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Page 19.

9. Gaston Mendé

Wan Hong was furious.

General Mendé was philosophical. "With your resources, Mr. Wan, you will recover the data in no time. I am sure of it."

Wan made a fist, so that his knuckles whitened. He trembled with rage. "When I get her back, I will punish her. Oh yes, she will pray on her hands and knees for my mercy."

They sat in Wan's plane, which was still parked at the airport in Paris.

"I was supposed to be in Luxembourg by now," the industrialist said. He looked every bit the image of graying fury with his short hair, fox-sharp features, and blazing eyes. "Do you suppose it's PAX getting even for the Pierre Sander exchange in Paris?"

The other shrugged. "I have agents in the field, tracking Miss Smith. We already have her located in an apartment in a shabby area of Paris. Don't worry."

At that, Wan reluctantly backed off from his trembling anger, though he remained furious.

Mendé had dealt with many men and situations over the years. He had faced death as a young officer in the field, and had dealt with dictators and vindictive generals. This man reminded him of a cross-section of several frightening characters he had diplomatically caressed and soothed in dire situations. And yet, Mendé recognized, this man was in a class all by himself. Mendé did not let Wan's rage take him off focus. If anything, he most provide the focus that Wan seemed to be blurring. At the same time, he knew that Wan had survived many situations in his day, and always emerged the winner by any means possible. That was why Mendé was throwing his lot in with this Chinese zillionaire.

"Mr. Wan, look on the bright side. We will recover the Sander data that Miss Smith stole. We will create a corporate military like nothing the world has ever seen before. You will be the new Augustus Caesar of this wonderful new empire on which the sun never sets. There will be world peace, and you will be remembered in the history books for a thousand years."

Wan seemed to regain his perspective as Mendé massaged Wan's ego and his fears. "Like a thousand-year Reich," he said in a sudden burst of humor. "Without all the goose stepping and Sieg Heiling and the big rallies."

Mendé nodded. "Money operates like water, not fire. Money puts out fire and trumps the other elements. Money seeps into the cracks and finds its own level. Quietly and quickly, it drowns fire and air and earth; then glows like hell. There will be no more marching armies or flags or cheering crowds or millions of fools to march off and die for their magicians or their owners. We will control the air, the land, and the sea."

As Mendé spoke, Wan grew visibly calmer—colder, calculating, far-seeing as he looked across the horizon of possibilities and searched for the running figure of Hannah Smith.

Wan said, "You're right. She can't get far. I have Savia and Yuichi and Yolo after her. I can put more troops in the field to find her."

"Please, leave that to me," said his security chief, who grinned. "After all, that's what I get paid to do, so you can be free to concentrate on your important mission."

"Right," Wan said with a new light of calm in his eyes. "I have to continue preparing my speech for the CEOC parliament in the Valley of Seven Castles."

Mendé knew when to pour on the salve. "You will be at your amazing best, more than ever. We will find the girl, tear her to shreds, and get the data back as soon as possible. You concentrate on more important things. You will take the CEOC parliament by storm, and become their new president."

"Right," Wan said with a thousand calculations rolling through the casino of his eyes. "I will make myself their president for life. They cannot imagine what plans I have for the organization."

Mendé reached over and patted his boss' hand. "You cannot allow trivial matters to distract you. That is why you have the best people working for you."

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