ran on inside his head, like an awful, unrelenting litany.

He hadn't long to wait. Klaus Ebert had doused his face, put on a robe and come down. He pushed the far doors open and strode into the room, smiling, his arms out to welcome his friend.

‘You're damned early, Knut, but you're as welcome as ever.'

Ebert clasped Tolonen to him, then released him, standing back.

‘What brings you here at this hour, Knut? All's well with you and yours, I hope?'

Tolonen smiled wanly, touched more than ever by the warmth and openness of the greeting, but the smile was fragile. Underlying it was a bitterness that he found hard to contain. He nodded, then found his voice. ‘They were well when I left them, Klaus.'

He drew a breath, then shook his head once, violently, his face muscles tightening into a grimace. ‘I rehearsed the words, but I can't…' He straightened his back, controlling his emotions. Then, with his right hand, he took the file from beneath his artificial arm and handed it across.

Ebert frowned. ‘What's this, Knut?' He searched his friend's face for explanations, troubled now, but could find nothing there. His broad lips formed a kind of shrug, then he turned and went to his desk, pulling open the top drawer and taking out a small case. He sat, setting the file down on the broad desktop, then opened the case and drew out a pair of old-fashioned spectacles, settling them on the bridge of his nose.

He opened the file and began to read.

Tolonen went across and stood there on the far side of the desk, watching Ebert's face as he read. He had written out a copy of the file in his own hand, taking direct responsibility for the matter.

After a moment Ebert looked up at him, his eyes half-lidded. ‘I don't understand this, Knut. It says…' He laughed briefly, awkwardly, then shook his head, watching Tolonen carefully all the while. ‘You wouldn't…'

He looked down, then immediately looked up again, his mouth making the first motion of speech but saying nothing. There was a strange movement in his face as he struggled towards realization; a tightening of his lips, a brief flash of pain in his eyes.

Tolonen stood there silently, his right fist clenched tight, the nails digging into the soft palm, his own face taut with pain, waiting.

Ebert looked down again, but now there was a visible tremor in his hand as it traced the words, and after a moment a tear gathered then fell from his nose on to the sheet below. He turned the page and read on, the trembling spreading to his upper arms and shoulders. When he had finished he closed the folder slowly and took off his glasses before looking up at Tolonen. His eyes were red now, tear-rimmed, and his face had changed.

‘Who else knows of this, Knut?'

Ebert's voice was soft. His eyes held no hatred of his old friend, no blame, only a deep, unfathomable hurt.

Tolonen swallowed. ‘Three of us now.'

‘And Li Yuan? Does he know yet?'

Tolonen shook his head. ‘This is Family, Klaus. Your son.'

The man behind the desk considered that, then nodded slowly, a small sad smile forming on his lips. ‘I thank you, Knut. I…' The trembling in his hands and arms returned. Then something broke in the old man and his face crumpled, his mouth opening in a silent howl of pain, the lower jaw drawn back. He pressed his palms into the desk's surface, trying to still the shaking, to control the pain that threatened to tear him apart. ‘Why?' he said at last, looking up at the Marshal, his eyes beseeching him. ‘What could he possibly have wanted that he didn't have?'

Tolonen shrugged. He had no answer to that. No understanding of it.

At that moment the door at the far end of the study opened. One of the goat-creatures stood there, a tray of drinks in one hand. For a second or two Klaus Ebert did nothing, then he turned in his seat and yelled at the beast.

‘Get out, you bloody thing!
Get
out!'

It blanched, then turned and left hurriedly. There was the sound of breaking glass in the hallway outside.

Ebert turned back to face the Marshal, breathing deeply, his face a deep red. ‘How long have I, Knut? How long before Li Yuan has to know?'

Tolonen shivered. They both knew what had to be done. ‘Two days,' he said quietly. ‘I can give you two days.'

Ebert nodded, then sat back in his chair, clasping his hands together tightly. ‘Two days,' he repeated, as if to himself, and looked up at Tolonen again. ‘I'm sorry, Knut. Sorry for Jelka's sake.'

‘And I.'

