The Art of War

by David Wingrove

  ‘Sir!’

  While he waited he went down the line again, studying the men he had picked out. Now that he looked he saw other differences. Their nails were manicured, their hands smooth, uncalloused. They were all Hung Mao, of course, but of a certain kind. They all had those grey-blue eyes and chiselled features that were so typical of the men recruited by Security. Yes, the more he looked at them, the more he could imagine them in uniform. But was he right? And, if so, what did it mean? Had the Ping Tiao begun recruiting such types, or was it something more ominous than that?

  The sergeant returned, handing him the comset, then stood there, watching, as Chen drew back the eyelid of the corpse with his thumb and held the machine’s lens over the eye, relaying an ID query through to Central Records.

  He had his answer almost immediately. There were six ‘likelies’ that approximated to the retinal print, but only one of the full body descriptions fitted the dead man. It was as Chen had thought: he was ex-Security.

  Chen went down the line, making queries on the others he had picked out. The story was the same: all five had served in the Security forces at some point. And not one of them had been seen for several years. Which meant that either they had been down in the Net or they had been outside. But what did it signify? Chen pressed to store the individual file numbers, then put the comset down and leaned against one of the trestles, thinking.

  ‘What is it, sir?’

  Chen looked up. ‘Oh, it’s nothing, after all. I thought I recognized the man, but I was mistaken. Anyway, we’re done here. Have the men finish up then report to me by four. The General will want a full report before the day’s out.’

  ‘Sir!’

  Alone again, Chen walked slowly down the rows, taking one last look at each of the five men. Like the other dead, they wore the Ping Tiao symbol – a stylized fish – about their necks and were dressed in simple Ping Tiao clothes. But these were no common terrorists.

  Which was why he had lied to the sergeant. Because if this was what he thought it was he could trust no one.

  No. He would keep it strictly to himself for the time being, and in the meantime he would find out all he could about the dead men: discover where they had been stationed and who they had served under.

  As if he didn’t already know. As if he couldn’t guess which name would surface when he looked at their files.

  Nan Ho, Li Yuan’s Master of the Inner Chamber, climbed down from the sedan and, returning the bow of the Grand Master of the Palace, mounted the ancient stone steps that led up to the entrance of the summer palace.

  At the top he paused and turned, looking back across the ruins of the old town of Ch’ing Tao. Beyond it the bay of Chiao Chou was a deep cobalt blue, the grey-green misted shape of Lao Shan rising spectacularly from the sea, climbing three li into the heavens. A thousand li to the east was Korea and beyond it the uninhabitable islands of Japan.

  It was a year since he had last visited this place – a year and two days, to be precise – but from where he stood, nothing had changed. For his girls, however, that year had been long and difficult: a year of exile from Tongjiang and the Prince they loved.

  He sighed and turned back, following the Grand Master through. This was the smallest of the T’ang’s summer palaces and had lain unused since his great-grandfather’s days. It was kept on now only out of long habit, the staff of fifty-six servants undisturbed by the needs of their masters.

  Such a shame, he thought as he made his way through the pleasantly shaded corridors into the interior. Yet he understood why. There was danger here. It was too open; too hard to defend from attack. Whereas Tongjiang...

  He laughed. The very idea of attacking Tongjiang!

  The Grand Master slowed and turned, bowing low. ‘Is anything the matter, Master Nan?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Nan Ho answered, returning the bow. ‘I was merely thinking of the last time I was here. Of the crickets in the garden.’

  ‘Ah...’ The Grand Master’s eyes glazed over, the lids closed momentarily, then he turned back, shuffling slowly on.

  The two girls were waiting in the Great Conservatory, kneeling on the tiles beside the pool, their heads bowed.

  He dismissed the Grand Master, waiting until he had left before he hurried across and pulled the two girls up, holding one in each arm, hugging them tightly to him, forgetting the gulf in rank that lay between them.

  ‘My darlings!’ he said breathlessly, his heart full. ‘My pretty ones! How have you been?’

  Pearl Heart answered for them both.

  ‘Oh, Master Nan... it’s so good to see you! We’ve been so lonely here!’

