They had attacked just after two. By three they were gone. Ten minutes later Fen Cho-hsien had been woken from his bed. He, in his turn, had woken Wu Shih.
There was no doubting it. This was a turning point—a new stage in this hit-and-run “War” with the Black Hand. Sensing that, Wu Shih had come at once, wanting to see things for himself.
The Ting Wei had done well. They had been quick to stifle the news and clamp down on those few media stations who had got a whisper. But it would be difficult to keep this a secret. If past experience were anything to go by, pamphlets would be circulating the Lowers by breakfast time, shouting the news triumphantly, and it would be picked up from there. It was up to him to preempt that, therefore—to hit back at once and turn their temporary victory into a major setback for the Hand. He turned to his General, who waited nearby. “General Althaus . . . do we know where this group came from?”
Althaus came sharply to attention. “I’ve had a special squad tracking them this past hour, Chieh Hsia. But we’d have to go in straightaway if we’re to have any chance of getting any of the bastards. Their heartland is heavily defended. It would mean fighting a level-by-level action.” Wu Shih did not hesitate. “Use whatever force you need. Hei, if necessary. But get them. And hit them hard. If we have any leads at all on their organization, act on them now, even if they are unconfirmed. I want it to be seen by all that we have taken strong and unequivocal action. For my part, I plan to make an announcement, first thing, before they have a chance to win the propaganda war. This time we shall make them pay dearly for their audacity!”
“Chieh Hsia!”
Althaus beamed, delighted to be given such clear orders. He bowed low, then hurried across to his senior officers. Wu Shih looked across at the Mansion. Earlier, he had watched them carrying out the bodies and had had them bring one to him. He had stared at it, horrified. It had seemed barely human. Such savagery, he’d thought, and shivered, unable to comprehend how anyone could do that to another. Yet part of him welcomed this chance to act—even if he did not rejoice in it the way Althaus and his officers did. For almost two days now he had brooded, unable to decide just what to do with Kennedy, that uncertainty making him restless and bad tempered. This once, at least, he was not plagued by doubts.
He had read the reports on what had happened between Kennedy and the Levers, had watched Lever make his sorrowful statement, and had wondered about him—whether he had not, perhaps, misjudged things; whether Lever, not Kennedy, was the man to watch. But that didn’t change the basic situation. If anything it made it worse, for as Kennedy’s popularity declined so the excuse for taking any kind of action diminished. “One son,” Fen Cho-hsien had suggested when he’d put the problem to him. ‘Kill one of Kennedy’s sons and threaten to kill the other if he doesn’t come back in line.’
It was a sound suggestion, yet even the thought of it was barbaric. He thought of his own sons, and his stomach fell away at the prospect of losing one of them. Yet these were barbaric times—this incident confirmed it—and if things were not to slip from him . . . “Chieh Hsia...”
The most senior of the huojen stood close by, bowed, awaiting his attention.
“Yes?” he asked, returning from his thoughts. “Is it ready?”
“Yes, Chieh Hsia!”
He went across, accepting the hard hat the man gave him, then followed the specially cleared path into the Mansion. They had made this part of it safe for his inspection: even so, the desolation was still quite awful. This is the future, he thought, appalled by what he saw. This is what it will all be like unless I act.
For one brief moment he thought of summoning Kennedy, to have him come and see this and to share his fears with him. Yet he knew, after only a moment’s consideration, that such a thing was impossible. Even if Kennedy understood, he could never act on that understanding, for his hands were tied, his course set. His new proposal to the House had said as much. There would be confrontation, whether he, Wu Shih, wished it or not. So maybe it was best to get it over now.
Tonight, he thought, looking about him at the blackened, broken walls, the acrid taste of ash on his tongue. Yes ... I’ll make my decision tonight.
mary turned from the viD-PHONE, raising one hand, beckoning to her secretary, then turned back, continuing the conversation. “That’s right. A twenty-minute slot. We’ll do it live, then run it once every hour for the next four.”
Beresiner’s chubby face looked down at her from the screen, frowning. “It’s gonna be hard, Madam Lever. You mess with their schedules, they make you pay through the nose for it.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “Just book it. The five main channels, continent-wide. And don’t try to fuck around with me, Berry. You try to screw me and I’ll get to hear of it, okay?” Beresiner sighed. “Would I do that? Consider it booked. You want them to send a crew to you, I assume?”
She nodded.
“Okay. Leave it with me. I’ll call you lunchtime, right?” “Right.” She cut contact, then tapped in another number. There was a moment’s pause, and then the screen lit again. This time a woman’s face stared back at her—a beautiful Oriental woman. Gloria Chung. “Mary?”
“Gloria. How are you? I hope it’s not too early for me to call.”
“No, not at all, I’m just. . . surprised, that’s all.”
“It’s been a long time, neh?”
“Too long. How are you? How’s Michael?”
Mary sat back, smiling. “We’re fine. I just thought it might be nice to see you.”
Gloria smiled. “Hey, I’d like that. When?”
“Today? Over here?”
“That’d be great. Any particular time?”
“I’ve got a camera crew coming here about six to set up, but . . . well, how about lunch? We could catch up on everything.” “Lunch?” Gloria considered a moment, then smiled. “Sure. That’d be nice. But what’s all this about camera crews? You doing a feature for the fashion shows or something?”
Mary smiled enigmatically. “You could say that. Look, I’ll tell you all about it when you’re here. One o’clock?”
“That’d be fine.”
“Good. I’ll see you then. Bye.”
“Bye.”
She took a breath, then turned, looking to her secretary, who sat at the nearest desk. Behind her twenty other helpers manned phone lines or worked at screens.
“Jill, did that report come in?”
“It’s here.” Jill came across and handed her a large brown envelope.
“You’ve looked at this?”
She shook her head.
“Good. It’s probably best you don’t know what’s going on as far as Kemp’s concerned. If you need to know anything I’ll tell you, right?” “Right.”
“Now get me what you can on Michael’s main trading rivals. Full files, not summaries. Then I want that nutritionist in here. Give me. . . oh, ten minutes. I’ve three more calls to make.”
She watched the young woman hurry away, then turned back to the screen, a feeling of immense satisfaction buoying her up. Leaning forward she tapped out the next number on her list, then pulled the report out of the envelope. As she waited to be connected she flicked through it, scanning the handwritten pages.
So the old men thought they were going to win, did they? Well, not if she had anything to do with it!
“Eva?” she said, looking up and smiling as a stern, matriarchal face filled the screen. “How are you, sweetheart? Look, I’ve something you might be interested in.”
the room was packed, the mood angry as Kennedy stepped inside. “Resign!” someone shouted from the back, and the cry was taken up instantly. “Resign! Resign!”