Текст книги "Flood Tide"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

Pitt did not send another burst from the shotgun into the assassin's body. Nor did he use his gun as a club. He stepped forward and lashed out with one foot, kicking the man's legs out from under him and sending him crashing heavily to the ground.

Picking up the killer's weapon, Pitt did not immediately recognize it as Chinese-manufactured, but he was impressed with its advanced innovations: a plastic frame with integral electro-optics, a fifty-round magazine in line with the bore, and cased, telescoped cartridges with the ballistics of a rifle shell. It was a handgun for the twenty-first century.

He stepped back inside the hangar and switched on the lights again. Despite the harrowing ordeal, Pitt felt strangely unaffected. He walked the aisle separating the cars until he stood below the balcony of his apartment. Then he stared down at the second killer's body. The partner of the man he dropped in the doorway was as dead as a rat in a sprung trap. One of Pitt's shots had missed, but the other had taken off the top of the killer's head. Not a sight to remember at the dinner table.

Wearily, Pitt climbed a circular metal staircase and entered his apartment. There was no sense in calling 911. He expected federal marshals to come bounding up the road any minute. Methodically, he rinsed a glass with water, shook it partially dry and inverted it in a bowl of salt. Then he added crushed ice, a sliced lime, and two shots from a bottle of Don Julio silver tequila. Relaxing in a leather sofa, he savored the drink like a thirst-stricken bedouin who staggered onto an oasis.

Five minutes and a second tequila later, Admiral Sandecker arrived with a team of marshals. Pitt came down to the hangar floor and met them, drink in hand. “Good evening, Admiral, always good to see you.”

Sandecker grunted something appropriate and then nodded at the body beneath the apartment. “You really must leam to pick up after yourself.” The voice was caustic, but there was no mistaking the concern in his eyes.

Pitt smiled and shrugged. “The world needs murderers like it needs cancer.”

Sandecker noticed the streak of blood on Pitt's arm. “You took a hit.” “Nothing a Band-Aid won't fix.”

“Let's have the story,” demanded Sandecker, all preliminaries over. “Where did they come from?”

“I haven't a clue. They were waiting for me.”

“A miracle they didn't kill you.”

“They didn't plan on me coming to the party prepared after I saw that my security system had been tampered with.”

Sandecker looked at Pitt cautiously. “You might have waited until I arrived with the marshals.”

Pitt motioned through the door toward the road and barren land outside the hangar. “If I made a run for it, they'd have cut me down before I got fifty yards. Better to go on the offensive. I felt my only chance was to do something quickly and catch them off balance.”

Sandecker stared at Pitt shrewdly. He knew his special projects director would never attempt anything without a solid reason. His eyes took in the bullet-riddled doorway. “I hope you know a good handyman.”

At that moment a man wearing casual clothes and a wind-breaker over a ballistic armor vest with a Smith & Wesson model 442 .38 revolver in a shoulder holster approached. In one hand he held a hooded mask worn by the killer whom Pitt had dropped in the doorway. “Won't be easy to ID them. They were probably imported for the hit.”

Sandecker made the introduction. “Dirk, this is Mr. Peter Harper, executive associate commissioner of field operations for the Immigration and Naturalization Service.”

Harper shook Pitt's hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pitt. It seems you had an unexpected homecoming.”

“A dubious surprise I wasn't counting on.” Pitt was not at all sure he could warm to Harper. The associate commissioner of the INS struck him as a man who spent his spare time working algebra problems. Despite the fact he carried a weapon, Harper looked benign and scholastic. “There is a van parked a short distance from the hangar.”

“We already checked it out,” said Harper. “It belongs to a rental-car agency. The name on the agreement is fictitious.” “Who do you suspect was behind this?” Sandecker asked. “The name Qin Shang comes to mind,” said Pitt. “I'm told he has a retaliatory nature.”

“The obvious choice,” Sandecker agreed. “He won't be happy when he finds out his assassins failed,” added Harper.

Sandecker's expression turned foxlike. “I think it only appropriate that Dirk tell him in person.”

Pitt shook his head. “I hardly think that's a sensible idea. I'm persona non grata in Hong Kong.”

Sandecker and Harper exchanged glances. Then Sandecker said, “Qin Shang saved you the trip. He recently arrived in Washington to grease his way out of any connection with Orion Lake. As a matter of fact, he's throwing a party at his residence in Chevy Chase to stroke congressmen and their staffers. If you hurry and dress, you can just make it.”