  He sighed deeply. ‘Hush, my kittens. Hush now, stop your crying. I’ve news for you. Good news. You’re leaving this place. Two weeks from now.’

  They looked up at him, joy in their faces, then quickly averted their eyes again. Yes, they had changed, he could see that at once. What had the Grand Master done to them to make them thus? Had he been cruel? Had there been worse things that that? He would find out. And if the old man had misbehaved he would have his skin for it.

  Sweet Rose looked up at him hopefully. ‘Li Yuan has asked for our return?’

  He felt his heart wrenched from him that he had to disappoint her.

  ‘No, my little one,’ he said, stroking her arm. ‘But he wishes to see you.’ One last time, he thought, completing the sentence in his head. ‘And he has a gift for you both. A special gift...’ He shivered. ‘But he must tell you that. I come only as a messenger, to help prepare you.’

  Pearl Heart was looking down again. ‘Then she will not have us,’ she said quietly.

  He squeezed her to him. ‘It would not be right. You know that. It was what we spoke of last time we were here together.’

  He remembered the occasion only too well. How he had brought them here in the dark of night, and how they had wept when he had explained to them why they must not see their beloved Prince again. He swallowed, thinking of that time. It had been hard for Li Yuan, too. And admirable in a strange way. For there had been no need, no custom to fulfil. He recalled arguing with Li Yuan – querying his word to the point where the Prince had grown angry with him. Then he had shrugged and gone off to do as he was bid. But it was not normal. He still felt that deeply. A man – a prince, especially – needed the company of women. And to deny oneself for a whole year, merely because of an impending wedding! He shook his head. Well, it was like marrying one’s dead brother’s wife: it was unheard of.

  And yet Li Yuan had insisted. He would be ‘pure’ for Fei Yen. As if a year’s abstinence could make a man pure! Didn’t the blood still flow, the sap still rise? He loved his master dearly, but he could not lie to himself and say Li Yuan was right.

  He looked down into the girls’ faces, seeing the disappointment there. A year had not cured them of their love. No, and neither would a lifetime, if it were truly known. Only a fool thought otherwise. Yet Li Yuan was Prince and his word was final. And though he was foolish in this regard, at least he was not cruel. The gift he planned to give them – the gift Nan Ho had said he could not speak of – was to be their freedom. More than that, the two sisters were to be given a dowry, a handsome sum – enough to see them well married, assured the luxuries of First Level.

  No, it wasn’t cruel. But, then, neither was it kind.

  Nan Ho shook his head and smiled. ‘Still... let us go through. We’ll have some wine and make ourselves more comfortable,’ he said, holding them tighter against him momentarily. ‘And then you can tell me all about the wicked Grand Master and how he tried to have his way with you.’

  Chuang Lian, wife of Minister Chuang, lay amongst the silken pillows of her bed, fanning herself indolently, watching the young officer out of half-lidded eyes as he walked about her room, stopping to lift and study a tiny statue, or to gaze out at the garden. The pale cream sleeping robe she wore had fallen open, revealing her tiny breasts, yet she acted as if she were unaware, enjoying the way his eyes kept
returning to her.

  She was forty-five – forty-six in little over a month – and was proud of her breasts. She had heard how other women’s breasts sagged, either from neglect or from the odious task of child-bearing, but she had been lucky. Her husband was a rich man – a powerful man – and had hired wet-nurses to raise his offspring. And she had kept her health and her figure. Each morning, after exercising, she would study herself in the mirror and thank Kuan Yin for blessing her with the one thing that, in this world of Men, gave a woman power over them.

  She had been beautiful. In her own eyes she was beautiful still. But her husband was an old man now and she was still a woman, with a woman’s needs. Who, then, could blame her if she took a lover to fill the idle days with a little joy? So it was for a woman in her position, married to a man thirty years her senior; yet there was still the need to be discreet – to find the right man for her bed. A young and virile man, certainly, but also a man of breeding, of quality. And what better than this young officer?

  He turned, looking directly at her, and smiled. ‘Where is the Minister today?’

