The Middle Kingdom

by David Wingrove

  The stairs led up to a wide landing cluttered with crates. Three corridors led off. Two were cul-de-sacs, the third led to another, much longer stairwell. Auden went up again, his gun poked out in front of him, the safety catch off, his trigger finger aching with the tension of preparedness. Ebert was a numbing weight on his left shoulder.

  Near the top of the steps he slowed and looked about him, his eyes on the level of the floor, his gun searching for targets. It was a vast, open space, like the floor of a warehouse, broken every now and then by huge, rectangular blockhouses. The ceiling was high overhead and criss-crossed with tracks. Stacks of crates stood here and there and electric trolleys were parked nearby. Otherwise the place seemed empty.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ Auden said quietly for Ebert’s benefit. ‘All that back there. And then nothing. We can’t have got them all. And where are our men?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Some kind of loading floor. A huge big place. And there are blockhouses of some kind. They look empty, but they might easily be defended.’

  Ebert swallowed painfully. His head ached from being carried upside down and he was beginning to feel sick. His voice was weak now. ‘Let’s find somewhere we can shelter. Somewhere you can set me down.’

  Auden hesitated. ‘I’m not sure, sir. I think it’s a trap.’

  Ebert’s weariness was momentarily tinged with irritation. ‘Maybe. But we’ve little choice, have we? We can’t go back down. And we can’t stay here much longer.’

  Auden ignored the sharpness in his captain’s voice, scanning the apparent emptiness of the loading floor once again. Nothing. He was almost certain there was nothing out there. And yet his instincts told him otherwise. It was what he himself would have done. Hit hard, then hit hard again and again and again. And then, when your enemy expected the very worst, withdraw. Make them think they had won through. Allow them to come at you without resistance. Draw them into the heart of your defences. And then…

  Ebert’s voice rose, shattering the silence. ‘Gods, sergeant, don’t just stand there, do something! I’m dying!’

  Auden shuddered. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘We’ll find shelter. Somewhere to put you down.’

  He breathed deeply for a few seconds, then hauled himself up the last few steps, expecting at any moment to be raked with heavy automatic fire or cut in half by one of the big lasers, but there was nothing. He ran as fast as he could, crouching, wheezing now, the weight of Ebert almost too much for him.

  He made the space between two stacks of unmarked boxes and turned, looking back at the stairwell. For a moment he could have sworn he saw a head, back there where he had just come from. He took two shuddering breaths, then put his gun down and gently eased Ebert from his shoulder, setting him down on his side.

  ‘We need to get help for you, sir. You’ve lost a lot of blood.’

  Ebert had closed his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said painfully, his voice a whisper now. ‘Go on. Be quick. I’ll be all right.’

  Auden nodded and reached behind him for his gun. His hand searched a moment, then closed slowly, forming a fist. Instinct. He should have trusted to instinct. Raising his hands, he stood up and turned slowly, facing the man with the gun who stood there only three paces away.

  ‘That’s right, sergeant. Keep your hands raised and don’t make any sudden movements. Now come out here, into the open.’

  The man backed away as Auden came forward, keeping his gun levelled. He was a tall, gaunt-looking Han with a long, horse-like face and a wide mouth. He wore a pale green uniform with the SimFic double-helix insignia on lapel and cap. His breast-patch showed a bear snatching at a cloud of tiny, silken butterflies, signifying that he was a fifth rank officer – a captain. As Auden came out into the open other guards came from behind the stacks to encircle him.

  ‘Good,’ said the captain. Then he signalled to some of his men. ‘Quick now! Get the other one to the infirmary. We don’t want him to die, now do we?’

  Auden’s eyes widened in surprise. He half turned, watching them go to Ebert and lift him gently onto a stretcher. ‘What’s happening here?’ he asked, looking back at the SimFic captain. ‘What are you playing at?’

  The captain watched his fellows carry Ebert away, then turned back to Auden and lowered his gun. ‘I’m sorry, sergeant, but we couldn’t take risks. I didn’t want to lose any more men through a misunderstanding between us.’ Unexpectedly, he smiled. ‘You’re safe now. The base has been liberated. The insurrection has been put down.’