Pitt looked as if he'd been sandbagged. “I hope you're joking.”

“I was never more serious.”

“I believe the admiral makes a good case,” said Harper. “You and Qin Shang should meet face-to-face.”

“Why? So he can provide a first-hand description of me to the next team he sends out to put me in a cemetery?”

“No,” said Harper seriously. “To let Qin Shang know that despite his wealth and power he can't outclass the United States government. The man is not infallible. If your appearance can shake him up, he probably won't get the word you're alive until you walk in on him. The shock just might make him mad enough to make a mistake in the future. And that's when we step in.”

“In essence you want me to create a chink in his armor.” Harper nodded. “Exactly.”

“You realize, of course,” said Pitt, “that what you're proposing will compromise my further involvement in investigating his illegal activities.”

“Think of yourself as a distraction,” said Sandecker. “The more Qin Shang concentrates on you as a threat to his operations, the easier it will be for the INS and the other intelligence services to nail him to the cross.” “Distraction hell. You want a decoy.” Harper shrugged. “A rose by any other name.” Pitt made as if to appear uneasy with the idea despite the fact it intrigued him. He thought of the bodies strewn on the bottom of Orion Lake, and the anger rose inside him like an uncontrollable flood. “Whatever it takes to hang the murdering scum.”

Harper sighed in relief, but Sandecker never doubted for an instant that Pitt would acquiesce. The admiral had never known

Pitt to turn down a challenge, no matter how impossible. Some men were indifferent, impassive. It was difficult to tell what they were thinking. Not Pitt. Sandecker understood him like no other man except Al Giordino. To women he was a mystery, a man they could reach out and touch but never restrain. He knew there were two Dirk Pitts, one that could be tender, considerate and humorous, the other cold and ruthless as a winter storm. Unvaryingly competent to the point of brilliance, his perception of events and people was uncanny. Pitt never made a conscious error. He had a knack for doing the right thing during incredibly difficult circumstances that was almost inhuman.

Harper was unable to read Pitt. All he saw was a marine engineer who had unbelievably killed two professional assassins who had come to murder him. “So you'll do it.”

“I'll meet Qin Shang, but I wish someone would tell me how I'm going to crash his party without an invitation.”

“It's all been arranged,” explained Harper. “A good agent I always has connections with the company that prints invitations.”

“You were pretty sure of yourself.”

“I admit I wasn't, but the admiral here assured me that you never turned down free drinks and food.”

Pitt threw Sandecker a peevish look. “The admiral has mads victimization an art form.”

“I've even taken the liberty of arranging an escort for you,” Harper continued. “A most attractive lady who will back you up in case of trouble.”

“A baby-sitter,” Pitt muttered, rolling his eyes upward. “As a matter of pure optimism I have to ask if she's seen combat.” “I'm told she shot down two aircraft and saved your ass on the Orion River.” “Julia Lee.” “The same.”

Pitt's lips stretched into a wide grin. “It looks as if the evening won't turn out to be a bust after all.”

PITT KNOCKED ON THE DOOR OF THE ADDRESS GIVEN HIM BY Peter Harper. After a short wait, it was opened by Julia Lee. She stood radiant in a white silk cashmere dress that came slightly below the knees with open shoulders and back to the curve above her hips and was held up by a thin strap around the neck. Her black hair was swept back in a wrapped ponytail high on the head with spiky ends. Her only jewelry was a thin gold chain around her waist and a gold cuff necklace. Her legs were nude, her feet showing in open gold shoes.

Her eyes widened and she murmured, “Dirk, Dirk Pitt!”

“Oh, I hope so,” he replied with a devilish grin.

After her initial shock at seeing Pitt standing there resplendent in a tuxedo with vest and gold watch chain, she recovered and threw herself against him, her arms encircling his neck. He was so surprised he barely caught himself from tumbling over backward down the steps. Impetuously, she kissed him hard on the mouth. Now it was Pitt's turn for his eyes to widen. He had never expected such a spontaneous reception.

“I thought I was the one who said I'd kiss you full on the mouth when next we meet.” Reluctantly, he gripped Julia by the upper arms and gently eased her away. “Do you greet all your blind dates in that manner?”

Suddenly, she cast her dove-gray eyes to the ground shyly. “I don't know what came over me. Seeing you came as a shock. I wasn't told who was escorting me to Qin Shang's  party. Peter Harper only said he arranged for a tall, dark, hand– r some man to act as my backup.”

