The Windup Girl(113)

"I was told not to tell."

"And it is good for us to respect our patrons," Kanya pauses. "But we all owe loyalty to Her Royal Majesty the Queen, and she wishes that we all be safe. The Queen would want you to help us."

Mai hesitates, then says, "Three others worked at the factory."

Kanya leans forward, trying to hide her eagerness. "Which one?"

Mai hesitates. Kanya leans close. "How many phii will blame you if you allow them to die before their kamma allots their passing?"

Still Mai hesitates.

Pai says, "If we break her fingers, she will tell us."

The girl looks frightened. But Kanya holds out a soothing hand. "Don't worry. He won't do anything. He is a tiger, but I have his leash. Please. Just help us save the city. You can help us save Krung Thep."

The girl looks away, toward the crumbling glow of Bangkok across the waters. "The factory is closed now. Closed by you."

"That's very good then. But we must make sure the disease doesn't go any further. What is the name of the factory?"

The answer comes unwillingly. "SpringLife."

Kanya frowns, trying to remember the name. "A kink-spring company? One of the Chaozhou?"

Mai shakes her head. "Farang. Very rich farang."

Kanya settles beside her. "Tell me more."

31

Anderson finds Emiko huddled outside his door, and all at once a good night becomes an uncertain one.

For the last several days he has worked frantically to prepare the invasion, all of it crippled by the fact that he never expected to be cut off from his own factory. His own piss-poor planning forced him to waste extra days scouting a safe route back into the SpringLife facility without being caught by the plethora of white shirt patrols that cordoned the manufacturing district. If it hadn't been for the discovery of Hock Seng's escape route, he might still have been lurking around the back alleys, wishing for an access method.

As it was, Anderson slipped in through the shutters of the SpringLife offices with a blackened face and grapple slung over his shoulder while giving thanks to a crazy old man who just days before had robbed the company's entire payroll.

The factory had reeked. The algae baths had all gone to rot but not a thing moved in the gloom, and for that he was grateful. If the white shirts had posted guards within… Anderson held a hand over his mouth as he slipped down to the main hall and then down along the manufacturing lines. The stink of rot and megodont dung thickened.

Under the shadow of algae racks and the loom of the cutting presses, he examined the floor. This close to the algae tanks, the stink was horrific, as if a cow had died and rotted. The end-stage reek of Yates' optimistic plan for a new energy future.

Anderson knelt and pushed away desiccated algae strands from around one of the drains. He felt along the edges, seeking purchase. Lifted. The iron grate came up with a squeal. As quietly as he could, Anderson rolled the heavy grate away and set it with a clank on concrete. He lay down on the floor, prayed he wouldn't surprise a snake or scorpion, and plunged his arm down the hole. His fingers scrabbled in the darkness, questing. Straining deeper into moist blackness.

For a moment he feared it had slipped loose, had floated down the drain and on through the sewers to King Rama's groundwater pumps, but then his fingers touched oilskin. He peeled it from the drain wall, drew it out, smiling. A code book. For contingencies that he never seriously believed would come to pass.

In the blackness of the offices, he dialed numbers and brought operators alert in Burma and India. Sent secretaries scurrying for code strings unused since Finland.

Two days later, he stood on the floating island of Koh Angrit, arranging the last details with strike team leaders in the AgriGen compound. The weaponry would arrive within days, the invasion teams were assembling. And the money had already been shipped across, the gold and jade that would help generals change their loyalties and turn on their old friend General Pracha.

But now, with all the preparations completed, he returns to the city to find Emiko huddled at his door, miserable, and covered with blood. As soon as she sees him, she lunges into his arms, sobbing.

"What are you doing here?" he whispers. Cradling her against him he unlocks the door and urges her inside. Her skin burns. The blood is everywhere. Slashes mark her face and scar her arms. He shuts the door quickly. "What happened to you?" He pries her off him, tries to inspect her. She's a furnace of blood, but the wounds on her face and arms don't account for the sticky spattering that coats her. "Whose blood is this?"

She shakes her head. Begins sobbing again.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

He leads her into the bath, turns on cool water spray, puts her under it. She's shivering now, her eyes fever bright and panicked as she looks around. She looks half-mad. He tries to peel off her half-jacket, to get rid of the bloody clothing, but her face twists, enraged.

"No!" She slashes at him with her hand and he jerks back, touching his cheek.

"What the hell?!" He stares at her, shocked. Christ she was fast. He's hurting. His hand comes away bloody. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

The panicked animal flicker leaves her eyes. She stares at him blankly, and then seems to recover herself, becomes human. "I am sorry," she whispers. "So sorry." She collapses, curls into a ball under the water. "So sorry. So sorry." She lapses into Japanese.