"Do you wish to retire, Comrade Chairman?" the soldier inquired. He was standing with his back to Tang.
Han Ki Po dismissed him with a feeble wave of the hand.
"Do you want me to return for you in an hour, Comrade Chairman?" the young man persisted.
Han gestured the guard away a second time, ignored the salute, and continued to look out at the water.
Tang Ro Ji held his breath and waited until he saw the guard disappear up the path leading to the house. There was the metallic sound of a gate opening and closing… and finally, stillness. Only the gentle sounds of the surf and the plaintive sound of a distant buoy were audible. Tang glanced out at the moon-bathed waters of the inlet and realized that the time had come. He pulled himself up over the edge and began walking toward Han Ki Po.
Despite his youth, Tang was already a master at reading the eyes of his victims. In the eyes of Han Ki Po there was at first annoyance, and then terror. Quan was right; his reputation did precede him.
"Good evening, Comrade Chairman," Tang whispered. There was an ingratiating, almost condescending tone in his voice. Tang had been warned about the small electronic alarm on Han's chair, so when the old man's hand fumbled for the device, Tang stepped forward and disarmed it.
At eighty-two, Han Ki Po, incapacitated by a series of strokes, could not scream out and his struggle was brief. Tang stepped behind the wheelchair and began pushing it toward the rim of the overlook. Poised at the edge of the forty-foot drop, he reached down and partially disconnected the brake cable. He picked up Han's frail right hand and forced the brittle fingers around the brake handle. When he was satisfied with his staging, he pushed the chair over the edge.
There was the brief clattering sound of a wheelchair ricocheting against the rocks as it plummeted forty feet into the boulders at water's edge. Then there was the even briefer sound of something crashing and being torn apart. Then there was silence, broken only by the sounds of the surf.
It was done. Colonel Quan would applaud him.
Colonel Quan stared back at the defiant Russian and ordered the guard to take away his tray.
"My patience grows thin, Comrade Schubatis. Your continuing antagonism will no longer be tolerated. Perhaps we need to take stronger measures."
Schubatis did not reply. Nor did he look at Quan. Instead he continued to stare at the floor of his cell. Visibly annoyed, Quan paced back and forth in front of the cell, pausing just long enough to insert a cigarette in his ebony cigarette holder, light it, and exhale. A thin wafer of blue-gray, pungent smoke curled into the Russian's cell.
Still Schubatis did not respond.
"Very well, you will be denied all further privileges until you cooperate." Quan wheeled and looked at Lieutenant Yew. "Our reticent colleague will remain in his cell. He is to receive no further rations."
Yew acknowledged the order. "As you wish, Colonel Quan," he said. Then he hesitated. "The Colonel should know, however, that he continues to refuse to eat even when rations are provided. As you can see, he is already quite weak."
"That is his choice," Quan growled. "Let us see how recalcitrant he is if he has no choice in the matter. It is difficult to protest when one has no visible means of protest."
Quan was irritated. Schubatis's continued defiance was delaying the implementation of his plan. He turned abruptly and stalked out of the cell block. Outside, in the cool late-night breeze, he glanced at the shimmering moonlight on the reservoir and continued to his office. Inside the headquarters building, he was informed that he had a phone call.
Dung Lei Hong's voice on the other end of the line was barely audible. The senior Party committee member was obviously shaken. "Colonel Quan?"
"Yes, Comrade," Quan replied. He began to smile in anticipation. There would be only one reason for Dung's call at this hour of the night. Still, he knew he had to be careful. Dung was old and crafty, and Quan knew that if his response was not entirely appropriate, the elder would detect it.
"Chairman Han Ki Po is dead," Dung said. His voice was heavy with grief.
Quan's smile broadened; Tang had completed his mission. Finally he said, "When? How?" He was expecting Dung Lei Hong to describe how the Chairman had succumbed to another in a long series of strokes… or perhaps a heart attack. These were the ways in which Tang Ro Ji was both clever and skilled.
"He was murdered," Dung said flatly.
"Murdered?" Quan repeated. He had to be careful his voice did not betray him. "Are you certain?" He had no more than uttered the words when he realized he had deviated from his carefully rehearsed responses.
Dung's voice was suddenly stronger. "Earlier this evening, General Han Xihui, Chairman Han's son and commander of the garrison, went to see his father. He was just arriving at the gate to the gardens when he saw a man flee. The man escaped by rappelling down the wall into the rocks of the inlet. General Han managed to fire several shots at the man. He believes that at least one of the rounds found its mark…"
Quan hesitated. He had to wait until he was certain of his composure. "What about the Chairman?" Dung would expect such a question.
"We found the Chairman's body in the rocks at the foot of the cliff. It is quite obvious that the assassin pushed him over the edge in his wheelchair."
Quan's mouth twitched. Tang Ro Ji had botched the job. His mind began to race. What if Tang was caught? What if Tang revealed their plot? He had to chance the question that was foremost in his mind. "What makes General Han think he hit the assassin?"
"General Han found bloodstains at the base of the cliff. If the assassin was not hit, he was injured in the fall."
Quan's mind was racing. "Is there any hope of capturing the assassin?"
"He escaped in a small fishing boat. General Han is rounding up the fishermen in the area for interrogation. He is confident we will have the identity of the assailant within a matter of hours."
Quan was silent. In all of the many scenarios he had played out in his mind, the discovery of his carefully designed plot to take over the leadership of the Fifth Academy and openly oppose the Kong Ho regime was not one of them. Finally he asked Dung Lei Hong, "How can I be of assistance, Comrade?"
For some reason, Dung Lei Hong's voice seemed to grow stronger. "Until there is a meeting of the Party committee and new leadership can be elected, I will assume authority. You will report to me."
Again Quan was silent. He stifled the inclination to rebel.
"At this time we do not know what we are facing," Dung Lei Hong clarified. "We must determine if this is the act of a single dissident, or if we are confronted with an insurrection. We will not have the answers to this question until we capture the assassin. In the meantime, you are ordered to take all necessary precautions. Double security. Allow no one without proper identification onto the Danjia compound, and arrange to have interrogation teams investigate coastal villages in your immediate area. If the assassin does escape, he can be expected to seek refuge any place on the island."
"As you wish, Comrade Dung," Quan said. "You will keep me advised?"
"Most assuredly, Comrade Quan, I will contact you as soon as we have any new developments."
"How do you want me to handle the news of the Chairman's death?"
Dung Lei Hong hesitated. "For the time being," he said, "no one must know. It will not be safe to reveal it until we are certain we are no longer vulnerable to outside forces."
Tang Ro Ji's left arm was broken. The second of the three shots had splintered his arm just below the elbow, and he had difficulty swimming the three hundred yards to the spot where he had instructed the fisherman to wait. By the time he swam back to the boat, he knew the old man would have figured out that something was wrong even if he hadn't heard the sound of gunshots.