Daylight on Iron Mountain

by David Wingrove

  ‘What the fuck…?’

  Kurt answered him. ‘Jake? Are you conscious?’

  He ignored the obviousness of the answer.

  ‘What the fuck happened?’

  Some movement had returned to the suit. Only he felt like a cripple, able only to jerk himself round a bit at a time.

  ‘Kurt? Are you all right?’

  Christ! Was the man crying?

  ‘He’s dead, Jake. Gustav’s dead!’

  There was no arguing with it. Gustav was dead. Someone had put 50,000 volts through him and fried him like a piece of pei ching duck. That flicker, the moment before the power surge, Jake recognized it from before, from that day years ago when it had all fallen apart. Someone had intruded on their system. Created a wormhole somehow and jumped right in there with them, then opened up the power tap. Jake had only survived because the surge had been directed straight at Ebert.

  Jake lay there now, in the sterile suit, suspended in the hammock-like emergency web, pumped full of painkillers. His skin was crisped black in places, a bright unhealthy orange in others and his eyes hurt, like the onset of a migraine. But compared to Ebert he had got off lightly.

  Which of GenSyn’s rivals might have done this? Which of them would have benefited most?

  Dozens of them. Every last biochemical company there was, in fact. Only Jake wasn’t sure that this was a simple case of industrial espionage. Whoever had done this hadn’t underestimated GenSyn’s capabilities. They had wanted Ebert not merely dead but unreconstructable.

  GenSyn’s own security had arrived within minutes, shutting things down and hauling people off for questioning, a distraught Wolfgang Ebert supervising every last detail of the investigation.

  While that was happening, the medics had seen to Jake; had dosed him up and let the neurosurgeon take a look at what the surge had done to his brain. Now he waited for the news.

  Mary arrived an hour later, masked up and wearing a sterile suit. She winced as she saw the extent of Jake’s injuries.

  ‘Oh, Jake…’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Is he dead?’ she asked. ‘There have been rumours… on the news channels…’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ah…’ She took a step towards him and then stopped. ‘I’m not supposed to come any closer.’

  He gave the faintest nod.

  ‘What’s going to happen, Jake?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He paused, looking past her. Mary turned. It was Alison. She stood there in the doorway, masked up, her sterile suit identical to Mary’s.

  Her cold blue eyes were concerned. ‘Are you okay, Jake?’

  ‘Yeah, I… Mary, this is Alison… Alison…’

  The two women nodded to each other.

  Alison switched her attention back to Jake. ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘I can’t tell… I’m feeling numb right now. What’s happening out there?’

  ‘Things are bad.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  She was quiet a moment.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘I suppose you’ll hear it sooner or later…’

  ‘Hear what?’ Mary asked, a hardness in her voice.

  Alison kept her eyes on Jake. ‘It’s Wolfgang. He blames you. I know, it’s irrational, but he’s been saying that if you hadn’t shown Gustav the potential of this he’d not have been so vulnerable.’

  ‘How the fuck did we know he was vulnerable? I thought this was a closed circuit. I didn’t think anyone else had access!’

  ‘Well, they clearly did. And more to the point, it’s not the first time it’s happened, is it?’

  ‘I didn’t warn him at all. I thought…’

  Jake stopped, took a breath. Alison was looking at him strangely. She clearly had more news, and none of it good.

  ‘So what’s he going to do? Sue me? Look at me. Do I look as if I had anything to do with it? I could have died in there, too!’

  Alison looked down again. ‘He wanted to sack you, Jake. Cast you off without a single yuan in compensation, but I got you a package. It’s not enough to maintain the lifestyle you’ve got, but…’

  ‘You think I should take it, yes?’

  Alison nodded. ‘I think you should. You don’t fight a man like Wolfgang Ebert. You can’t possibly win. But I did what I could for you, Jake. I got you the best deal possible, in the circumstances.’

  Jake looked to Mary. ‘What do you think?’

  She hesitated. ‘I think you should take it.’

  ‘So that’s it, then? Finished. Just like that?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jake. I really am. But things are bad right now. Losing Gustav… it wiped 40 per cent off our share price at a stroke. We’ll survive. Only it’ll take some while for us to recover. It was a massive blow. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.’