  Auden laughed, not believing what he was hearing. ‘Insurrection? What do you mean?’

  The Han’s smile became fixed. ‘Yes. Unknown to the Company, the installation was infiltrated and taken over by a terrorist organization. We only learned of it this morning. We came as soon as we could.’

  ‘Quite a coincidence,’ said Auden, sickened, realizing at once what had happened. It was like he’d said to Ebert. They had been set up. The whole thing had been a set-up. A charade. And all to get SimFic off the hook.

  ‘Yes. But fortunate too, yes? If we had not come you would all be dead. As it is, more than a dozen of your men have got out alive.’

  Auden shivered, thinking of all the good men he’d fought beside. Dead now. Dead, and simply to save some bastard’s butt higher up the levels. ‘And the terrorists?’

  ‘All dead. They barricaded themselves into the laboratories. We had to gas them, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Convenient, eh?’ He glared at the Han, bitter now.

  The captain frowned. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t understand you, sergeant. This whole business… it was unfortunate, but it could not be helped, neh? I lost more than thirty of my own men in the fighting.’

  Auden stared back at him. Yes, he thought, loathing the slick-tongued Han who stood before him; you lost thirty ‘men’ – but not to terrorists, that’s for certain!

  There was the sound of raised voices in the corridor outside. At the same moment, the light on the desk intercom began to flash urgently. Soren Berdichev, Head of SimFic, looked up past the five men who were seated round the desk with him and straightened his small, round-rimmed glasses, clearing the computer-generated figures that were displayed in duplicate on their inner surfaces.

  ‘What in heaven’s name…?’

  It was just after eight in the morning and they were two hours into their weekly strategy conference.

  The man closest to him on his left stood, then turned and bowed to him. ‘Excuse me, sir. Shall I find out what the trouble is?’

  Berdichev put his hand over the cancel on the intercom and looked up at his Senior Executive. He spoke coldly, sternly. ‘Thank you, Paul. Please do. If it’s a member of staff you will dismiss them immediately. I’ll not tolerate such behaviour in these offices.’

  Moore bowed again and turned to do as he was bid. But he had got barely halfway across the room when the door crashed open.

  Tolonen stood there in the doorway, tall and grey-haired, his eyes burning with anger, his whole manner menacing. He was wearing full combat uniform, the helmet loose about his neck, a light automatic in the holster at his waist, as if he had come straight from action. Behind him several members of Berdichev’s staff stood with their heads bowed, shamed that they had not been able to prevent the intrusion.

  Berdichev got up slowly, his own outrage tightly, deliberately controlled. ‘General Tolonen… I hope you have good reason for bursting in on me like this?’

  Tolonen ignored the comment. He looked about the room, then came in, striding past Moore without a glance, making straight for Berdichev. Shoving between two of the seated men, he leaned across and brought his fist down hard on the table.

  ‘You know perfectly well why I’m here, you wall lizard!’

  Berdichev sat back composedly and put his hands together. ‘Your manners leave much to be desired, General. If you had had the common courtesy to talk to my secretary I would have seen you this afternoon. But now… Well, you can be certain that I’l
l be reporting your behaviour to the House committee on Security matters. These are private offices, General, and even you cannot enter without permission.’

  Angrily, Tolonen straightened up and took the warrant from his tunic pocket, then flung it down on the desk in front of Berdichev. ‘Now explain yourself! Or I’ll come round and choke the bloody truth from you!’

  Berdichev picked up the small, card-like warrant and studied it a moment, then threw it back across the table at Tolonen. ‘So you have a right to be here. But legality doesn’t excuse your poor manners, General. My complaint still stands. Your behaviour has been atrocious. You have insulted me and openly threatened me before witnesses. I…’

  Tolonen cut him short. He leaned across the table and roared at him. ‘Hsin fa ts’ai! What do you know of manners, you hsiao jen!’

  For the first time Berdichev bristled. The insults had stung him, but inwardly he felt a small satisfaction. His tactic had the General rattled. The fact that he had slipped into Mandarin revealed just how emotionally off-balance Tolonen was.

