The White Mountain

by David Wingrove

He would visit Surgeon Fan, the senior consultant of the Centre – the man who should have come at Wang Ti’s summons. Would find him and wring a name from him. Then he would kill them. Whoever they were.

  Chen turned, facing the orderlies again. ‘Did you not hear me, ch’un tzu? Go back to work. This does not concern you.’

  He could see how edgy they were at the sight of his gun. Edgy but determined. They thought they could jump him. Well, they could try. But they were mistaken if they thought sheer determination would triumph over him.

  He tucked the gun into its holster, then reached down, taking the long, sharp-edged knife from his boot.

  ‘You want to stop me, is that it? Well, let’s see you try.’

  Minutes later he was hammering at the door of Fan Tseng-li’s apartment, conscious that a Security alert would have been put out already. He could hear movement inside and the babble of voices. Fearful, panicky voices. He called to them, letting his voice fill out with reassurance.

  ‘Security! Open up! I am Lieutenant Tong and I have been assigned to protect you!’

  He saw the door camera swivel round and held his pass card up, his thumb obscuring the name. A moment later the door hissed open and he was ushered inside, the three servants smiling at him gratefully.

  The smiles froze as he drew his gun.

  ‘Where is he? Where is the weasel-faced little shit?’

  ‘I don’t know who you mean,’ the oldest of them, an ancient with the number two on his chest began, but Chen cuffed him into silence.

  ‘You know very well who I mean. Fan. I want to know where he is, and I want to know now, not in two minutes’ time. I’ll shoot you first, lao tzu, then you, you little fucker.’

  The elder – Number Two – looked down, holding his tongue, but beside him the youngest of the three began to babble, fear freeing his tongue wonderfully. Chen listened carefully, noting what he said.

  ‘And he’s there now?’

  The young man nodded.

  ‘Right.’ He looked past them at the house comset, a large, ornate machine embellished with dragons. ‘Has anyone spoken to him yet?’

  The young man shook his head, ignoring the ancient’s glare.

  ‘Good.’ Chen stepped past them and fired two shots into the machine. ‘That’s to stop you being tempted. But let me warn you. If I find that he has been tipped off, I will come back for you. So be good, neh? Be extra-specially good.’

  The House Steward smiled, lowering his head. ‘If you would wait here, Captain Kao, I shall tell my master…’

  A straight-arm to the stomach made the man double up, gasping. Chen stepped over him, heading towards the sound of voices, the clink of tumblers.

  A servant came towards him, trying to prevent him from entering the dining room. Chen stiff-fingered him in the throat.

  He threw the doors open, looking about him, ignoring the startled faces, then roared ferociously as he spotted Surgeon Fan, there on the far side of the table.

  Fan Tseng-li stood, staggering back from his chair, his face white, his eyes wide with fear. Others were shouting now, outraged, looking from Chen to Fan, trying to make sense of things. For a moment there was hubbub, then a cold, fearful silence fell.

  Chen had drawn his knife.

  ‘Ai ya!’ Fan cried hoarsely, looking about him anxiously. ‘Who is this madman?’

  ‘You know fucking well who I am,’ Chen snarled, coming round the table. ‘And I know who you are, Fan Tseng-li. You are the evil bastard who let my unborn daughter die.’

  Fan’s face froze in a rictus of fear. ‘You have it wrong. I was detained. A client of mine…’

  Fan fell silent. Chen was standing only an arm’s length from him now, glaring at him, the look of hatred, of sheer disgust enough to wither the man.

  ‘I know what kind of insect you are, Fan. What I need to know is who paid you to let my daughter die.’ He reached out savagely, gripping Fan’s hair, then pulled him down on to his knees, the big knife held to his throat. ‘Who was it, Fan Tseng-li? Tell me.’

  There was a murmur of protest from about the table, but Chen ignored it. He was looking down into Fan’s face, murderous hatred shaping his lips into a snarl.

  ‘You had better tell me,’ he said quietly, tightening his grip on Fan’s hair, ‘and you had best do it now, Fan Tseng-li. Unless you want a second mouth below your chin.’

  Fan grimaced, then met Chen’s eyes. ‘It was Ts’ui Wei. Ts’ui Wei made me do it.’

  ‘Ts’ui Wei?’ Chen frowned, trying to place the name. ‘Did he…?’

