“What the fuck do you mean by this, Major Kao? No further proceedings ...
Do you seriously expect me to take this shit?” Chen put his case down, then turned, facing his Duty Captain, who stood in the doorway. “Who let this man into my room?” “It was Sergeant Fuller, sir.”
“Then have Fuller come here, immediately, and escort the ch’un tzu off the premises.”
Behind Chen, Cornwell shook his head. “Like fuck I’ll leave! Not until I get some action around here! More than sixty of our machines have been attacked in the past ninety-six hours, Major Kao, and you’ve done nothing. Nothing but sit on your ass.”
Chen turned back, facing the obese form of Cornwell. He had been ordered by General Rheinhardt to be as diplomatic as he could with the man, but this was too much.
“You’ll get out of my chair right now, Shih Cornwell, or I’ll arrest you for trespass, understand me? As for the other matter, our investigations are continuing. But where there is no conclusive evidence, there’s little we can do.”
“No evidence?” Cornwell gave a snort of derision. “There’s no fucking evidence because you don’t want to look for any, that’s why! And while you’re doing fuck-all, my Company is losing close on a million and a half a day! Well, it’s not good enough, Major! You either catch these scum and punish them or I’ll be forced to take matters into my own hands.”
Chen glared at him. “I would advise against that, Shih Cornwell. It is still an offense to interfere in an official Security investigation. As for you taking action to punish these ‘scum,’ as you call them, I would look on that as a most serious matter.”
“Oh, would you now?” Cornwell came around the desk and stood nose to nose with Chen, leaning into him threateningly. “Listen . . . Han. I don’t care what that badge on your chest says, you’re still nothing but a little man, a hsiao jen. You get in my way and I’ll have you crushed. I’ll have you stepped on like an insect. My Company”— his lips formed an ugly smile—“we have influence at the highest level, and I mean the highest. So don’t threaten me, Major Kao. Not if you know what’s good for you.” “Sir?”
Chen turned. Fuller was waiting in the doorway. Beyond him, in the corridor, a small group of curious officers had formed. Chen calmed himself, ignoring the scent of licorice in his nostrils from the other’s breath.
“Sergeant Fuller. Escort Shih Cornwell to his sedan, would you? And make sure he finds his way safely from the building.” He turned back, meeting Cornwell’s piggy eyes. “As for you, friend, I would think twice before crossing me. You might scorn the badge I wear, but my power is the T’ang’s power. You will leave this matter to me or eke.”
“Or else what?” Cornwell leaned close, his sickly-sweet breath filling Chen’s nostrils once more. “It’s very simple, Major. These scum have to be dealt with, and if you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will. As for all your bluster, well, you know where you can stick it, neh?” With a grunt of amusement Cornwell moved past Chen, squeezing his gross figure through the door and out between the watching officers. But he was not quite done. Turning, he raised his voice. “Oh, by the way, Major Kao, how’s that mad wife of yours?” Chen stood there a moment, watching Cornwell shake with laughter, then went across and closed the door. But still the laughter went on, following him back to his desk, sounding clearly in his head long after it had ceased outside.
How much longer? he thought. How much longer can I take this crap? He sat, feeling weary, aware of the warmth of the seat beneath him where the fat man had been. It had always been like this. Always. One insult after another; one battle after another. And never any peace. Never any real reward for what he’d done. Well, that was it. He’d had enough. If Cornwell so much as came near him again . . . He unclenched his fists, conscious that his thoughts had turned to violence. Was that the only answer he could think of? Or was there some other way to deal with cunts like Cornwell? Chen sat back, stretching his arms, trying to relax, but it was hard. The tension wasn’t merely in his muscles, it was in every atom of his being. He sighed. Maybe it was fate. Maybe there was nothing he could do to change things. Even so, he could not live with himself—could not respect himself as a man—unless he tried. Unless he took what fate had handed him and tried to shape it for the good.
Chen stood, looking about him at the disorder of his office, then crossed the room. Opening the cupboard where he kept a change of clothes, he pulled out a simple one-piece of the kind they wore down-level. He was behind with his reports—badly behind—but the paperwork would have to wait. Ill go down, he thought, beginning to change. See things for myself. Work out what action we ought to be taking.
But even as he went out into the corridor, passing the curious, staring faces of his fellow officers, he knew that it was only an excuse, an evasion, for the truth was he had to get out, to escape all this. Yes, he thought, facing it for the first time. He had to get away. Right away. Before things cracked. Before the whole charade came down on top of him.
shang mu leaned forward, facing the First Dragon across the narrow space between their seats. Far below—visible through the cruiser’s ornately decorated porthole—the huge, ten-thousand-mu fields of the West Asian Plantations moved past like the squares on a giant wei chi board. “The first meeting is this evening, I Lung. Prince An Mo Shan and four other Minor-Family princes. Sympathizers. Men he trusts. They have arranged to meet at Yin Tsu’s palace.”
“At Yin Tsu’s?” The First Dragon’s eyes widened. “But I thought Yin Tsu was staunchly loyal to Li Yuan?”
“He is. But Yin Tsu will not be there. It is his second son, Yin Chan, who will be hosting the meeting.”
“Ah . . . Even so, I find that strange, Shang Mu. Chan has always struck me as a most loyal son.”
“That is so, I Lung. Yet it seems he has never forgiven Li Yuan for divorcing his sister. He feels his family was shamed and wants revenge.” “Revenge ...” The First Dragon looked away. “It’s a piss-poor reason for deposing a Son of Heaven, neh? Watch him, Shang Mu. Find out if he drinks, if he has a loose tongue.”
“And if he has?”
“Then we have no choice. Yin Chan must have an accident.” Shang Mu looked down, staring at his hands uncomfortably. “And the list, I Lung?”
Unexpectedly, the First Dragon smiled. “Now, that’s a document, neh? I wonder what Li Yuan would make of it? Does he realize, I wonder, just how deeply this enmity is rooted? And if he does, what will he do? What action can he take that will not undermine the very throne on which he sits?” The First Dragon reached inside the darkness of his robe and drew out the handwritten list An Sheng had given him. Eight thousand names were written there, among them almost every member of the Seven’s government, from chamberlains and ministers right down to bond servants and grooms. But there was one name he had noticed in particular: that of the young American politician, Joseph Kennedy.
He looked up from the thick sheaf of paper, meeting his Junior Minister’s eyes. “As I said, it is interesting. And An Sheng is right, of course. It is not enough to remove the Seven, we must also remove all those who serve them. Yet we must not be impatient, Shang Mu. We have not thrived all these years through impatience. No. We must saw with soft ropes, as the old saying goes. And we must heed the lessons of the past. We must be thorough. Everything must be planned, down to the last tiny detail. Only then can we guarantee success.”
“Then I am to do nothing, I Lung?”