The White Mountain by David Wingrove

had been before the attack. She went across to the panel on the wall and switched on three of the spotlights over the wallbars, then shrugged off her robe and began to exercise, knowing that no one could hear her once the doors were closed.
    There was a wall-length mirror at the far end of the gym. As she went through her routine, she caught glimpses of her naked figure as it moved between the three separate beams of light, her limbs flashing like spears of ice, her body twisting and turning intricately. And as she danced so she felt the tension drain from her, deriving a definite pleasure from her body’s precise and disciplined movements. Faster she went and faster, like a dervish, crying out in delight as her feet pounded the floor, flicking her over in a somersault, then into a tight, high leap.
    Afterwards she stood there, breathing deeply, trying not to laugh. If he could only see me now… She shook her head, then drew her hair back from her face.
    She had begun a second routine when something caught her eye. She slowed, then stopped, facing the door, her whole body tensed.
    The panel above the door was pulsing steadily. A feverish, silent pulse that meant one thing only. There were intruders in the apartment.
    Lehmann read the note quickly, then crumpled it in his hand and threw it aside. Tolonen led a charmed life. Three times they had tried for him now and three times they had failed. Tonight, for instance, Ebert had assured him that he would be home, but for some reason he had not come. Lehmann cursed softly, then turned, going through to where they held the two captives.
    They lay on the bed, face down, their plumply naked bodies bound at hand and foot. Beside them the two Han waited.
    â€˜Anything?’ he asked, seeing the huge welts on the prisoners’ backs, the burns on their arms where they had been tortured.
    â€˜Nothing,’ one of the Han answered him. ‘Nothing at all.’
    Lehmann stood there a moment, wondering if he should try something more persuasive, then shrugged and gave the order, turning away, letting them get on with it.
    Outside, in the corridor, he paused and looked about him, sniffing the air. Something nagged at him. They had searched the apartment thoroughly and there was no sign of the girl, so maybe she had gone. But then why the note?
    He turned and looked down the corridor at the door to the gym. In there? he wondered. It was unlikely, but then so too was the possibility that the girl had gone. Her bed had been slept in, even if the covers were cold.
    He stood at the control panel, studying it. It was a new doorlock, specially strengthened. Without the code there was no way of opening it. He was about to turn away when he realized that he didn’t have to get inside to find out if she was there. There was a security viewscreen. Which meant that there were cameras inside.
    It took only a moment to work out how to operate the screen, then he was staring into darkness, the cameras looking for forms amongst the shadows. He scanned the whole room once, then went back carefully, double-checking. Nothing. There was no one in the room.
    He switched off the screen, satisfied now that she had gone. It was ashame. She would have made the perfect hostage. But as it was, the death of Tolonen’s brother and sister-in-law would hurt the old man badly.
    He went back through to where his men were waiting. They had finished now and were ready to go. He looked down at the corpses dispassionately, feeling nothing for them. Directly or indirectly they served a system that was rotten. This, then, was their fate. What they deserved. He leaned forward and spat in the face of the dead man, then looked up, meeting the eyes of the Han.
    â€˜All right. We’ve finished here. Let’s go.’
    They nodded, then filed out past him, their weapons sheathed, their eyes averted. Lehmann stood, looking about him, then drew his knife and followed them, out into the corridor.
    Jelka