Tolonen looked to Rheinhardt, then spoke. “There is something you must know, Chieh Hsia. Something of vital bearing upon our current troubles.” Li Yuan’s eyes lit up. “You’ve traced it, neh? You’ve found out where the disease came from!”
Tolonen hesitated, then took a folder from beneath his arm and handed it over.
Li Yuan opened it, then frowned. “What is this?” “It is a photograph, Chieh Hsia,” Rheinhardt answered. “A photograph of a section of diseased flesh from one of the victims.”
“But this ...” Li Yuan stared, astonished. “Si,” he whispered. “It says Si.”
“Yes, Chieh Hsia,” Tolonen answered, his granite face even grimmer than
usual. “The disease was manufactured.” Li Yuan looked up. “Wang Sau-leyan
...”
Tolonen swallowed, then shook his head. “I am afraid not, Chieh Hsia. For once your cousin’s hands are clean. This is one of ours, designed in GenSyn’s labs. It... got out, I’m afraid. We were shipping it to one of the experimental stations in North Africa—“ “Shipping it?” He could not believe what he was hearing. “A virulent disease and we were shipping it?”
Tolonen looked down, abashed, as if it had been his mistake. “It was a clerical error, Chieh Hsia. A misunderstanding.” “A clerical error!” Li Yuan exclaimed. “The gods help us! And the clerk? . . . has he been punished for his ... misunderstanding?” “When he learned what had happened he took his life, Chieh Hsia.” “Ah ...” Li Yuan looked down thoughtfully. “Does this mean we have an antidote?” Some of the gloom lifted from Tolonen’s face. “We have, Chieh Hsia. And I have already implemented immediate vaccination procedures throughout the affected areas.”
“Then there is some good news, neh?” he said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. He shook his head. Such incompetence! Such criminal idiocy! It was hard to believe anyone could be so careless! He heaved a great sigh. “No one must know of this. You understand? If news of this gets out...” He hesitated, then met their eyes again, looking from one to the other. “Whatever it takes to keep this secret, do it. And have no doubt: The existence of our City depends on it.”
chen stood across the room from the man, his legs apart, his hands behind his back. The prisoner had been stripped and beaten. Now he rested there, on his knees, his back bent, his hands tied to the pole that had been placed behind his neck, one of Chen’s soldiers behind him, holding him up. His face was bloodied and there was a huge welt on the right side of his chest where someone had kicked him very hard. Even so, the man had not talked.
Then again, they had not really begun to question him.
Chen turned his head slightly, looking to the screen on the wall to his
left, then pointed to it. As he did, a still from the surveillance tape
flashed up—an enhancement of the shot showing the man carrying the
cleaver.
“Is that you, Tung Cai?”
The soldier forced Tung’s head up, making him look. Tung shook his head. “That is you, Tung. We’ve had the print computer-enhanced and checked the retinal pattern against the one stored on your file. Surprise, surprise. They match. Now answer me, Tung Cai, is that a cleaver in your hand?” This time Tung’s head came up without prompting. He stared awhile, then nodded.
“And this room we’re in? You recognize this room? You’ve been here before?
This morning, perhaps?”
Tung looked up, staring at him. A muscle beneath his eye spasmed and then lay still. He shook his head.
“I think you’re lying. I think that you and your cleaver were here, Tung Cai. I think—“ “It wasn’t me!” he blurted out. “I know what you’re going to say, but it wasn’t me! I told them it was madness! I pleaded with them. . . .” Chen took a long, calming breath. “You know what I’m talking about, then, Tung Cai?”
Tung looked away, then gave the vaguest nod.
“And you know who did it?”
Again there was the slightest movement of his head. “Well?” Chen barked, making Tung start. “I am not a patient man, Tung Cai, and if you don’t give me a name soon, I shall show you just how impatient I can be.”
Tung murmured something, low and incoherently.
“Again, Tung Cai. And much clearer this time so that we can all hear.” “It was the Wu,” Tung said, looking back at him, real fear in his eyes now. “He said he would curse anyone who spoke about it. He said—“ “The Wu? What’s his name, Tung Cai? I want to know his name.” Tung moaned, like he was in pain. “Old Chang,” he said finally. Chen looked to his Captain who was standing in the doorway. “Go. See if you can find him.”
He turned back. “And Old Chang ... he cut up the children? Just him, on his own?”
Tung shivered, then moaned again, a low, desperate sound. But Chen felt no pity for him. If it had been he, he would have interceded, would have done something to prevent the murders, but this animal . . . well, the image on the wall said it alclass="underline" Tung Cai had reveled in the orgy of violence. Besides, there was still the matter of the bloodied cleaver. “So, Tung Cai, let’s begin again. Tell me just what happened. And let’s start with how you came by that cleaver, neh? Let’s start with that.” “what a beautiful day,” Tsu Ma said, leaning back in his chair as a servant came across to top up his wine cup. “Bright sunshine and not a cloud in the sky.”
Behind him, in the entrance to the great marquee, the golden banner of the
Seven hung limp, the Ywe Lung concealed within the furls of silk. On the
platform one of the contests had just begun and the two Masters were
bowing to each other. Close by, the other games went on, the click of
stone against wood carried by amplifiers to all parts of the Southern
Lawn.
Tsu Ma sipped at the wine, then turned, looking to Wei Chan Yin. “All it needs to make it perfect is a beautiful woman, neh, Cousin?” Wei Chan Yin smiled. “That’s true. But I am surprised you never married, Cousin Ma. Was there never a woman who stole your heart?” “Oh, plenty. And many who stole my wallet too. But a wife! Well. . . one doesn’t generally love a wife. A wife’s . . . well, here comes Li Yuan. Let him tell you about choosing wives. ...” Wei Chan Yin frowned. It was unlike Tsu Ma to be so insensitive. Or had he missed something?
“So, Yuan,” Tsu Ma said, turning to him as he came closer, “is everything all right?”
Li Yuan nodded, then settled himself into the chair beside his son, waving away a servant who had stepped forward to offer wine. “All is well,” he said, looking up at the board and studying the state of play. “Nan Ho informs me they have secured the last of the trouble spots and are making inroads into tackling the disease itself. We have a vaccine, it seems.”
There was a murmur of delight from all those seated about him. “Why, that’s excellent news, Yuan!” Wei Chan Yin exclaimed. “We can all rest easier for hearing it!”
Hou Tung-po, who had been studying some of the younger Minor-Family Princesses through his field glasses, lowered them and turned, raising his wine cup in salute. “That was quick work, Yuan. I wish my own people were as efficient.”
But Tsu Ma was looking at Yuan strangely. Later, Li Yuan mouthed to him, then turned to look back at the screen.
chen was standing over the man when his Captain came back into the room.
He turned, glaring at him fiercely.
“What is it, Captain Jacobson?”
The Captain looked past Chen at Tung Cai, who cowered at Chen’s feet, whimpering. “You’d better come, Major Kao.” Chen wiped his hand against his jacket. “Why?”
“It’s the men . . . they won’t touch him.”