  ‘You have no idea who it was?’

  She hesitated, then shook her head, only there was something in her eyes that argued otherwise – that she knew precisely who had done this.

  Which meant that she couldn’t say, not with the cameras watching.

  Jake took a long, shuddering breath. He was tired now. He wanted to sleep. A deal… yes, he’d take their deal. Take it and get out of there. Once he was better. Once the skin grafts had taken and he could move again.

  Lahm was sitting in the back of the craft and humming an old Polish folk tune to himself as he returned home, when the news came through.

  He sat there for a long while afterwards, stunned, unable to come to terms with what this meant for his plans.

  His enemies had struck a damaging blow. The deals he’d hoped to make had unravelled in a moment. Without GenSyn he had nothing. Or as good as nothing. For who would oversee the project, now that Gustav was dead?

  No. GenSyn without Gustav Ebert were no better than a dozen other companies in the same field. They might have a slight advantage now – what with their more specialized items – but how long would that last?

  Not long, if what the market thought had any influence on it. Rumour had it that two of their major rivals had already made bids to try to buy GenSyn out, while they were at their weakest.

  And Reed?

  Reed now was simply an embarrassment. He was the man who had delivered Ebert up to his enemies. Not that he’d known that. Not that any of them had known.

  Not true, he thought. P’eng Chuan had known.

  Lahm nodded slowly. Yes, that was what lay behind all of his unpleasantness earlier. He had known about this. Someone had tipped him off. But who?

  Lahm considered it a while, identifying three possible men who might have ordered it, then let it go. What was done was done. Even so…

  ‘Wu Chi…?’

  Wu Chi’s voice answered him at once, filling the darkness of the craft.

  ‘Yes, Master?’

  ‘Reed… have someone deal with him. And be discreet. I don’t want any trails leading back to me, understand?’

  ‘Yes, Master. It is as good as done.’

  Lahm leaned back and closed his eyes. He would have to begin again. To rebuild, slowly, patiently, as was his way. It was no good panicking. No good letting men like P’eng Chuan get to him. He had not come this far by making over-hasty decisions. He would sit back and wait for those he knew to come to him, to ask him what to do, now that things had changed.

  It was a setback, true enough, but it was not a defeat.

  That said, it was a shame about Reed. He had genuinely liked the man. But it was no good being sentimental. To let Reed live – to leave any loose ends – would be merely careless now, and he was not known as a careless man.

  Intrigues. The world was a web of intrigues.

  He smiled, hearing the AI’s voice in memory.

  As good as done.

  Jiang Lei had just bathed and dressed for dinner when word came through from Pei Ching.

  It was his old friend, Hsü Jung.

  ‘Cousin Lei!’ Hsü said breathlessly. ‘I have urgent n
ews!’

  Jiang waved his hand to dismiss the two servants who hovered nearby, then settled before the screen.

  ‘Speak, dear friend. What could possibly have made you so flushed?’

  ‘It is Reed, Jiang Lei.’

  ‘I heard. The accident.’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  Jiang frowned. Why did Hsü Jung hesitate? It wasn’t like him. He usually came straight out with things.

  Hsü Jung bowed low, then, ‘I fear to say this, Jiang… this being an open channel and therefore accessible to certain eyes and ears… only I must take the risk this once or see a good man die.’

  ‘A good man?’

  Hsü nodded. ‘You asked me to keep an eye, remember?’

  ‘Ah…’ And now Jiang saw. ‘Reed is in danger?’

  ‘Of the worst kind. They have sent out a squad from the Thousand Eyes.’

  ‘An execution squad?’

  ‘The same, friend Jiang… the order was given ten minutes back.’

  Jiang Lei grimaced. ‘To have Reed killed? Who would do so?’

  Again Hsü Jung hesitated. Again he took the risk.

  ‘It was Lahm.’

  ‘Lahm?’ That in itself surprised him. He hadn’t even known that Lahm had any interest in Reed. To instruct his men to have Reed killed – that puzzled Jiang.