“The dirty sneak led me to believe that you were my backup, He should have been a theatrical producer. I'll bet he's drooling in anticipation of Qin Shang's reaction when the two people who queered his operation at Orion Lake walk in uninvited to j his party.”

“I hope you're not disappointed at having to escort me. I Under all this makeup, I still look pretty awful.”

He gently lifted her chin until he could look down into her I misty eyes. He might have said something witty and clever, I but it wasn't the moment. “About as disappointed as a man who has discovered a diamond mine.”

“I didn't know you could say nice things to a girl.”

“You wouldn't believe the hordes of women my silver i tongue has seduced.”

“Liar,” she said softly as her lips broke into a smile.

“Enough of this endearing talk,” he said, releasing her. “We'd better get a move on before the food runs out.”

After Julia briefly returned inside the house to find her purse f and coat, Pitt led her to the stately and majestic machine parked at the curb in front of the townhouse where she was staying  with an old sorority sister from college. She stared in open  astonishment at the mammoth car with its big chrome wire wheels and wide whitewall tires.

“Good Lord!” she exclaimed. “What kind of a car are we I going in?”

“A nineteen-twenty-nine Duesenberg,” answered Pitt, “Since we've been ordered to crash a party thrown by one of the world's richest men, I thought it only fitting and proper that  we arrive in style.”

“I've never ridden in a car this grand,” said Julia admiringly  as she slid onto the soft tan leather seat. She marveled at the hood that seemed to stretch halfway down the block as Pitt  closed the door and came around behind the big steering wheel,  “I've never heard of a Duesenberg.”

“The Model J Duesenbergs were the finest examples of American automating,” Pitt explained. “Manufactured from nineteen-twenty-eight until nineteen-thirty-six, they were considered by many automobile connoisseurs as the handsomest cars ever built. Only about four hundred eighty chassis and engines came out of the factory and were sent to the most esteemed coachmakers in the country who produced magnificent designs. This car was custom-bodied by the Walter M. Murphy Company in Pasadena, California, and styled as a convertible sedan. Not cheap, they sold as high as twenty thousand dollars when the Ford Model A sold for around four hundred. They were owned by the wealthy celebrities of their day, particularly the Hollywood crowd, who bought Duesenbergs as a show of pride and prestige. If you drove a Duesy, you had made it big-time.”

“She's beautiful,” said Julia, admiring the artistically flowing lines. “She must be fast.”

“The engine was an outgrowth of the Duesenberg racing engines. A straight eight-cylinder engine displacing four hundred twenty cubic inches, it produced two hundred sixty-five horsepower when most engines at the time put out less than seventy. Although this engine doesn't have the supercharger that was installed on later models, I made a few modifications when I restored the car. Under the right conditions she could touch one hundred forty miles an hour.”

“I'll take your word for it without a demonstration.”

“A pity we can't drive with the top down, but it's a cool night and I put it up to protect milady's hair.”

“A woman loves a considerate man.”

“I always aim to please.”

She looked at the flat windshield and noticed a small hole in one corner of the glass with tiny cracks spreading from it. “Is that a bullet hole?”

“A souvenir from a couple of Qin Shang's flunkies.”

“He sent men to kill you?” asked Julia, staring in fascination at the hole. “Where did this take place?”

“They dropped by the aircraft hangar where I live earlier in the evening,” Pitt answered impassively.

“What happened?”

“They weren't the least bit sociable, so I sent them on their way.”

Pitt hit the starter and the big engine turned over with a soft purr before the eight cylinders fired and broadcast a mellow roar through the big exhaust pipe. The low gears gave out a muted whir as Pitt shifted through the sequence from first to third. The great luxury car that has never been surpassed rolled through the streets of Washington, regal and majestic.

Julia decided it was hopeless to pry any more information out of Pitt. She relaxed in the wide leather seat and enjoyed the ride and the stares of other drivers and the people walking on the sidewalks.

Shortly after traveling up Wisconsin Avenue out of the District of Columbia, Pitt turned onto a meandering residential street canopied by huge trees sprouting new spring leaves until he reached the gate of the drive leading to Qin Shang's Chevy Chase mansion. The iron gates were a monstrosity of Chinese dragons entwined around the bars. Two Chinese guards dressed in elaborate uniforms stared strangely at the huge car for sev– j eral moments before stepping forward and asking to see invitations. Pitt passed them through the open window and waited while the guards checked his and Julia's names against those on a guest list. Satisfied that Pitt and Julia were indeed invited, they bowed and pressed the code on a remote transmitter that opened the gates. Pitt threw them a brief wave and tooled the Duesenberg up the long driveway and stopped under the portico at the entrance to the house, whose exterior was lit up like a football stadium.

