Shih wei su ts'an.
He could hear it even now. Could hear how Lwo Kang had said it; see his face, only inches from his own, those coldly intelligent eyes staring at him scornfully, that soft, almost feminine mouth forming the hard shapes of the words. It was an old phrase. An ancient insult. Impersonating the dead and eating the bread of idleness. You are lazy and corrupt, it said. You reap the rewards of others' hard work. Chi-Po shuddered, remembering how the others there—ministers like himself—had turned from him and left him there, as if agreeing with Lwo Kang. Not one had come to speak with him afterward.
He looked down, speaking softly, for himself alone. "But now the ugly little pig's ass is dead!"
He had closed those cold eyes. Stopped up that soft mouth. And now his blood would inherit. And yet. . .
Heng Chi-Po closed his eyes, shivering, feeling a strange mixture of bitterness and triumph. Dead. But still the words sounded, loud, in his head. Shih wei su ts'an.
BIG WHITE brought them a tray of ch'a, then backed out, closing the door behind him.
Cho Hsiang leaned forward and poured from the porcelain bottle, filling Jyan's bowl first, then his own. When he was done he set the bottle down and looked up sharply at the hireling.
"Well? What is it, Kao Jyan?"
He watched Jyan take his bowl and sip, then nod his approval of the ch'a. There was a strange light in his eyes. Trouble. As he'd thought. But not of the kind he'd expected. What was Jyan up to?
"This is pleasant," said Jyan, sitting back. "Very pleasant. There's no better place in the Net than Big White's, wouldn't you say?"
Curbing his impatience, Cho Hsiang placed his hands on the table, palms down, and tilted his head slightly, studying Jyan. He was wary of him, not because he was in any physical danger—Big White frisked all his customers before he let them in—but because he knew Jyan for what he was. A weasel. A devious little shit-eater with ambitions far above his level.
"No better place in the Net," he answered, saying nothing of the excellent Mu Chua's, where he and others from the Above usually spent their time here, nor of his loathing of the place and of the types, like Jyan, with whom he had to deal. "You'd best say what you want, Kao Jyan. I've business to attend to."
Jyan looked up at him, a sly, knowing expression in his eyes. "I'll not keep you long, mister contact man. What I have to say is simple and direct enough."
Cho Hsiang stiffened slightly, bristling at the insult Kao Jyan had offered him in using the anglicized form of hsien sheng, but his mind was already working on the question of what it was Jyan wanted. As yet he saw no danger in it for himself, even when Jyan leaned forward and said in a whisper, "I know who you work for, Cho Hsiang. I found it out."
Jyan leaned back, watching him hawkishly, the fingers of his right hand pulling at the fingers of the left. "That should be worth something, don't you think?"
Cho Hsiang sat back, his mind working quickly. Did he mean Hong Cao? If so, how had Jyan found out? Who, of Hsiang's contacts, had traced the connection back? Or was Jyan just guessing? Trying to squeeze him for a little extra? He looked at the hireling again, noting just how closely the other was watching him, then shrugged.
"I don't know what you mean. I am my own man. I'm not a filthy hireling."
He made the insult pointed, but Jyan just waved it aside. "You forget what you hired me for this time, mister contact man. It was way beyond your level. I knew at once you were working for someone else. And not just anyone. This one had power. Real power. Power to make deals with Security, to trade with other, powerful men. With money to oil the cogs and sweep away the traces. That's not your level, Cho Hsiang. Such people would not deign to sit at table with such as you and I."
Cho Hsiang was quiet a moment, thoughtful; then, "Give me a name."
Jyan laughed shortly, then leaned forward, his face now hard and humorless. "First I want a guarantee. Understand? I want to make certain that I'm safe. That they'll not be able to come for me and make sure of my silence."
He made to speak, but Jyan shook his head tersely. "No, Cho Hsiang. Listen. I've made a tape of all I know. It makes interesting listening. But tapes can go missing. So I've made a copy and secured it in a computer time-lock. Never mind where. But that time-lock needs to be reset by me every two days. If it isn't, then the copy goes directly to Security."
Cho Hsiang took a deep breath. "I see. And what do you want in return for your silence?"
In answer Jyan took the tape from the pocket of his one-piece and pushed it across the table to him. "I think they'll find a price that suits us both."
Smiling, Jyan refilled his cup from the bottle, then, sitting back again, raised it in salute. "You said you wanted a name."