  He stopped, making the connection. Ts’ui Wei. Of course! That was the name of the youth’s father. The tall, thin man who had threatened him that time, after he’d had the youth demoted. Chen shuddered. So that was it. That was why his child had died.

  He sheathed the knife, then turned, looking about him at the faces gathered round the table. ‘You heard,’ he said defiantly. ‘And now you know what kind of creature your friend Fan Tseng-li is.’

  Chen looked back down at Fan, then, with a savage grunt, brought his face down on to his knee.

  He let Fan roll to the side, then walked back round the table, seeing how they cowered from him. At the doorway the servants parted before him, making no attempt to hinder him. They had seen what had happened and understood. Some even bowed their heads as Chen passed, showing him respect. Back in the dining-room, however, voices were being raised, angry, indignant voices, calling for something to be done.

  He stood there, in the darkness on the far side of the restaurant, looking across. There were seven of them in all, five of them seated at one of the tables near the pay desk, their figures back-lit, their faces dark. The other two sat at nearby tables; big men, their watchfulness as much as their size telling Chen what they were. The five were huddled close, talking.

  ‘You should go,’ one of them was saying. ‘There must be relatives you could stay with for a time, Ts’ui Wei. Until this blows over.’

  Ts’ui Wei leaned towards him aggressively. ‘I’m not running from that bastard. He had my son sent down. I’ll be fucked if he’ll threaten me.’

  ‘You do as you feel, Ts’ui Wei, but I’ve heard that Security have been digging through deck records, putting together a file.’

  Ts’ui leaned back arrogantly. ‘So? He can’t prove anything. All Surgeon Fan has to do is keep his mouth shut.’

  The fat man bristled. ‘Fan Tseng-li is the model of discretion. He, at least, is taking my advice and going away until this is all sorted out.’

  Ts’ui Wei snorted. ‘That’s typical of that self-serving shit! I should never have listened to your snivelling rubbish. We could have hit him. Hit him hard. And not just a fucking unborn child. We could have hurt him bad. The little girl…’

  Chen shivered, his anger refined to a burning point. They were not expecting him. That gave him the element of surprise. But there were still the bodyguards. He would have to deal with them first.

  Standing there, listening to them scheme and plot, he had felt his anger turn to deep revulsion. For them, but also for himself – for what had he been doing while all this had been happening?

  He let out a long, slow breath. No. It could never be the same. For wherever he looked he could see her stumbling towards him like a broken doll, could hear the sound of the detonation…

  And the child? He closed his eyes, the pain returning, like an iron band tightening about his chest. It was as if he had killed the child himself. As if he had pressed a tiny button and…

  Chen stepped from the darkness. One of the hired men looked up at him as he came closer, then looked away, taking him for what he seemed – a night worker stopped for a bowl of ch’a before retiring. It was what Chen had hoped for.

  Three paces from the man, he acted, swinging his fist round in a broad arc that brought it crashing into the man’s face, breaking his nose. As he fell back, Chen turned and spun, high-kicking, catching the second man in the chest, even as he was getting up from
his chair. At once he followed through, two quick punches felling the man.

  Chen turned, facing the men at the table. They had moved back, scattering their chairs. Now they stared at him, wide-eyed with fear.

  ‘Tell me,’ Chen said quietly, taking a step closer. ‘My little girl… What would you have done, Ts’ui Wei? Tell me what you had planned.’

  Ashen-faced, Ts’ui Wei tried to back away, but the end wall was directly behind him. He turned his head anxiously, looking for somewhere to run, but his way was blocked on both sides.

  Chen lifted the weighted table and threw it aside, then reached down, taking the big hunting knife from his boot.

  ‘I have no stomach for a fight, eh, Ts’ui Wei?’ He laughed coldly, all of the hatred and self-disgust he had been feeling suddenly focused in his forearm, making the big knife quiver in the light.

  Ts’ui Wei stared at him a moment longer, his mouth working soundlessly, then he fell to his knees, pressing his head to the floor, his body shaking with fear. ‘Have mercy,’ he pleaded. ‘For the gods’ sakes, have mercy!’

  Chen took a shuddering breath, remembering how Wang Ti had looked, remembering how it had felt, knowing he had not been there for her – and Jyan, poor Jyan… how had it felt for him, knowing he could do nothing? And this… this piece of shit… wanted mercy?