“I must remember to compliment Harper,” said Pitt. “He not only provided us with invitations, but he somehow managed to sneak our names onto the guest list.”

Julia's expression was that of a young girl approaching the Taj Mahal. “I've never attended a major-league Washington party before. I hope I won't embarrass you.”

“You won't,” Pitt assured her. “Just tell yourself that it's strictly a social theater. The powerful Washington elite throw posh functions because they have something to sell. It all comes down to people milling around, swilling booze, looking influential and exchanging gossip mixed with explicit information. Mostly, the city's society chronicles the foolish events from their petty little political worlds.”

“You act as if you've been to them before.”

“As I told you on the dock at Grapevine Bay, my father is a senator. In my bon vivant younger days I used to tag along and attempt to pick up congressional mistresses.”

“Were you successful?” “Almost never.”

A stretch limo was disgorging several of Qin Shang's guests, who turned and gazed in frank admiration at the Duesenberg. Valet parking attendants appeared as if summoned. The valets were immune to limousines and expensive cars, most of them foreign, but this one staggered their minds. Almost reverently, they opened the doors.

Pitt eyed a man standing off to the side who took a particular interest in the newcomers and their means of transportation. Then he turned and hurried inside. No doubt, Pitt thought, to alert his boss to the arrival of guests who didn't fit the normal pattern.

As they swept arm in arm through the elegant colonnade entrance, Julia whispered to Pitt, “I hope I don't lose it when I meet that murdering bastard and spit in his face.”

“Just tell him how much you enjoyed the cruise on his ship, and how you're looking forward to the next one.”

The gray eyes flashed with fire. “Like hell I will.”

“Now don't forget,” said Pitt, “as an agent in good standing with the INS, you're here on assignment.”

“And you?”

Pitt laughed. “I'm just along for the ride.”

“How can you be so lackadaisical?” she snapped. “We may be lucky to get out of here with our heads.”

“We'll be all right so long as we're in a crowd. Our problems come after we leave.”

“Not to worry,” she assured him. “Peter has arranged for a team of security people to stand by outside the house in case of trouble.”

“Should Qin Shang get nasty, do we send up flares?”

“We'll be in constant communication. I have a radio in my purse.”

Pitt stared at the tiny purse skeptically. “And a gun too?”

She shook her head. “No gun.” Then she smiled slyly. “You forget, I've seen you in action. I'm counting on you to protect me.”

“Dearheart, you're in big trouble.”

They passed through the foyer into a vast hallway filled with Chinese art objects. The centerpiece was a seven-foot-tall bronze incense burner inlaid with gold. The upper section depicted flames leaping toward the sky interspersed with women, their arms and hands uplifted with offerings. Aromatic incense wreathed the flames in billowy clouds that scented the entire house. Pitt stepped up to the bronze masterwork and studied it closely, examining the inlaid gold that decorated the base.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” said Julia.

“Yes,” Pitt said quietly. “The craftsmanship is quite unique.”

“My father has a much smaller version that isn't nearly so ancient.”

“The smell is a bit overwhelming.”

“Not to me. I grew up surrounded by Chinese culture.”

Pitt took Julia by the arm and led her into an immense room rilled with Washington's rich and mighty. The scene reminded him of a Roman banquet out of a Cecil B. DeMille movie: j slim women in designer dresses, congressmen, senators and the aristocracy of the city's attorneys, lobbyists and power brokers, all trying to look sophisticated and distinguished in their formal evening wear. There was such an ocean of fabrics between the guests and the furniture that the room was unnatu-rally silent despite a hundred voices talking at once.

If the furnishings had cost less than twenty million dollars, then Qin Shang had bought them at a discount house in New Jersey. The walls and ceiling were intricately carved and paneled in redwood, as was most of the furniture. The carpet alone must have taken twenty young girls half their adolescent lives to weave. It flowed in blue and gold like an ocean at sunset, and the depth of its pile made it seem as if one had to wade through it. The curtains alone would have put those in Buckingham Palace to shame. Julia had never seen so much silk in one space. The opulent upholstered chairs and settees looked like they might have been more at home hi a museum.