  He leaned forward, undaunted, and met the General’s eyes. ‘Now that you’re here, you’d best tell me what you want of me. I’m a busy man, social upstart or not, little man or not. I have an empire to run… if you’ll excuse the phrase.’

  Tolonen glared at him a moment longer, then straightened up again. ‘Dismiss these men. I need to talk to you alone.’

  Berdichev looked to the nearest of his men and gave a slight nod. Slowly, reluctantly, they began to leave. His Senior Executive, Moore, stood his ground, however, staring concernedly at his superior. Only as he was about to turn and leave did Berdichev look back at him.

  ‘Paul… please stay. I’d like a witness to what is said here.’

  ‘I said…’ began Tolonen, but Berdichev interrupted him.

  ‘I assure you, General, I will say nothing without a witness present. You see, there are no cameras in this room, no tapes. Much is said here that is of a secret nature. Things we would not like to get to the ears of our competitors. You understand me, General? Besides which, you have made threats to me. How can I feel safe unless one of my own is here to see that my rights are not violated?’

  Tolonen snorted. ‘Rights! Fine words from you, who has so little respect for the rights of others!’

  Berdichev looked down. ‘Again you insult me, General. Might I ask why? What have I done that should make you treat me thus?’

  ‘You know damn well what you’ve done! And all this acting won’t save your arse this time! You’re implicated to the hilt, Shih Berdichev! I’m talking about the murder of Li Han Ch’in, not some petty matter of manners. Two of your installations are directly involved. And that means that you’re involved. You personally!’

  Berdichev took off his glasses and polished the lenses, then looked back at the General. ‘I assume you mean the business at Hammerfest.’

  Tolonen laughed, astonished by the sheer effrontery of the man. ‘The business at Hammerfest… Yes. I mean the matter of your duplicity.’

  ‘My duplicity?’ He stared at the General, shaking his head sadly. ‘Again, I don’t understand you, General. Have I not been totally open? Have I not given you copies of all the documents relating to both our Punto Natales installation and the base at Hammerfest? Indeed, were it not for my men, I understand that you would have lost all of your force to the terrorists, Klaus Ebert’s son amongst them.’

  ‘Terrorists! That’s just more of your nonsense! You know damned well there were no terrorists!’

  ‘You can prove that, General?’

  Tolonen lowered his voice. ‘I have no need to prove it. I know it. Here…’ he tapped his heart, ‘…and here,’ he tapped his head.

  ‘And what does that mean?’ Berdichev leaned forward, his thin face hardening, his glasses glinting in the overhead light. ‘You are making serious accusations, General, and I hope you can substantiate them. I regret what happened at Hammerfest, but I am not responsible for it.’

  Tolonen shook his head. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Berdichev. The research undertaken at both installations was illegal and has been directly linked to the assassination of Li Han Ch’in. Such work was undertaken in the name of SimFic, carried out on properties leased by SimFic and even funded by SimFic. As Head of SimFic you are directly responsible.’

  ‘I disagree. Some projects, undertaken in our name, may well have been illegal, as you say. They may – though it remains to be proved conclusively – be linked to Li Han Ch’in’s most unfortunate death. But just because something is done under our corporate name, it does not mean to say that we knew about it, or that we sanctioned it. As you know, General, as soon as I found out what was happening I ordered full cooperation with the Security forces and even ordered my own security squads to assist you.’

  Tolonen was silent a moment, his face coldly furious. ‘You want me to believe that you didn’t know what was going on?’

  ‘To be frank with you, General, I don’t really care what you believe. I care only for the truth of the matter.’ He pointed past Tolonen at a huge chart on the right-hand wall. ‘See that there, General? That is a chart of my organization. Its structure, if you like. You’ll see how it divides and then subdivides. How certain parts of the organization have a degree of autonomy. How others are buried deep in a long chain of sub-structures. A company like SimFic is a complex creation. A living, functional entity, changing and evolving all the time.’

  ‘So?’

  Berdichev folded his arms and sat back again. ‘How many men do you command, General? Half a million? A million?’

