"Ah. . . ." Lehmann sat back, still watching him, his eyes never blinking, his stare quite unrelenting. "And the tube?"
DeVore shook his head. "That was nothing. He was just trying to impress me. These Han are strange, Stefan. They think all Hung Mao are beasts, with the appetites of beasts. Maybe it's true of some."
Yes, but he had wondered for a moment: had waited to see if Tong Chou would clamor for it back.
"You're certain of him, then?"
DeVore looked sharply at the youth. "And you're not?"
Lehmann shook his head. "You said you had a hunch. Why not trust to it? Have you ever been wrong?"
DeVore hesitated, reluctant to say, then nodded. "Once or twice. But never about something so important."
"Then why trust to luck now?"
When Lehmann was gone, he went upstairs and sat at his desk, beneath the sharp glare of the single lamp, thinking about what the albino had said. The unease he felt was understandable. Everything was in flux at present—The New Hope, the fortresses, the recent events in the House; all these demanded his concentration, night and day. Little wonder, then, that he should display a little paranoia now and then. Even so, the boy was right. It was wrong to ignore a hunch simply because the evidence wasn't there to back it up. Hunches were signs from the subconscious—reports from a game played deep down in the darkness.
Normally he would have had the man killed and thought nothing of it, but there were good reasons not to kill Tong Chou just now. Reports of unrest were serious enough as it was, and had brought inquiries from Duchek's own office. Another death was sure to bring things to a head. But it was important that things were kept quiet for the next few days, until his scheme to pay that bastard Duchek back was finalized and the funds transferred from his accounts.
Yes. And he wanted to get even with Administrator Duchek. Because Duchek had let him down badly when he had refused to launder the funds for the Swiss Wilds fortresses through his accounts. Had let them all down.
Even so, there was a way that he could deal with Tong Chou. An indirect way that would cause the very minimum of fuss.
The dead thief had three brothers. They, certainly, would be keen to know who it was had put their brother in the ground. And who was to say who had left the anonymous note?
DeVore smiled, satisfied that he had found the solution to one of his problems, then leaned forward and tapped out the combination of the discrete line that connected him directly with Berdichev.
"Do you know what time it is, Howard?"
"Two twenty. Why? Were you sleeping, Soren?"
Berdichev waved his wife, Ylva, away, then locked the door behind her and came back to the screen. "What's so urgent?"
"We need to talk."
"What about?"
DeVore paused, conscious of the possibility the call was being traced—especially after the events of the past few days. "I'll tell you when I see you."
"Which is when?"
"In an hour and a half."
"Ah. . . ." Berdichev removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, then looked up again and nodded. "Okay." Then he cut contact. There was no need to say where they would meet. Both knew.
An hour and a half later they stood there on the mountainside below the landing dome at Landek Base. The huge valley seemed mysterious and threatening in the moonlight, the distant mountains strange and unreal. It was like being on another planet. Berdichev had brought furs against the cold; even so he felt chilled to the bone, his face numbed by the thin, frigid air.
He faced DeVore, noting how little the other man seemed to be wearing.
"So? What do we need to talk about?"
His voice seemed small and hollow; dwarfed by the immensity of their surroundings.
"About everything. But mainly about Duchek. Have you heard from Weis?"
Berdichev nodded, wishing he could see DeVore's face better. He had expected DeVore to be angry, maybe even to have had Duchek killed for what he had done. "I was disappointed in him, Howard."
"Good. I'd hate to think you were pleased."
Berdichev smiled tightly. "What did you want to do?"
"Wrong question, Soren. Try 'What have you done?' "
"So?"
"He's dead. Two days from now. Next time he visits his favorite singsong house. But there's something else I want to warn you about. I've got a team switching funds from the plantation accounts here. At the same time Duchek greets his ancestors there'll be a big fire in the Distribution Center at Lodz. It'll spread and destroy the computer records there. I thought I'd warn you, in case it hurts any of our investors. It'll be messy and there'll doubtlessly be a few hiccups before they can reconstruct things from duplicate records."
"Is that wise, Howard?"
DeVore smiled. "My experts estimate it'll take them between six and eight weeks to sort out the bulk of it. By that time I'll be out of there and the funds will have been tunneled away, so to speak. Then we cut Weis out of it."
Berdichev narrowed his eyes. "Cut Weis out?"
"Yes. He's the weak link. We both know it. Duchek's betrayal gives me the excuse to deal with them both."
Berdichev considered a moment, then nodded, seeing the sense in it. With Weis dead, the trail covered, and the fortresses funded, what did it matter if they traced the missing plantation funds to Duchek? Because beyond Duchek there would be a vacuum. And Duchek himself would be dead.
"How much is involved?"
"Three billion. Maybe three and a half."
"Three billion. Hmm. With that we could take some of the pressure off our investors."
DeVore shook his head. "No. That would just alert Weis. I gave him the distinct impression that we were grabbing for every fen we could lay our hands on. If we start making refunds he'll know weVe got funding from elsewhere and he'll start looking for it. No, I want you to go to him with the begging bowl again. Make him think things are working out over budget."
Berdichev frowned. "And if he says it can't be done?"
DeVore laughed and reached out to touch his arm. "Be persuasive."
"Right. You want me to pressure him?"
DeVore nodded. "How are things otherwise?"
"Things are good. Under Secretary Barrow tells me that the tai are to face impeachment charges next week. Until then they're suspended from the House. That gives our coalition an effective majority. Lo Yu-Hsiang read out a strongly worded protest from the Seven yesterday, along with an announcement that funding in certain areas was to be cut. But we expected as much. Beyond that they're impotent to act—as we knew they would be. The House is humming with it, Howard. TheyVe had a taste of real power for once and they like it. They like it a lot."
"Good. And the file?"
For a moment Berdichev thought to play dumb. Then, seeing how things stood, he shrugged inwardly, making a mental note to find out how DeVore had come to know of it. It was fortunate that, for once, he had prepared for such an eventuality. "IVe a copy in my craft for you, Howard. I'll hand it to you before we go."
"Excellent. And the boy? Kim, isn't it? Have you sorted out your problems there?"
Berdichev felt his stomach tighten. Was there anything DeVore hadn't heard about? "It's no problem," he said defensively.
"Good. Because we don't wantfiroblems. Not for the next few days, anyway."
Berdichev took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. "And how is young Stefan? How is he settling in?"
DeVore turned his head away, staring out at the mountains, the moonlight momentarily revealing his neat, rather handsome features. "Fine. Absolutely fine. He's quiet, but I rather like that. It shows he has depths." He looked back, giving Berdichev the briefest glimpse of a smile.
Yes, thought Berdichev, recalling the two appalling weeks the boy had spent with them as a houseguest; he has depths all right—vacuous depths.
"I see. But has he learned anything from you, Howard? Anything useful?"