No less than twenty stewards stood behind a buffet linel whose mountains of lobster, crab and other seafood must have cleaned out the entire catch of a fishing fleet. Only the finest French champagne was served alongside vintage wines, none of which had labels from later than 1950. In one comer of the: ornate room a string orchestra played themes from motion; pictures. Though Julia had come from a wealthy family in Si Francisco, she had seen nothing to compare with this affair.

 She stood in solemn awe as her eyes scanned the room. Finally, she recovered enough to say, “I can see what Peter mean when he said Qin Shang's invitation was the most desired in Washington aside from the White House.”

“Frankly, I prefer the ambiance at the French-embassy parties. More elegant, more refined.”

“I feel so... so plain among all these beautifully dressed women.”

Pitt gave Julia an adoring look and squeezed her around the waist. “Stop belittling yourself. You're a class act. You'd have to be blind not to notice that every man in the room is devouring you.”

Julia blushed at the flattery. It embarrassed her to see that he was right. The men were staring at her openly, as were many of the women. She also observed a dozen exquisite Chinese women dressed in silk sheath dresses mingling with the male guests. “It seems I'm not the only woman with Chinese ancestry.”

Pitt made a passing, offhand glance at the women Julia referred to. “Daughters of joy.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Hookers.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Qin Shang hires them to work the men who came along without their wives. You might call it a subtle form of political patronage. What influence he can't buy, he slips through the back door with sexual favors.”

Julia looked bewildered. “I have a lot to learn about government lobbying.”

“They are exotic, aren't they? A good thing I'm with someone who puts them to shame or they might prove a temptation I couldn't resist.”

“You've got nothing Qin Shang wants,” Julia said testily. “Perhaps we should find him and make our presence known.”

Pitt gazed at her as if shocked. “What, and miss out on all the free food and drink? Not on your life. First things first. Let's head to the bar for champagne, and then indulge ourselves at the buffet. Later, we'll enjoy a cognac before making ourselves known to the arch-villain of the Orient.”

Julia said to him, “I think you're the craziest, most complex and reckless man I've ever met.”

“You left out charming and cuddly.”

“I can't imagine any woman putting up with you for more than twenty-four hours.”

“To know me is to love me.” The mirth lines around his eyes crinkled, and he gave a tilt of his head toward the bar. “All this talk makes me thirsty.”

They strolled across the crowded floor to the bar and casually sipped the offered champagne. Then they wandered to the buffet table and filled their plates. Pitt was profoundly surprised to find a large platter of fried abalone, a shellfish that was on the verge of extinction. He spotted an empty table by the fireplace and commandeered it. Julia could not keep her eyes from exploring the throng in the immense room. “I see several Chinese men, but I can't tell which one is Qin Shang, Peter failed to give me a description of him.”

“For an investigative agent,” said Pitt between bites of lobster, “your powers of observation are sadly lacking.” “You know his appearance.”

“Never laid eyes on him. But if you look through the doorway on the west wall, guarded by a giant dressed in a dynastic costume, you'll find Qin Shang's private audience room. My guess is he sits in there and holds court.”

Julia began to rise to her feet.

“Let's get this over with.”

Pitt held out a hand and restrained her.

“Not so fast. I haven't had my after-dinner cognac yet.”

“You're impossible.”

“Women are always telling me that.” A steward took thek plates, and Pitt left Julia momentarily for the bar, returning in a few minutes with two crystal snifters containing a fifty-year-old cognac. Slowly, very slowly, as if he hadn't a care in the world, he savored the smooth flavor. As he held the snifter to his lips, he saw a man, reflected in the crystal, approach their table.

“Good evening,” he said in a soft voice. “I hope you're enjoying yourselves. I am your host.”

Julia froze as she looked up into the smiling face of Qin Shang. He looked nothing like what she imagined. She did not envision him as tall and stout. The face was not that of a cruel, cold-blooded murderer with vast power. There was no hint of authority behind the friendly tone, and yet she could sense an underlying coldness. He stood immaculate in a beautifully cut tuxedo embroidered with golden tigers.

“Yes, thank you,” said Julia, barely able to remain polite, “It truly is a magnificent affair.”

Pitt rose to his feet slowly in a conscious effort not to appear patronizing. “May I present Ms. Julia Lee.”

“And you, sir?” asked Qin Shang.

“My name is Dirk Pitt.”

