She stopped, her hand on the door's thick edge. "Come here, Pei K'ung."
She turned and went across, her whole manner set against him now. "Yes, husband?" He took a pen and inked it, then wrote a note and signed it, pressing his seal to the bottom of the paper.
"There," he said, handing it to her. "But let's have no more talk of punishment. The Pi-shu Chien is one of our finest servants. He served my father and my grandfather before him. Sixty-eight years he has filled that post and there is no man in the whole of Chung Kuo who knows more about or is more loyal to our family. Use him well, good wife, but do not anger him. Chu Shi-ch'e can be a cursed old crow when he's angered!"
She laughed, surprised; then, with a bow of thanks, turned and left.
Outside she stopped and stared at the permission letter then shook her head. Why, he hadn't even asked! He had simply signed it, trusting her.
Trusting her ...
The thought was sobering. Yet what had she expected?
I expected him to say no.
She stood there a moment longer, then, the letter held out carefully at her side, she began to walk, heading for the library once more, her two secretaries falling in behind her as she went.
LEHMANN SAT ON the sofa in the corner of the room, his booted feet on a low table, staring at his Financial Strategist, Cao Chang, who stood, head bowed before him.
"Well, Cao Chang? What will it cost us?"
Cao Chang hesitated. "Is this the place to discuss this, Master?"
Lehmann waved aside the objection. "Our guests are busy, Chang. We are as safe talking here as anywhere. So tell me. What would it cost us to depose of the T'ang?"
Cao Chang gave a bow, then took a tiny cassette from the breast pocket of his black silk pau and slid the thin, domino-shaped tape into the slot behind his ear. His eyes glazed a moment, then came clear. He was suddenly more alert, his speech more hurried, as if it sought to keep up with the accelerated pace of his thoughts.
"Our analysis shows nine main elements. Three of these, recruitment, training, and weaponry, might need to be adjusted upward should our policy in Africa prove unsuccessful. For my calculations, however, I have assumed a training period of six months and a total figure of two million, eight hundred thousand men, including a mercenary force of half a million."
Lehmann nodded. "Good. Now outline the other six elements."
"One," Cao Chang began, enumerating each point on his fingers. "The cost of fermenting revolt in Li Yuan's African armies. Important in preventing Li Yuan from using those forces directly against us. Two. The cost of pacifying our Triad friends in Africa. Important in ensuring that they do not take the opportunity to step in and take over our South European operations. Three. The infiltration of Li Yuan's European Security forces and the purchase of a minimum of two thousand top-level officers. Important in undermining the efficient operation of Li Yuan's forces in the first hours of our attack. Four. The purchase of tai at Weimar in the weeks running up to our operation. Important in helping to create a mood of popular dissent. Five. The funding of terrorist factions in both East and West Asia. Vitally important if we are to keep Tsu Ma and Wei Tseng-li from joining Li Yuan. Six. The cost of destroying major GenSyn installations in the hours before our attack, particularly the five Hei garrisons."
"And the costs?"
There was the briefest flicker of hesitation, then the figures spilled from Cao Chang's lips.
"For recruitment and training, forty-seven point six billion. For weaponry, sixty-eight point eight billion. To pay off the African armies, twenty-four point five billion. To pacify our Triad friends, fifty-six billion. For the infiltration of Li Yuan's security forces, sixteen point four billion. For the purchase of tai, three point five billion. To fund terrorist factions in the Asian Cities, fifty-two billion. To destroy major GenSyn installations, twenty-two point two billion. That comes to two hundred and ninety-one billion. Add to that a wastage factor of twenty percent and the final figure is three hundred and forty-nine point two billion yuan."
Lehmann nodded. It was a huge sum, but no more than he had anticipated.
"Thank you, Cao Chang. You have done well. Relax now. Take a girl, if you want."
Cao Chang gave a deep bow, then turned away, vanishing through the bead curtain on the far side of the room.
Lehmann took his feet from the table and sat forward, staring into space. Though three hundred and fifty billion was a massive sum—the equivalent of three years' profits from all his ventures—raising the money wasn't the problem. The problem would be keeping the details of his scheme secret from Li Yuan. Not that he had any illusions about that. Both he and Li Yuan knew now that a war must come. Both had begun their preparations. But when and how it would be fought, that was the nub of it.
Timing was everything.
He sighed, then sat back, looking about him at the plush decor of the foyer, feeling a natural aversion to its silk-cushioned opulence. He had had the House of the Ninth Ecstasy gutted and rebuilt, much as it was when Mu Chua, its legendary Madam, had been running it. Not only that, but he had had Mu Chua reconstructed, too, using visual records to recreate a GenSyn duplicate of the woman. Fifteen million she had cost him, all told—including the fees of the assassins he had sent to cover his tracks—but it had been money well spent; perhaps the best fifteen million he had ever spent.
Whatever he personally felt about such places, there was no denying their usefulness. In the eighteen months since he had rebuilt it, the House of the Ninth Ecstasy had regained its former prestige as a watering hole for Above merchants wishing to do business "down-level," its reputation spreading far and wide. All sorts were attracted here, lured by rumors of what could be had in the Madam's famous "Red Room"— Security officers and Company Heads, Minor Family princes and sons of the rich and famous, Representatives from the House and even, once, a Junior Minister. Through Mu Chua he snared them all. Drew them all into his cage.
Like birds, he thought, then stood, stretching his long, pale limbs, feeling the power there in every movement. He smiled: a bleak, corpselike smile.
It was time to use those connections: to make the birds flutter in their cages.
TOLONEN TRAVELED UP to Lubeck shortly after lunch. Madam Peng was waiting for him at the door to her First Level salon, her eight assistants lined up behind her to greet their prestigious visitor.
Rotund and birdlike, as her name—Peng—suggested, the Madam hovered anxiously as the eight polemen set the Marshal's sedan down.
She had entertained many prominent citizens in the thirty-four years she had been in business and prided herself on the quality—the exclusivity—of her clientele, but never had one so elevated or so powerful entered through her doors.
"Marshal Tolonen," she said, bowing low, her eight assistants kneel-
ing at her back, four to her left, four to her right, their foreheads scraping the thickly carpeted floor.
"Madam Peng," he said, stepping forward to take her gloved hand and gallantly kiss it. "I am grateful you could see me at such short notice."
"Not at all, Marshal," the Madam answered, a smile splitting her heavily rouged lips. "You honor my humble salon with your presence. Please, come through. I have canceled all other engagements to see you."
"You are most kind," Tolonen answered, inclining his head, then moved between the twin ranks of assistants.
"Forgive me if I sound impertinent, Marshal," the Madam said, hurrying to catch up with him, "but might I say how well you look."
Tolonen nodded, clearly distracted by his thoughts. Yet it was true. The old man looked closer to sixty than eighty-one. He had kept himself supremely fit, and though his stubble-length hair was the color of snow, his eyes were clear and strong. Even in his casual silks he looked exactly what he was—a leader of men—and seemed a match for any man half his age.