Tolonen watched him a moment longer, then turned and left, knowing that there was nothing more to be said. His part in this was ended, his duty discharged, but for once he felt anything but satisfaction.

There were fires on the hillside. Bodies lay unmoving on the snow. In the skies above the mountains the dark, knife-like shapes of Security battleships moved slowly eastward, searching out any trace of warmth in the icy wasteland.

In the control room of the flagship sat Hans Ebert, Li Yuan's General. He was unshaven and his eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep. His uniform was undone at the collar and he had his feet up on the console in front of him. Above him a bank of nine screens showed the landscape down below. Over the image on the central screen ran bright red lines of data. From time to time a map would flash up, showing the current extent of the sweep.

Hans watched the screens vacantly, tired to the core. There were drugs he might have taken to ameliorate his condition, but he had chosen to ignore them, feeding his bitter disappointment.

There were five others in the low-ceilinged room with him, but all were silent, wary of their commander's dark mood. They went about their tasks deftly, quietly, careful not to draw his attention.

Eight strongholds had been taken. Another five had been found abandoned. DeVore's network was in tatters, more than three thousand of his men dead. What Karr had begun, he, in the space of six short hours, had
finished. Moreover, Jelka was gone, probably dead, and all his dreams with her. His dreams of being king. King of the world.

‘The lodge is up ahead, sir!'

He looked up sharply, then took his feet down from the desk. ‘Good!' He bit the word out savagely, then relented. He turned, looking at the young officer who had reported it to him. ‘Thanks…'

The officer saluted and turned smartly away. Ebert sat there a moment longer then hauled himself up on to his feet and went down the narrow corridor and out into the cockpit. Staring out through the broad, thickly slatted screen, he could see the mountain up ahead, the lodge high up on its western slopes.

It was a mere twelve months since he had met DeVore here, and now he was forced to return, the architect of his own undoing, following his T'ang's explicit orders. Silently he cursed Li Yuan. Cursed the whole damn business, his irritation and frustration rising to fever pitch as he stood there, watching the lodge draw closer.

They touched down less than half a
li
away, the twin turrets of the battleship pointed towards the lodge. Hans suited up then went down, on to the snow. He crossed the space slowly, a lonely figure in black, holding the bulky gun with both hands, the stock tucked into his shoulder. Fifty paces from the veranda he stopped, balancing the gun's barrel across his left forearm and flicking off the safety. Then, without a word, he emptied the cartridge into the side of the lodge.

The explosions were deafening. In seconds the lodge was a burning ruin, debris falling everywhere, sizzling in the snow as it fell, the concussions echoing back and forth between the mountains, starting small slides. He waited a moment longer, the weapon lowered, watching the flames, then turned and walked back, the heavy gun resting loosely on his shoulder.

Chapter 70

THE SHATTERED LAND

K
laus Ebert waited in his study for his son. He had dismissed his servants and was alone in the huge, dimly lit room, his face expressionless. The file lay on the desk behind him, the only object on the big leather-topped desk. It had been fifteen hours since Tolonen's visit and he had done much in that time; but they had been long, dreadful hours, filled with foul anticipation.

Hans had been summoned twice. The first time he had sent word that he was on the T'ang's business and could not come, the second that he would be there within the hour. Between the two had been the old man's curtly worded message:
‘Come now, or be nothing to me.'

A bell rang in the corridor outside, the signal that his son had arrived. Ebert waited, his feet apart, his hands clasped behind his back. He was the picture of strength, of authority, his short grey hair combed back severely from his high forehead, but his grey-green eyes were lifeless.

There were footsteps on the tiled floor outside then a knock on the great oak door. Hans entered, followed by two young lieutenants. He crossed the room and stood there, only an arm's length from his father. The two officers stood by the door, at ease.

‘Well, Father?' There was a trace of impatience, almost of insolence in the young man's tone.

Klaus Ebert narrowed his eyes and looked past his son at the two lieutenants. ‘This is Family business,' he said to them. ‘Please leave us.'

There was a moment's uncertainty in their faces. They looked at each other but made no move to go. Ebert stared at them a moment then looked at his son for explanation.