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. . . ."
J Y A N had spent two hours at Big White's after Cho Hsiang had gone. A meal of real pork and vegetables, a bottle of good wine, and a long session with two of the house's filthiest girls— all on Cho Hsiang's bill—had put him in a good mood. It was all going his way at last. Things were happening for him. About time, he thought, turning the corner and entering the corridor that led to his apartment.
In the noise and crush of the corridor he almost missed it. Almost went straight in. But something—some sense he had developed over the years—stopped him. He drew his hand back from the palm-lock and bent down, examining it. There was no doubt about it. The lock had been tampered with.
He put his ear to the door. Nothing. At least, nothing unusual. He could hear a soft machine purr coming from within, but that was normal. Or almost normal. . . .
He turned and looked back down the busy corridor, ignoring the passersby, trying to think. Had he left any of his machines on? Had he? He scratched at his neck nervously, unable to remember, then looked back at the marks on the lock, frowning. They looked new, but they might have been there some while. It might just have been kids.
It might have. But he'd best take no chances. Not in the circumstances.
He placed his palm flat against the lock, then, as the lock hissed open, drew back against the wall, away from the opening.
As the door slid back slowly, he looked into the room for some sign of an intruder. Then, drawing his knife with one swift movement, he stepped into the room.
The knife was knocked from his hand. He saw it flip through the air. Then a hand was clamped roughly about his mouth.
Jyan struggled to turn and face his assailant, one arm going up instinctively to ward off a blow, but the man was strong and had a tight grip on him.
Then, suddenly, he was falling backward.
He looked up, gasping. Kuan Yin, goddess of mercy! It was Chen!
Chen glared down at him angrily. "Where have you been?"
Two or three faces appeared in the doorway behind Chen. Jyan waved them away, then got up and moved past Chen to close the door. Getting his breath again, he turned to face the kwai, a faint smile returning to his lips. "IVe been arranging things. Making deals."
He went to move past him again, but Chen caught his arm and sniffed at him. "You've been whoring, more like. I can smell the stink of them on you."
Jyan laughed. "A little pleasure after business, that's all." He moved into the room, then sat down heavily on the bed, facing Chen. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"
Chen sheathed his big hunting knife and crossed the room. There, in a comer recess, was an old-fashioned games machine. Turning his back on Jyan, he stared at the screen. "I thought I'd come and find out what was happening. You were gone a long time."
Jyan laughed, then pulled off his left slipper. "As I said, I was making deals. Working for both of us."
Chen toyed with the keys of the games machine a moment longer, then turned back. "And?"
Jyan smiled and kicked off the other slipper, then began to peel off his one-piece. "We've another meet. Tomorrow, at Big White's. We fix the price then." *
Oblivious of the other man, Jyan stripped naked, then went over to the comer shower and fed five ten-/en tokens into the meter beside it. Drawing back the curtain, he stepped inside and, as the lukewarm water began to run, started to soap himself down.
Chen watched Jyan's outline through the plastic a moment, then tuined back to the machine.
It was an ancient thing that had three standard games programed into it; t'.iao chi, hsiang chi, and wei chi. He had set it up for a low-level game of wei chi, and the nineteen-by-nineteen grid filled the screen. He was playing black and had made only twenty or so moves, but white was already in a strong position.
Chen looked about him once again. He had never been in Jyan's room before today—had, in truth, never been interested in Jyan's homelife—but now the situation was getting deep. It had seemed best to know how things stood.
Cheap tapestries hung on the walls. Standard works by Tung Yuan and Li Ch'eng; scenes of mountains and valleys, tall pine trees and gentle-flowing rivers. The sort of crap one saw everywhere in the Net. On the bedside table was a small shrine to Wen Ti, the evidence of burnt candles in the tray revealing a side of Jyan he would never have guessed. A small rug covered part of the bare ice floor at the end of the single bed, but otherwise the only furnishings were a pair of cheap fold-up chairs.
Some of the things there had surprised him. In a box under the bed he had found a recent generation SimFic HeadStim: a direct-input job that linked up to wires implanted in the brain. That alone must have cost Jyan at least five hundred yuan at current black market prices—maybe even the full thousand he had borrowed from Whiskers Lu—but unlike the two wraparounds he had, it was a useless item—a status symbol only— because Jyan, like most in the Net, hadn't had the operation.
A huge blue and gold er-silk eiderdown covered the bed. Underneath it two bright red cotton blankets were spread out over the normal ice-cloth sheets of the bed—as if for a wedding night. For some reason it had reminded Chen of that moment on the mountainside when Jyan had pulled the wine bottle and the glasses from his sack. There was something dangerously impractical about that side of Jyan. Something hideously self-indulgent. It was a flaw in him. The kind of thing that could kill a man.
Chen cleared the board and switched off the machine, his sense of disenchantment coming to a head. All this—it was so ostentatious. So false. Jyan ached to be better than he was. Richer. More powerful. More cultured. Yet his attempts at mimicry were painful to observe. He was a cockroach imitating a turtle. And this latest scheme . . . Chen shuddered. It was doomed to failure. He knew that in his bones. You could not make deals with these people; could not be partner to them, only their hireling.