There it was. No skyrockets, no drumroll. The guy has style, Pitt had to give him that. The smile remained fixed. If there was surprise at finding Pitt alive and breathing, Qin Shang didn't show it. The only detectable response was a slight shift of the eyes. For long moments jade-green eyes locked with opaline-green, neither man willing to break off. Pitt knew damned well it was stupid and saw no purpose in the staredown other than egotistical satisfaction by the winner. Gradually, his gaze lifted to Qin Shang's eyebrows, then forehead, lingered and moved to the hair. Then Pitt's eyes widened a fraction as if he found something, and his lips broke into a slight grin.

The ruse worked. Qin Shang's concentration was broken. He involuntarily raised his eyeballs to look upward. “May I ask what you find so amusing, Mr. Pitt?”

“I was just wondering who your hairstylist was,” Pitt answered innocently.

“She is a Chinese lady who attends me once a day. I'd give you her name, but she is in my private employ.”

“I envy you. My barber is a mad Hungarian with palsy.”

There came a brief icy stare.

“The photo of you in your dossier does not do you justice.”

“I applaud a man who does his homework.”

“May I have a word with you in private, Mr. Pitt?”

Pitt nodded toward Julia. “Only if Ms. Lee is present.”

“I'm afraid our conversation may not be of interest to the lovely lady.”

Pitt realized that Qin Shang did not know Julia's credentials. “On the contrary. Rude of me not to mention that Ms. Lee is an agent with the Immigration and Naturalization Service. She was also a passenger on one of your cattle boats and had the misfortune of enjoying your hospitality at Orion Lake. You are familiar, I trust, with Orion Lake. It's in the state of Washington.”

For an instant there was a red glare in the jade eyes, and then it was just as quickly extinguished. Qin Shang remained as impenetrable as marble. His voice came even and calm. “If you both will please follow me.” He turned and strode away, knowing unquestionably Pitt and Julia would trail in his wake.

“I think the time has come,” said Pitt as he helped Julia from her chair.

“You crafty dog,” she murmured. “You knew all along he would seek us out.”

“Shang didn't get where he's at without a healthy dose of curiosity.”

Obediently, they followed Qin Shang through the milling congregation until he came to the costumed giant who opened the door for him. They entered a room unlike the heavily furnished and decorated one they just left. This room was modest and austere. The walls were merely painted in a soft blue. The only furnishings were a settee, two chairs and a desk whose surface was barren except for a telephone. He motioned for them to sit on the settee as he took his place behind the desk. Pitt was amused to see that the desk and chair were slightly elevated so that Qin Shang looked down at his visitors. “Forgive me for mentioning it,” Pitt said offhandedly, “but the bronze incense burner in the main entry. From the Liao dynasty, I believe.”

“Why yes, you are quite correct.”

“I assume you know that it's a fake.”

“You are most observant, Mr. Pitt,” said Qin Shang without taking offense. “The piece is not fake, but a well-executed replica. The original was lost in nineteen forty-eight during the war when the People's Army of Mao Tse-tung crushed the forces of Chiang Kai-shek.”

“The burner is still in China?”

“No, it was on a ship with many other ancient treasures stolen from my country by Chiang that were lost at sea.”

“The ship's final resting place is a mystery?”

“A mystery I have worked many years to solve. To find the ship and its cargo is my life's most passionate desire.”

“It's been my experience that shipwrecks are never found until they want to be found.”

“Very poetic,” Qin Shang said, pausing to glance at his watch. “I must return and tend to my guests so I'll be brief before I have my security people escort you to the door. Please tell me the purpose behind your uninvited presence.”

“I thought the purpose was transparent,” Pitt replied conversationally. “Ms. Lee and I wanted to meet the man we're going to hang.”

“You're very succinct, Mr. Pitt. I appreciate that in an adversary. But it is you who will be a casualty in the war.”

“What war is that?”

“The economic war between the People's Republic of China and the United States. A war for extraordinary power and wealth for the winner.”

“I have no ambitions on that score.”

“Ah, but I do. That's the difference between us and between our countrymen. Like most of the rabble in America, you lack determination and zeal.”

Pitt shrugged his shoulders. “If greed is your god, then you possess very little of true value.”

“You think of me as a greedmonger?” Qin Shang asked pleasantly.

“I've seen little of your lifestyle that persuades me otherwise.”

“All the great men of history were driven by ambition. It goes hand in hand with power. Contrary to public opinion, the world is not divided by good and evil, but between those who do and those who do not, the visionaries and the blind, the realists and the romanticists. The world does not turn on good deeds and sentiment, Mr. Pitt, but on achievement.”