  He raised the knife, his whole body tensed, prepared to strike…

  ‘No! Please, Daddy!’

  He turned. It was his son, Jyan.

  The boy ran across, throwing his arms about Chen, embracing him, holding him so tightly that Chen felt something break in him. He began to sob, the words spilling from him. ‘Oh, Jyan… I’m so sorry… I didn’t know… I didn’t know. Was it awful, boy? Was it really awful?’

  Jyan clutched his father fiercely, looking up at him, his face wet with tears. ‘It’s all right, Father… It’s all right now. You’re back. You’re here now.’

  Chen lifted him up, hugging him tightly. Yes. But it would never be the same.

  He turned, looking back into the shadows. Karr was standing there, a troop of his guards behind him. ‘Are you all right, dear friend?’

  Chen nodded. ‘I…’ He laughed strangely. ‘I would have killed him.’

  ‘Yes,’ Karr said quietly. ‘And I would have let you. But Jyan… Well, Jyan knew best, neh? After all, you have a life ahead of you, Kao Chen. A good life.’

  Chen shivered, tightening his grip on his son, then nodded. Karr let his hand rest on Chen’s shoulder briefly, then moved past him, taking command of the situation. ‘All right!’ he barked, towering over the frightened men. ‘Let’s get this sorted out right now! You – all of you! – against the back wall, hands on your heads! You’re under arrest, as principals and accessories to the murder of a child and for conspiring to pervert the course of justice.’

  Karr sat on the stone ledge, staring across at the floodlit shape of the Memorial Stone. It was after nine and the lotus lake was dark. Elsewhere, beneath the lamps that lined the narrow pathways, lovers walked, talking softly, keeping a proper distance between them. Behind Karr, seated in the shadows of the teahouse, sat Chen, his head fallen forward, his story told.

  Karr sat there a moment, motionless, and then he sighed, as if waking from a dark and threatening dream. ‘And that’s the truth?’

  Chen was silent.

  Karr closed his eyes, deeply pained. Of course it was the truth. A tale like that – it was not something one made up about oneself. No. But it was not only Chen he felt sorry for. He had liked the woman greatly. If he had known for a moment…

  ‘This is wrong, Kao Chen. Very wrong.’ Karr was quiet a moment, fingering the dragon pendant about his neck, then he drew it out, looking down at it. He was Chia ch’eng, Honorary Assistant to the Royal Household. By right he could claim audience with his T’ang.

  He turned, facing Chen across the table. ‘I will go and see Li Yuan. I will tell him everything you told me just now.’

  ‘You think he does not know?’

  Karr nodded. ‘I am convinced of it. He is a good man. Someone is keeping these things from him. Well, then, we must be his eyes and ears, neh? We must let him know what is being done in his name.’

  Chen turned his head. ‘And Tolonen? He will have the report of my debriefing by the morning. What if he says you are to do nothing?’

  Karr looked down. That was true. He was Tolonen’s man, and by rights he should talk to the old man first. But some things were greater than such loyalties.

  ‘Then I must do it now.’

  The wall had changed. Had become a view of Tai Shan, the sacred mountain misted in the early morning light, the great temple at the summit a tiny patch of red against the blue of the sky. Within the room a faint breeze blew, spreading the scent of pine and acacia.

  Fat Wong turned from the wall, looking back at his guests, then raised his cup. ‘Brothers…’

  There were five men seated round the low table, each the equal of Wong Yi-sun, each the Big Boss of one of the great Triads that ran the lowest levels of City Europe. It had cost him much to get them here tonight, but here they were. All of them. All that mattered.

  They stared back at him, cold-eyed, returning his smile with their mouths alone, like alligators.

  ‘I am glad you could all come. I realize what sacrifices you have made to come here at such short notice, but when you have heard what I have to say, I know you will agree that I was right to convene this meeting of the Council.’

  ‘Where is Iron Mu?’

  Wong turned, facing the old man seated at the table’s end. ‘Forgive me, General Feng, but I will come to that.’

  The Big Boss of the 14K stared back at him humourlessly. ‘The Council has seven members, Wong Yi-sun, but I see only six about this table.’

  ‘Hear Wong out, Feng Shang-pao,’ the short, shaven-headed man seated two along from him said, leaning forward to take a cashew from the bowl. ‘I am sure all your questions will be answered.’

