The Art of War Read Free Page A

lieutenant turned, eyeing his captain speculatively. ‘I hear there’s even talk of reopening the House.’
    Fischer looked back at his junior officer sternly, his voice suddenly hard. ‘You would do best to forget such talk, Lieutenant.’
    ‘Sir.’ The lieutenant gave a curt bow of his head, then turned back to his screens.
    Fischer studied Rahn’s back a moment, then leaned back, yawning. It was just after two, the hour of the Ox. The palace was silent, the screens empty of activity. In an hour his shift would be over and he could sleep. He smiled. That is, if Lotte would let him sleep.
    He rubbed at his neck, then leaned forward again and began to catch up with his paperwork. He had hardly begun when the door to his right crashed open. He was up out of his seat at once, his gun drawn, aimed at the doorway.
    ‘Sun Li Hua! What in Hell’s name?’
    The Master of the Inner Chamber looked terrible. His silks were torn, his hair dishevelled. He leaned against the doorpost for support, his eyes wide with shock, his cheeks wet with tears. He reached out, his hand trembling violently, then shook his head, his mouth working mutely. His voice, when he found it, was cracked, unnaturally high.
    ‘The T’ang…’
    Fischer glanced across at the screen that showed Wang Hsien’s bedchamber, then back at Sun Li Hua. ‘What is it, Master Sun? What’s happened?’
    For a moment Sun Li Hua seemed unable to speak, then he fell to his knees. A great, racking sob shook his whole body, then he looked up, his eyes wild, distraught. ‘Our master, the T’ang. He’s… dead.’
    Fischer had known as soon as he had seen Sun Li Hua; had felt his stomach fall away from him with fear; but he had not wanted to know – not for certain.
    ‘How?’ he heard himself say. Then, seeing what it meant, he looked across at his lieutenant, pre-empting him; stopping him from pressing the general alarm that would wake the whole palace.
    ‘Touch nothing, Wolf. Not until I order you to. Get Kurt and Alan here at once.’
    He turned back to Sun. ‘Who else knows, Master Sun? Who else have you told?’
    ‘No one,’ Sun answered, his voice barely audible. ‘I came straight here. I didn’t know what to do. They’ve killed him. Killed him while he slept.’
    ‘Who? Who’s killed him? What do you mean?’
    ‘Fu and Chai. I’m certain it was them. Fu’s stiletto… ’
    Fischer swallowed, appalled. ‘They knifed him? Your two assistants knifed him?’ He turned to his lieutenant. ‘Wolf, take two copies of the surveillance tape. Send one to Marshal Tolonen at Bremen. Another to General Helm in Rio.’
    ‘Sir!’
    He thought quickly. No one knew anything. Not yet. Only he and Wolf and Sun Li Hua. And the murderers, of course, but they would be telling no one. He turned back to his lieutenant. ‘Keep Master Sun here. And when Kurt and Alan come have them wait here until I get back. And, Wolf…’
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘Tell no one anything. Not yet. Understand me?’
    Wang Hsien lay there on his back, his face relaxed, as if in sleep, yet pale – almost Hung Mao in its paleness. Fischer leaned across and felt for a pulse at the neck. Nothing. The flesh was cold. The T’ang had been dead an hour at least.
    Fischer shuddered and stepped back, studying the body once again. The silk sheets were dark, sticky with the old man’s blood. The silver-handled stiletto jutted from the T’ang’s bared chest, the blade thrust in all the way up to the handle. He narrowed his eyes, considering. It would have taken some strength to do that, even to a sleeping man. And not just strength. It was not easy for one man to kill another. One needed the will for the job.
    Could Fu have done it? Or Chai? Fischer shook his head. He could not imagine either of them doing this. And yet if not them, then who?
    He looked about him, noting how things lay. Then, his mind made up, he turned and left the room, knowing he had only minutes in which to act.
    The board lay on the