  Chuang Lian averted her eyes, her fan pausing in its slow rhythm, then starting up again, its measure suddenly erratic, as if indicative of some inner disturbance. It was an old game, and she enjoyed the pretence; yet there was no mistaking the way her pulse quickened when he looked at her like that. Such a predatory look it was. And his eyes – so blue they were. When he looked at her it was as if the sky itself gazed down at her through those eyes. She shivered. He was so different from her husband. So alive. So strong. Not the smallest sign of weakness in him.

  She glanced up at him again. ‘Chuang Ming is at his office. Where else would he be at this hour?’

  ‘I thought perhaps he would be here. If I were him...’

  His eyes finished the sentence for him. She saw how he looked at her breasts, the pale flesh of her thighs, showing between the folds of silk, and felt a tiny shiver down her spine. He wanted her. She knew that now. But it would not do to let him have her straight away. The game must be played out – that was half its delight.

  She eased up on to her elbows, putting her fan aside, then reached up to touch the single orchid in her hair. ‘Chuang Ming is a proper Lao Kuan, a “Great Official”. But in bed...’ She laughed softly, and turned her eyes on him again. ‘Well, let us say he is hsiao jen, neh? A little man.’

  When he laughed he showed his teeth. Such strong, white, perfect teeth. But her eyes had been drawn lower than his face, wondering.

  He came closer, then sat on the foot of the bed, his hand resting gently on her ankle. ‘And you are tired of little men?’

  For a moment she stared at his hand where it rested against her flesh, transfixed by his touch, then looked up at him again, her breath catching unexpectedly in her throat. This was not how she had planned it.

  ‘I...’

  But his warm laughter, the small movements of his fingers against her foot, distracted her. After a moment she let herself laugh, then leaned forward, covering his hand with her own. So small and delicate it seemed against his, the dark olive of her flesh a stark contrast to his whiteness.

  She laced her fingers through his, meeting his eyes. ‘I have a present for you.’

  ‘A present?’

  ‘A first-meeting gift.’

  He laughed. ‘But we have met often, Fu Jen Chuang.’

  ‘Lian...’ she said softly, hating the formality of his ‘Madam’, even if his eyes revealed he was teasing her. ‘You must call me Lian here.’

  Unexpectedly he drew her closer, his right hand curled gently but firmly about her neck, then leaned forward, kissing her brow, her nose. ‘As you wish, my little lotus...’

  Her eyes looked up at him, wide, for one brief moment afraid of him – of the power in him – then she looked away, laughing, covering her momentary slip; hoping he had not seen through, into her.

  ‘Sweet Flute!’ she called lightly, looking past him, then looking back at him, smiling again. ‘Bring the ch’un tzu’s present.’

  She placed her hand lightly against his chest, then stood up, moving past him but letting her hand brush against his hair then rest upon his shoulder, maintaining the contact between them, feeling a tiny inner thrill when he placed his hand against the small of her back.

  Sweet Flute was her mui tsai, a pretty young thing of fifteen her husband had bought Chuang Lian for her last birthday. She approached them now demurely, her head lowered, the gift held out before her.

  She felt the young officer shift on the bed behind her, clearly interested in what she had bought him, then, dismissing the girl, she turned and faced him, kneeling to offer him the gift, her head bowed.

  His smile revealed his pleasure at her subservient attitude. Then, with the smallest bow of his head, he began to unwrap the present. He let the bright red wrapping fall, then looked up at her. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Well, it’s not one of the Five Classics...’

  She sat beside him on the bed and opened the first page, then looked up into his face, seeing at once how pleased he was.

  ‘Gods...’ he said quietly, then laughed. A soft, yet wicked laugh. ‘What is this?’

  She leaned into him, kissing his neck softly, then whispered in his ear. ‘It’s the Chin P’ing Mei, the Golden Lotus. I thought you might like it.’

  She saw how his finger traced the outlines of the ancient illustration, pausing where the two bodies met in that most intimate of embraces. Then he turned his head slowly and looked at her.

  ‘And I brought you nothing...’

