Yes, he thought. Yet Wang would never have come up with something so simple and direct. Not unless it were true. What’s more, it rang true that the I Lung should have tried to buy his safety with such a tidbit of information. So maybe—
Wu Shih let out a shivering sigh, then turned away, cramp pains making him wince and clutch his side as he made his way down the long path, heading for the palace.
If this proves true . . .
jean had stopped crying now, but it made it no better. He understood now how futile it had been, how stupid even to think he could outwit Wu Shih. Why, it was like trying to outrun Fate.
So here he was at last, faced by it. His sons were gone—taken while he and Jean sat paralyzed.
Yes, he understood all right. Understood now what the wires meant—had experienced now that total abnegation of the individual will, that crushing of the self. It had been dreadful, the most dreadful thing he had ever suffered. He had ceased to be himself. Had watched, like a prisoner in his own skull, as they bound his darling sons and dragged them screaming from the room. As in a nightmare—a nightmare where one could not even feel; where one was reduced to the state of a machine—a thing that watched, dull eyed and uncaring, all human qualities removed. Now nothing remained.
Kennedy eased back, moving away from his now-sleeping wife, then put his feet to the floor and stood, walking slowly, silently away. In the doorway he stood a moment, looking back into the darkened room at her, his face creased with pain. Then, knowing there was no choice, he went through into the bathroom and began to prepare himself for the broadcast.
“wake up! Come on, you bastard, wake up!”
Cornwell grunted, then turned slowly onto his back. “Wha—?”
Chen poked him hard in the guts. “Up! Now!”
Comwell’s eyes jerked open. “What the . . . ?” Then he saw who it was.
“You! What the hell are you doing in here?”
Chen threw the warrant down onto his chest. “Read it! Then get dressed.
I’ve something I want to show you.”
Grunting, Cornwell got up into a sitting position. He glared at Chen, pulling his silks tighter about his bloated stomach. “Have you no manners, Major? Can’t you wait outside or something?” Chen shook his head. “Just read it and shut up!” Comwell’s eyes flared with rage. His voice hissed from him. “I’ll have you for this, you fucker! I’ll go to Rheinhardt. He’ll have your balls, you Chink shit!”
Chen raised an eyebrow. “Just read the warrant, Shih Cornwell. Oh, and you might just note whose signature is at the bottom!” Cornwell picked up the warrant and prized off the seal, then unfolded it and read. “Rheinhardt?” He looked back at Chen suspiciously. “Okay . . . but what the fuck is going on?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Now get dressed. Or do you want to come like that?”
An hour later they sat there, knee to knee in the sedan, having come, it seemed, to a final halt.
“So?” Cornwell asked, leaning toward Chen. “Where are we?” Cornwell was blindfolded and cuffed, yet he seemed much more relaxed than he’d been at first. He had clearly not expected anyone to come to his Mansion. And the warrant. . . that had certainly dented his self-esteem. But as time had gone by he’d grown in confidence and had begun haranguing Chen again, threatening him with the direst retribution once things were “straightened out.” Chen had sat there in silence throughout, content to watch his prisoner, knowing that he was beyond all words, all insults. Why, it was almost funny to hear the big man bluster on. Yet the joke was wearing thin.
“Well?” Cornwell insisted. “Answer me, you dumb, pug-faced Chink!”
Chen ignored his question. Instead, he leaned across and undid the cuffs. Cornwell looked up blindly, surprised, then reached up and removed his blindfold. “About fucking time,” he said, blinking. “Now, what’s going on? I demand to know.”
“Demand?” Chen laughed humorlessly. “You like demanding, don’t you, Shih Cornwell?
“Sure. It gets me what I want. And what I want right now are explanations. You burst into my Mansion, blindfold and cuff me, and bring me fuck knows where, all on the basis of some vague instruction to assist with inquiries. Now, if I don’t get some answers and soon, then I’m going to make so much trouble that you’ll wish you’d never been born.” Chen stared back at him, stone-faced. “I had to make sure you’d come.”
“Yeah? Then why all that shit with the cuffs and blindfold?”
“Because I felt like it.”
Cornwell stared at him a long moment, then laughed. “You know what. . . I’m beginning to like you, Major Kao. You’re not bad for a Chink. I can see why they made you Major. You’ve got balls.” Chen felt himself go cold. To be hated by a bastard like Cornwell was fine and natural, but to be admired by him . . . that was abominable. That was, if it was genuine admiration, and not another of his games. “Why don’t we talk for a bit?” he said, sitting back. “We’ve a bit of time while things are being set up.”
“Set up? What are you talking about?”
“You know how it is, Shih Cornwell. We have to prepare things.” He smiled coldly. “You must have done a lot of preparation in your time.” Cornwell narrowed his eyes. “What are you angling at, Major? Is this a shakedown? Is that what it is?”
“Now, why should you think that?”
“Because I know how your lot are. Why, I must have paid more to unofficial ‘funds’ than you’ve seen in regular salary. Five, ten times as much!” Chen nodded, as if impressed. “You must have done a lot of deals like that to get where you are. You’ve come a long way.” Cornwell leaned forward. “Too fucking right. I didn’t have no rich daddy bankrolling me, like some of those bastards. I had nothing. I climbed. And I took care of myself. Not like those soft cunts I had to work with. A pack of weak-kneed bastards they were! Shitheads!” He gave an ugly laugh, his broad-lipped mouth opening wetly. “You have to be hard in business. You can’t afford scruples. You know what I mean, Major?” “Oh, I know what kind of world it is we live in, Shih Cornwell. I was an orphan. Down there, beneath the Net.”
Cornwell eyed him with renewed interest. “The Net, eh? So how did you . .
. you know, get up here?”
Chen’s smile was like acid. “I killed a Minister.” Cornwell stared at him a moment, then roared with laughter. “Killed a Minister... I like that. Fucking good! But seriously, what did you do?” “I was kwai. You heard of that?”
Cornwell nodded, impressed despite himself. “You were good, I assume?”
“I survived.”
He leaned closer, his perfumed bulk almost touching Chen. “So what was it like?”
“Like?”
“You know, killing men for a living—what did that feel like?” Chen stared back at the man, feeling a revulsion so deep, so intense, that it was like a fire in his veins. He wanted to punch those gross features and keep on punching until they were a bloody mess, yet he kept his face a blank, showing nothing.
“It was a long time ago. . . . You forget.”
“Forget?” Cornwell whistled through his teeth. “I sure as hell wouldn’t!
Shit! You did it that often?”
Chen nodded. “I’ve seen all kinds of vileness.”
“Sure . . . and paid for some, I bet!”
Chen looked down at the hand Cornwell had placed on his knee. Slowly the fat man removed it.