  Tolonen stood straighter. ‘I command four Banners. Two million men in all.’

  ‘I see.’ He turned to his Senior Executive. ‘Paul… How many men do we employ in our African operation?’

  ‘Four hundred and eighty thousand.’

  ‘And in North America?’

  ‘Seven hundred and forty thousand.’

  ‘And in the Asian operation?’

  ‘One million, two hundred thousand.’

  Berdichev looked back at the General. ‘Those three comprise a third of our total operations, the major part of which is based here, in City Europe. So you see, General, my own “command” is three times the size of your own. Now, let me ask you a question. Do you know what all of your men are doing all of the time?’

  Tolonen huffed. ‘Why, that’s absurd! Of course I don’t!’

  Berdichev smiled coldly. ‘And yet you expect me to know what all of my managers are up to all of the time! You expect me to be responsible for their actions! Aren’t you, by the same argument, responsible for DeVore’s actions? For his betrayal?’

  Tolonen did not answer, merely stared back at Berdichev, an undisguised hatred in his eyes.

  ‘Well?’ Berdichev asked after a moment. ‘Are you finished here?’

  Tolonen shook his head; his whole manner had changed with the mention of DeVore. He was colder now, more distant. ‘I have only one more thing to say to you, Shih Berdichev. You claim you are not responsible. So you say. Nonetheless, you will find out who was responsible for this. And you will deliver their heads or your own, understand? I give you three days.’

  ‘Three days!’ Berdichev sat forward. ‘By what authority…?’

  Tolonen went to the door, then turned and looked back at Berdichev. ‘Three days. And if you don’t I shall come for you myself.’

  When he was gone, Berdichev leaned forward and placed his hand on the intercom. ‘Did you get all of that?’

  A voice answered at once. ‘Everything. We’re checking now, but it looks like all six angles were fine. We’ll have the edited tape to you in an hour.’

  ‘Good!’ He closed contact and looked up at Moore. ‘Well, Paul?’

  Moore was still staring at the door. ‘You push him too far, Soren. He’s a dangerous man. You should be more cautious of him.’

  Berdichev laughed. ‘Tolonen? Why, he’s an impotent old fool! He can’t even wipe his ow
n arse without his T’ang’s permission, and Li Shai Tung won’t give him authority to act against us in a thousand years – not unless he has proof positive. No, we’ve done enough, Paul. That just now was all bullshit and bluster. Don’t fear. Tolonen will do nothing unless it’s sanctioned by his T’ang!’

  Tolonen’s audience with the T’ang was three hours later. Shepherd, the T’ang’s advisor, had got there some time before and had updated Li Shai Tung on all relevant matters. As soon as Tolonen arrived, therefore, they got down to more important business.

  The T’ang sat there, in a seat placed at the foot of the dais, dressed in the rough, unhemmed hempcloth of mourning, subdued and solemn, a thousand cares on his shoulders. He had not left the Imperial Palace since the murder of his son, neither had he eaten. At his neck was stitched a broad square of white cloth and in his left hand he held a bamboo staff. Both symbolized his grief.

  There were only the three of them in the vast, high-ceilinged Throne Room, and the T’ang’s voice, when he spoke, echoed back to them.

  ‘Well, Knut? What do you suggest?’

  The General bowed, then outlined his plan, arguing in favour of a pre-emptive strike. War, but of a contained nature, attacking specific targets. A swift retribution, then peace with all other factions.

  Li Shai Tung listened, then seemed to look deep inside himself. ‘I have lost the most precious thing a man has,’ he said at last, looking at each of them in turn. ‘I have lost my eldest son. To this I cannot be reconciled. Neither can I love my enemies. Indeed, when I look into my heart I find only hatred there for them. A bitter hatred.’ He let out a long breath, then stared fixedly at Tolonen. ‘I would kill them like animals if it would end there, Knut. But it would not. There would be war, as you say, but not of the kind you have envisaged. It would be a dirty, secretive, incestuous war, and we would come out poorly from it.’

  He smiled bleakly at his General, then looked away, the misery in his dark eyes so eloquent that Tolonen found his own eyes misting in response.