"But this is outrageous, sir! Ebert said nothing of the kind! This is just malicious claptrap, sir! Pure bile! An attempt to get back at Ebert underhandedly!"
Ebert had lowered his head. When he looked up there was a tear on his left cheek. "General Tolonen . . ." he began.
"No! Enough!" Tolonen drew himself up to his full height.
"Fest, Ebert, be kind enough to leave the room. IVe heard enough."
Axel, unable to believe what had happened, watched them leave, and saw, as the General turned to face him, Ebert smile triumphantly at Fest. Then the door closed and he was alone with the General.
"You heard what they said, Haavikko. Explain yourself."
Axel shuddered. "They were lying, sir. Both of them. Fest was covering for Ebert. . . ."
Tblonen watched him coldly, then shook his head. "Take care, Haavikko. Don't compound your error. You realize I could have you court-martialed for what you've done. Dismissed from the service. The only thing that stops me is the promise I made your dead father."
The old man gritted his teeth, then looked away. His disappointment with Haavikko was written starkly in his face. "I thought better of you." He laughed—a sharp, bitter laugh— then turned away. "Get out of my sight, Haavikko. Right now. You have your posting."
THREE HOURS LATER Axel sat at the Security Desk at the lowest level of the Bremen Fortress, waiting for his new orders to come through. His kit—the sum total of his belongings in the world—was packed and stored in a back room down the hallway. To kill the time he had relieved the duty officer while he went to get ch'a for them both. The ninth of the evening bells had just sounded and it was quiet.
Outwardly he appeared quite calm as he sat there in the reception area. Inside, however, he still seethed. Anger and bitterness and regret at the General's actions filled him to bursting. The General had done what he had had to do, and, in his place, he might well have done the same. At least, so the logical, reasonable part of him argued. But seeing it that way didn't help. A gross injustice had been done him and his very soul felt bruised and raw. It was not justice he wanted but revenge. He felt like killing them. Slowly, painfully. Fest first, and then Ebert.
Impossible, he thought bitterly. And even if he did, they would come and take all those he loved in retribution. Sisters and aunts and all. To the third generation, as the law demanded.
He looked down, momentarily overcome, then looked up again, hearing a noise in front of him.
The Han bowed low before the desk, then met Axel's eyes. He seemed close to exhaustion and his clothes stank.
"I need protection," he said. "There are men trying to kill me."
Axel stared back at him, feeling empty. "It's an evil world," he said, indicating a seat at the back of the reception area. "Sit down. The duty officer will see you in a while."
He watched the Han turn and go to the seat, then looked away, paying no more attention to the man.
A minute later the duty officer was back. "You're in luck, Haavikko," he said, handing him a bowl of ch'a from the tray, then taking a sealed packet from his jacket pocket and putting it on the desk in front of him. "It's just come through. Your new posting."
Axel stared at it a moment, then took it and broke the seal. He read it, then looked down, his face momentarily registering his disgust. England! They were sending him to England, of all the godsforsaken places!
He tucked the orders away in his tunic pocket, masking his bitter disappointment, then drained his bowl at a go. "Thanks," he said, letting the other take his seat again. "I'll get my kit and go."
"Yes, you'd better." The duty officer smiled sadly at him; an understanding smile. "Hey! And good luck!"
After he'd gone, the Han rose slowly from his seat and went across to the desk. The duty officer looked up, then set his ch'a down.
"Yes?"
"I need protection," the Han said tiredly, conscious he had used these same words earlier. "There are men trying to kill me."
The officer nodded, then reached for his lap terminal, ready to take details. "Okay. What's your name?"
"Pi Ch'ien," the Han answered. "My name is Pi Ch'ien."
CHAPTER FOUR
The Moon Dragon
Well, what are we to do?"
Lehmann turned away, looking out at the calm of the lotus-strewn lake; watching as one of the three cranes he had bought only the day before lifted its long, elegant wings, then settled again, dipping its bill into the water. Behind him DeVore was pacing back and forth restlessly, slapping his gloves against his thigh with every second step. Lehmann had never seem him so agitated or so upset. Who would have believed that Yang Lai's message carrier, his third secretary, Pi Ch'ien, would turn up again, like an envoy from the land of the dead?
"What do you suggest, Howard?"
DeVore came and stood by him at the open window. "You know what we have to do. It's what we planned for. In case this happened."
"You think it's really necessary? I mean . . . Yang Lai is dead. And Cho Hsiang and the two assassins. There seems nothing more to connect us. So what if the General has Pi Ch'ien? Pi Ch'ien knows nothing."
"Not so, I'm afraid. Pi Ch'ien has named Heng Chi-Po as his contact."
Lehmann turned abruptly, facing him. "Minister Heng? Gods! And he has proof of this?"
DeVore shook his head. "No. But it isn't a question of proof any longer. The General plans to go to the T'ang with what he knows, surmise or not, proof or not. And the T'ang will tell him to investigate. We have to act now. To preempt the investigation." He paused, taking breath. "We have to sacrifice him, Pietr. We have to give them Wyatt."
Lehmann turned back, facing DeVore. "You're certain, Howard? Certain it's the only way?"
DeVore gave a curt nod. "It's necessary."
Lehmann was silent a moment, then he nodded. "All right. Do what you have to."
DeVore reached out and touched his arm. "Keep heart, Pietr. It's a hard road, I know, but we'll triumph. I'm sure of it."
"Maybe. . . ." Lehmann looked down. "You know, I didn't think it would be like this. I thought. . ."
"You thought you could keep your hands clean, eh?"
Lehmann shook his head. "No. Not that. Just. . . well, he's a good man, Howard. If there's any other way . . . ?"
He looked up, meeting DeVote's eyes again, but the latter shook his head.
"Don't blame yourself, Pietr. There is no other way." DeVore huffed. "Our hands are tied, don't you understand? Chung Kuo itself is to blame. This world of ours . . . it's incestuous. The connections are too tangled. You have only to scratch your ass and your enemy sighs with relief."
Lehmann laughed sadly. "That's so."
DeVore pressed on. "Do you think I'd not be open if I could? Do you think I like this game of deceit and double-dealing?" He spat out neatly onto the water below. "If I was open for a moment I'd be dead. And you. And all of us. So think of that, Pietr, before you get sentimental over Edmund Wyatt. He was a good man. Maybe. But he also wanted what we want. Change. A break with the old order. Keep that in mind, Pietr. Don't waver from it. Because if you doubt it for a moment you're dead. You and all of us."
Lehmann shivered, hearing how DeVore spoke of Wyatt in the past tense. But he could not argue with him. Their course was set now. To the end.
"Then I must seem his friend?"
"And I your mortal enemy."
"Yes." Lehmann looked out, watching one of the cranes glide slowly to the bank, then lift itself up onto the pale white rocks, ruffling its feathers as it settled.
THE GENERAL waited on the central dais, holding himself stiffly upright in the tall-backed Summons Chair. To either side of the dais stood an honor guard of the T'ang's own bodyguard, resplendent in their crimson combat silks, big men with shaven heads and naked feet, while all around him the T'ang's servants moved silently through the great hall, going about their business.