  Feng sat back, glaring at his interrupter. ‘We must have laws amongst us, Li Chin. Ways of conducting ourselves.’

  Li Chin – Li the Lidless – turned his bony head and looked at Feng, his over-large eyes fixing on the older man. ‘I do not dispute it, Feng Shang-pao. But the Wo Shih Wo would like to know what Fat Wong has to say, and unless you let him say it…’

  Feng looked down, his huge chest rising and falling, then he nodded.

  ‘Good,’ Wong said. ‘Then let me explain. This afternoon, I received a letter.’

  Whiskers Lu, Boss of the Kuei Chuan, leaned forward, the melted mask of his face turned towards Wong, his one good eye glittering. ‘A letter, Wong Yi-sun?’

  ‘Yes.’ Wong took the letter from within his silks and threw it down in front of Lu. ‘But before you open it, let me say a few words.’

  Wong drew himself up, his eyes moving from face to face. ‘We of the Hung Mun are proud of our heritage. Rightly so. Since the time of our founding by the five monks of the Fu Chou monastery, we have always settled our disputes amicably. And that is good, neh? After all, it is better to make money than make war.’ He smiled, then let the smile fade. ‘This once, however, the threat was too great. Iron Mu sought more than simple profit. He sought to build a power base – a base from which to overthrow this Council. To replace it.’ He nodded, his face stern. ‘Let us not hide behind words any longer. Iron Mu sought to destroy us.’

  Dead Man Yun of the Red Gang cleared his throat. ‘I hear your words, Wong Yi-sun, but I find them strange. You speak of things we all know, yet you speak of them in the past. Why is this?’

  Wong smiled, then turned, going across to the tiny pool. For a moment he stood there, watching the seven golden fish swim lazily in the crystal waters, then, with a quicksilver motion, he scooped one up and turned, holding it up for the others to see. For a moment it flapped in the air, then Wong threw it down on to the dry stone flags.

  There was a murmur of understanding from about the table.
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br />   ‘So Iron Mu is dead. But how?’ Three Finger Ho asked, eyeing Wong warily.

  Wong came closer, a trace of self-satisfaction at the corners of his mouth. ‘I will tell you how. All thirty-seven decks of the Big Circle heartland were hit simultaneously, thirty minutes back. A force of one hundred and twenty thousand Hei went in, with a back-up of fifteen hundred regular guards.’

  Hei… That single word sent a ripple of fear through the seated men. They had seen the Hei in action on their screens, the big GenSyn half-men clearing decks of rioters with a ruthlessness even their most fanatical runners could not match. For a moment they were silent, looking amongst themselves, wondering what this meant, then Li the Lidless leaned across Whiskers Lu and took the letter. He unfolded it and began to read aloud, then stopped, his face filled with a sudden understanding.

  This letter from Li Yuan – this brief note of agreement – changed everything. Never before had one of their number received such a favour from Above. Never had the Hung Mun worked hand in glove with the Seven. Today Fat Wong had gained great face. Had re-established his position as Great Father of the brotherhoods. Li turned his head, looking about him, seeing the look of understanding in every face, then turned back, facing Wong, his head lowered in a gesture of respect.

  The tapestries were burning. Flames licked the ancient thread, consuming mountain and forest, turning the huntsmen to ashes in the flicker of an eye. The air was dark with smoke, rent with the cries of dying men. Hei ran through the choking darkness, their long swords flashing, their deep set eyes searching out anything that ran or walked or crawled.

  The door to Iron Mu’s Mansion had been breached ten minutes back, but still a small group of Mu’s élite held out. Hei swarmed at the final barricade, throwing themselves at the barrier without thought of self-preservation. Facing them, Yao Tzu, Red Pole to the Big Circle, urged his men to one last effort. He was bleeding from wounds to the head and chest, but still he fought on, slashing at whatever appeared above the barricade. For a moment longer the great pile held, then, with a shudder, it began to slide. There was a bellowing, and then the Hei broke through. Yao Tzu backed away, his knife gone, three of his men falling in the first charge. As the first of the Hei came at him, he leaped forward, screeching shrilly, meeting the brute with a flying kick that shattered the great chestbone of the half-man. Encouraged, his men attacked in a blur of flying feet and fists, but it was not enough. The first wave of Hei went down, but then there was the deafening roar of gunfire as the Hei commander opened up with a big automatic from the top of the collapsed barricade.