  Jiang Lei knew Lahm of old. Lahm had made his reputation as Director of the IHA, the Institute for Historical Accuracy – rewriting history for his Han masters. Now that he was a great man, he had made a new reputation enforcing that same history. But what had he to do with Reed?

  ‘Are you sure of this, Hsü Jung?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Then I must act at once.’ Jiang smiled tightly. ‘Thank you, old friend. Oh, and let me say this, for the benefit any listening ears. I, Tsao Chun’s marshal, guarantee your protection. If anyone should dare touch a single hair on your head, I’ll hunt them down. Is that clear?’

  Hsü Jung bowed, smiling his gratitude. ‘Marshal…’

  As the screen blanked, Jiang Lei considered. Lahm, eh? How strange. He would not have thought Lahm interested in Reed, let alone stirred up enough to have him killed.

  He clicked his fingers in the air. At once his aide appeared, bowing low in the doorway.

  ‘Yes, Marshal Jiang?’

  ‘I want a squad sent at once, to GenSyn’s facility in Bremen. Specifically to the medical unit. They are to protect a man named Jake Reed who is a patient there.’

  ‘He is in danger, Marshal?’

  ‘In very great danger. The Ministry has sent a squad of their finest to eliminate him.’

  ‘Ah…’ The young man hesitated, then ran off to do the marshal’s bidding.

  Alone again, Jiang sat, steepling his hands together, as he often did when he was thoughtful.

  Lahm. No. It made no sense. Why would Lahm be interested in Reed?

  The truth was, he didn’t know. But he would find out, now that he’d been alerted to the fact.

  He stood, then walked through into Amos’s suite.

  Amos looked up at him from where he was seated in the corner, playing the three-dimensional wei ch’i game he had been sent only the day before.

  ‘What is it, Jiang? You look troubled.’

  Jiang quickly explained.

  Shepherd nodded. ‘I see… and you don’t know why, neh?’

  Jiang frowned. ‘Should I?’

  ‘Not at all, dear friend. Only… well, it pays sometimes to know a little of what’s going on behind the scenes. Lahm… he’s a major player. A very ambitious man. Pretends to be German in origin, but his father was a Pole. A devious sort. But then, aren’t they all?’

  Jiang stared at Shepherd a moment. ‘When I went home that first time… before Tsao Ch’un appointed me… it was like that. A viper’s nest, one of my friends called it.’

  ‘And so it is. But Lahm… he was Reed’s sponsor. It was his influence that got Reed the job at GenSyn.’

  ‘Ah… but then why…?’ Jiang paused. ‘Ah, I see. And now he has no use for Reed… now that Gustav Ebert’s dead.’ He blew out a breath. ‘But why not leave Reed be?’

  ‘And have him fall into other hands? No. Lahm’s a tidy man. He doesn’t like loose ends. Besides, I think he enjoys it. Likes to think he has the power of life or death over men. I hear he watches tapes of his “executions”. And he doesn’t want to risk having anyone he’s discarded fall into the wrong hands.’

  ‘Then he is going to be disappointed this once.’

  Amos stared at his friend a moment, then smiled. ‘I guess he is. This once.’

  Lahm touched his head to the floor for the third time, then raised himself to his feet, brushing down his dark grey cloak with his right hand.

  ‘Master…’

  ‘This business with GenSyn,’ the First Dragon said, almost scowling as he said it. ‘What has it cost us?’

  Lahm had received the summons while he was still in the air. He’d had to turn right around and fly back to the First Dragon’s palace. There, alone with the great man, he waited to learn his fate. But first these questions.

  ‘The cost…?’ Lahm totted things up in his head and almost shrugged. ‘Fifty million yuan. Sixty tops.’

  ‘Good,’ the old man said, his voice a growl. ‘Not too much wasted then. And the man? The web-dancer?’

  ‘Dead, Master.’

  This time the First Dragon smiled. A sickly, death’s head of a smile. ‘Not so. At least, not at this moment, anyway.’

  Behind the First Dragon a screen lit up. On it, in clear view of the camera, was Reed, secure in his web-like hammock, a tangle of drips snaking down from the ceiling and entering his body at a dozen separate points.