  ‘No,’ she said, closing the book, then drawing him down beside her, her gown falling open. ‘You’re wrong, Hans Ebert. You brought me yourself.’

  The eighth bell was sounding as they gathered in Nocenzi’s office at the top of Bremen fortress. Besides Nocenzi, there were thirteen members of the General Staff, every man ranking captain or above. Ebert had been among the first to arrive, tipped off by his captain, Auden, that something was afoot.

  Nocenzi was grim-faced. The meeting convened, he came swiftly to the point.

  ‘Ch’un tzu, I have brought you here at short notice because this evening, at or around six, a number of senior Company Heads – twenty-six in all – were assassinated, for no apparent reason that we can yet make out.’

  There was a low murmur of surprise. Nocenzi nodded sombrely, then continued.

  ‘I’ve placed a strict media embargo on the news for forty-eight hours, to try to give us a little time, but we all know how impossible it is to check the passage of rumour, and the violent death of so many prominent and respected members of the trading community will be noticed. Moreover, coming so closely upon the attack on Helmstadt Armoury, we are concerned that the news should not further destabilize an already potentially explosive situation. I don’t have to tell you, therefore, how urgent it is that we discover both the reason for these murders and the identity of those who perpetrated them.’

  One of the men seated at the front of the room, nearest Nocenzi, raised his hand.

  ‘Yes, Captain Scott?’

  ‘Forgive me, sir, but how do we know these murders are connected?’

  ‘We don’t. In fact, one of the mysteries is that they’re all so very different – their victims seemingly unconnected in any way whatsoever. But the very fact that twenty-six separate assassinations took place within the space of ten minutes on or around the hour points very clearly to a very tight orchestration of events.’

  Another hand went up. Nocenzi turned, facing the questioner. ‘Yes, Major Hoffmann?’

  ‘Could this be a Triad operation? There have been rumours for some time that some of the big bosses have been wanting to expand their operations into the higher levels.’

  ‘That’s so. But no. At least, I don’t think so. Immediate word has it that the big gang bosses are as surprised as we are by this. Two of the incidents involved small Triad-like gangs – splinter elements, possibly trying to make a name fo
r themselves – but we’ve yet to discover whether they were working on their own or in the pay of others.’

  Ebert raised his hand, interested despite himself in this new development. He would much rather have still been between the legs of the Minister’s wife, but if duty called, what better than this?

  ‘Yes, Major Ebert?’

  ‘Is there any discernible pattern in these killings? I mean, were they all Hung Mao, for instance, or were the killings perhaps limited to a particular part of the City?’

  Nocenzi smiled tightly. ‘That’s the most disturbing thing about this affair. You see, the victims are mixed. Han and Hung Mao. Young and old. And the locations, as you see...’ he indicated the map that had come up on the screen behind him ‘...are scattered almost randomly. It makes one think that the choice of victims may have been random. Designed, perhaps, to create the maximum impact on the Above. Simply to create an atmosphere of fear.’

  ‘Ping Tiao?’ Ebert asked, expressing what they had all been thinking. Before the attack on Helmstadt it would have been unthinkable – a laughable conclusion – but now...

  ‘No.’

  Nocenzi’s certainty surprised them all.

  ‘At least, if it is Ping Tiao, then they’re slow at claiming it. And in all previous Ping Tiao attacks, they’ve always left their calling cards.’

  That was true. The Ping Tiao were fairly scrupulous about leaving their mark – the sign of the fish – on all their victims.

  ‘There are a number of possibilities here,’ Nocenzi continued, ‘and I want to assign each of you to investigate some aspect of this matter. Is this Triad infiltration? Is it the beginning of some kind of violent trade war? Is it, in any respect, a continuation of Dispersionist activity? Is it pure terrorist activity? Or is it – however unlikely – pure coincidence?’

  Captain Russ laughed, but Nocenzi shook his head. ‘No, it’s not entirely impossible. Unlikely, yes, even improbable, but not impossible. A large number of the murders had possible motives. Gambling debts, company feuds, adultery. And however unlikely it seems, we’ve got to investigate the possibility.’