Cho Hsiang hesitated, his stomach tightening, then shook his head. He hadn't seen it at first, but now he saw it clearly. Jyan's talk of safeguards had brought it home to him. It was best he knew nothing. Or, if not nothing, then as little as possible. Such knowledge as Jyan had was dangerous.
"Suit yourself," said Jyan, laughing, seeing the apprehension in Cho Hsiang's face. When he spoke again his voice was harsh; no longer the voice of a hireling, but that of a superior. "Arrange a meeting. Tomorrow. Here, at Big White's."
Cho Hsiang leaned forward, angered by Jyan's sudden change of tone, then sat back, realizing that things had changed. He picked up the tape and pocketed it, then got up from his chair and went to the door. "I'll see what I can do."
Jyan smiled again. "Oh, and Cho Hsiang . . . pay Big White for me on your way out."
LEHMANN turned sharply, the low, urgent buzzing of the desk alarm sending his heart into his mouth. Four symbols had appeared on the screen of his personal comset, Han pictograms that spelled Yen C/ung—Eye—the code word for his Midlevel contact, Hong Cao.
That it had appeared on his personal screen indicated its urgency. No computer line, however well protected, could be guaranteed discreet. For that reason Hong Cao had been instructed to use the personal code only as a last resort.
Placing his right forefinger to the screen, Lehmann drew an oval, then dotted the center of it. At once the message began to spill out onto the screen.
It was brief and to the point. Lehmann read it through once, then a secqnd time. Satisfied he had it memorized, he pressed CLEAR and held the tab down for a minute—time enough to remove all memory of the transmission. Only then did he sit back, stunned by the import of the message.
"Shit!" he said softly, then leaned forward to tap in DeVore's personal contact code.
Someone knew. Someone had figured out how it all connected. .
DeVore was out on patrol. Part of his face appeared on the screen, overlarge, the signal hazed, distorted. Lehmann realized at once that DeVore was staring down into a wrist set.
"Pietr! What is it?"
Lehmann swallowed. "Howard. Look, it's nothing really. Just that you—you left your gloves. Okay? I thought you might want to pick them up. And maybe have a drink."
DeVore's face moved back, coming into clearer focus. There was a moment's hesitation, then he nodded. "I'll be off duty in an hour. I'll come collect them then. Okay?"
"Fine." Lehmann cut contact at once.
The package from Hong Cao containing the tape and a sealed message card arrived a half bell later by special courier. Lehmann stared at it a moment, then put it unopened in the top drawer of his desk and locked it.
His first instinct had been right. They should have erased all traces that led back to them. Killed the killers. Killed the agents and the contact men. Killed everyone who knew. DeVore had argued against this, saying that to do so would only draw attention, but he, Lehmann, had been right. And now they would have to do it anyway. If they still could.
When DeVore arrived they took the package straight through to Lehmann's secure-room and listened to the tape through headphones. Afterward they sat there looking at each other.
DeVore was the first to speak. "He may have got it wrong, but he was close enough to do us damage. If Security investigates Berdichev at any depth they'll uncover the links with you. And then the whole structure comes crashing down."
"So what do you suggest?"
"We kill him."
"What about the copy tape?"
"Leave that to me." DeVore reached across and took the message card. He looked at it, then handed it to Lehmann.
Lehmann activated the card, read it, then handed it back across to DeVore.
"Good. This Kao Jyan wants a meeting. I'll see to that myself. Meanwhile I've something you can do." - Lehmann frowned. "What's that?"
"Yang Lai's alive. He tried to make contact with Wyatt. My men have found out where he is, but he'll only speak to you or Wyatt. It seems you're the only ones he trusts."
Lehmann felt his stomach flip over for the second time that morning. Yang Lai had been one of the ministers of the Edict, Lwo Kang's chief officials. They had thought him with Lwo Kang when the Minister and all his principal men were killed.
"Then he wasn't in the dome when it went up?"
DeVore shook his head. "I only heard two hours back. All of the internal Security films were destroyed in the explosion, but the door tally survived. The body count for the solarium came out two short. It seems Junior Minister Yang is one."
"Then who's the other?"
DeVore shrugged. "We don't know yet. But Yang Lai might. Go see him. Do what you must."
Lehmann nodded. This time he would act on his instincts. "Okay. I'll deal with him."
DeVore stood up. "And don't worry, Pietr. We can handle this. You know we can." He glanced down at the tape and card, then back at Lehmann, "Destroy those. I'll see to the rest. Oh, and Pietr..."
"What?"
"My gloves. . . ."