  As the camera drew back, Lahm could see soldiers, standing in a half circle about the room, facing the doors. Proper soldiers, not Ministry assassins.

  ‘What the…? Where are our men?’

  ‘Dead.’

  ‘Dead?’ Lahm could not believe it. ‘Who would dare?’

  ‘Marshal Jiang.’

  ‘Marshal Jiang?’ Lahm laughed. But the laughter died in his throat as he saw the First Dragon’s face. He wasn’t joking.

  ‘But…’

  The First Dragon nodded. ‘It surprised me too, Tobias. Who could have done this? I wondered. Who would be interested in protecting such an insubstantial fellow? And then, when I learned it was Jiang Lei, I asked, what kind of hold has this man over the marshal?’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing. It seems Jiang Lei intervened once before, when Reed was in the camps. Saved him then.’

  ‘Ah…’ And now that he thought of it, he remembered. ‘But how did he find out?’

  The First Dragon leaned forward. ‘That I don’t know. Yet. But I shall. And when I do…’

  ‘Can’t we send in another squad?’

  ‘And fight our own army? You think Tsao Ch’un would sanction that?’

  Lahm lowered his head. Perhaps not. But why had Jiang intervened? What did he stand to gain through his actions? Was he, perhaps, in P’eng Chuan’s pay?

  He looked up again, pretending to be humble before the old man.

  ‘What should we do, Master?’

  ‘Do? We do nothing, Tobias. We let the man live. Chances are he knows nothing about the project anyway. And that’s all that matters, isn’t it?’

  It was. But, travelling back once more, Lahm could not work it out. Why had the marshal intervened? Why had he sent his troops against the Ministry’s? Was it old-fashioned spite? Or something else? For the truth was, no man acted in a purely altruistic fashion. Not at the level on which they both functioned.

  Leave it now, part of him insisted. You did what you should and, even if you failed, it was through no fault of your own. Besides, your Master does not blame you for that failure.

  It ought to have been enough. Only this once it wasn’t. Being outmanoeuvred by P’eng Chuan was one thing – and he would have his revenge for it – b
ut this second, more trivial matter…

  Lahm hated being robbed of his satisfaction. Hated even the slightest hint that he had lost his touch. It did not matter that his special relationship with the First Dragon protected him from criticism. He was his own worst critic. And to be outflanked by Jiang Lei of all people. It was unthinkable.

  He would have the man, hero or not. He would fucking have him, see if he didn’t. Once all of this bullshit had finished in North America.

  He let out a long, shivering breath, unclenching his hands and letting the tension drain from him.

  He could wait. Wasn’t patience his byword, after all?

  Lahm smiled. And he would have Reed too while he was at it. Reed and all his precious fucking family!

  There, where the Great Wall ended and the sea began, Tsao Ch’un had his palace – the Black Tower as it was known, an impregnable fortress built from black marble. It was a massive building, dominating the landscape for miles about, like a vast outcrop of basalt jutting out into the sea.

  Right now, Tsao Ch’un sat in the uppermost level, leaning back in his chair, his left hand stroking his chin.

  Outside, beyond the thick glass of the wall-length viewing windows, the night was dark, the merest fingernail of moon poised above the placid surface of the Po-hai Sea.

  Facing the great man, surrounded by the eight huge marble pillars that supported the roof of the tower, was a bank of screens, six long and four deep, each one five ch’i to a side.

  Each showed a different image.

  Here one might see how Chung Kuo functioned. For here, and nowhere else, one might watch the great and the good in all their devious glory.

  Long ago, in a moment of utter clarity (one might say of brilliant anticipation), Chao Ni Tsu had come up with this. He had provided his Master with the means of spying upon his inner circle, his so-called ‘trusted men’, using the very best in ADT – ‘Anti-Detection Technology’ – to achieve it. Clever stuff which, if anyone sought to detect it, would switch itself off, becoming unimportant to any probe. Cutting technology which, once it was put in place, was then ‘forgotten’ – its creators murdered in their beds to prevent even the vaguest hint of its existence from leaking out.

  Tsao Ch’un smiled. The screens comforted him. Made him feel safe. In a world of endless betrayals, this much at least he could trust.