Free The Middle Kingdom by David Wingrove Page B

had never grown close. There
had always been a sense of unspoken hostility beneath their surface
politeness. It was no different now.
    Wyatt was a
slightly built man with an oddly heavy head. Someone had once
commented that it was as if he had been grafted together from two
very different men, and that impression, once noted, was hard to
shake. At a glance his face revealed a strong, unequivocal character:
aristocratic, his dark green eyes unflinching in their challenge, his
chin firm, defiant. But looking down at the frame of the man it was
noticeable at once how frail he seemed, how feminine. His hands were
soft and thin and pale, the nails perfectly manicured. Slender tiao
tuo, bracelets of gold and jade, hung bunched at both wrists.
    Such things made
him seem a weak man, but he was far from that. His father's ruin
might have destroyed a lesser man, but Wyatt had shown great courage
and determination. He had gambled on his own talents and won:
rebuilding his father's empire and regaining his place on First
Level.
    DeVore studied
him a moment longer, knowing better than to underestimate the
intelligence of the man, then gave the slightest bow. "And you,
Edmund—you're doing well, I see. There's talk your company will
soon be quoted on the Index."
    Wyatt's eyes
showed a mild surprise. He was unaware how closely DeVore kept
himself briefed on such things. "You follow the markets, then?"
    "It makes
sense to. Insurrection and business are close allies in these times.
The Hang Seng is an indicator of much more than simple value—it's
an index of power and ruthlessness, a club for like-minded men of
similar ambitions."
    He saw how Wyatt
scrutinized him momentarily, trying to make out the meaning behind
his words. The Hang Seng Index of Hong Kong's stock market was the
biggest of the world's seven markets and the most important. But,
like the House, it was often a front for other less open activities.
    DeVore turned
slightly in his seat to face Berdichev, a warm smile lighting his
features. "And how are you, Soren? I see far too little of you
these days."
    Soren Berdichev
returned the smile bleakly, the heavy lenses of his small, rounded
glasses glinting briefly as he bowed. He was a tall, thin-faced man
with pinched lips and long, spatulate fingers; a severe, humorless
creature whose steel-gray eyes never settled for long. He was a hard
man with few social graces, and because of that he made enemies
easily, often without knowing what he did; yet he was also extremely
powerful—not a man to be crossed.
    "Things are
well, Howard. Progressing, as they say."
    DeVore smiled at
Berdichev's understatement. SimFic, his company, was one of the
success stories of the decade. It had been a small operation when he
had bought it in eighty-eight, but by ninety-one it had been quoted
on the Hang Seng 1000 Index, along with Chung Kuo's other leading
companies. Since that time he had made great advances, leading the
market in the production of HeadStims and Wraps. In five short years
SimFic had achieved what had seemed impossible and revolutionized
personal entertainment. Now they were one of the world's biggest
companies and were quoted in the Top 100 on the Index.
    For a while they
exchanged pleasantries. Then, as if at a signal, Berdichev's features
formed into a cold half-smile. "But forgive me, Howard. I'm sure
you haven't come here to talk market." He turned away brusquely
and looked pointedly at Wyatt. "Come, Edmund, let's leave these
two. I believe they have business to discuss."
    Wyatt looked
from Lehmann to DeVore, his whole manner suddenly alert, suspicious.
"Business?"
    There was a
moment's awkwardness, then DeVore smiled and nodded. "I'm afraid
so."
    Wyatt set down
his glass and got up slowly. Giving a small bow to Lehmann he made to
follow Berdichev, then stopped and turned, looking back at Lehmann.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his eyes revealing a deep concern
for his friend.
    Lehmann gave the
slightest of nods, meeting Wyatt's eyes