The Emperor's Tomb

The entire population had been organized along military lines. Marketplaces were regulated, a monopoly established on coinage, salt and iron production placed under state control. The results were a strong army and a sound economy, which not only offered protection from enemies but also strengthened the power of the Hegemon.

“These were the first Legalists,” his teacher said. “A school of statecraft dedicated to exalting the ruler and maximizing authority. Their philosophy was simple. The sovereign is the creator of law, the officials are the followers of law, the people are subjects of the law. The wise sovereign holds six powers. The ability to grant life, to kill, to enrich, to impoverish, to promote, and to demote.”

And the concept spread among the other states.

At the end of the Spring and Autumn period, after 300 years of constant turmoil, around 481 BCE, twenty-two states survived. The rest had been absorbed by their neighbors.

“The struggle became worse in the Warring States period, which followed,” his teacher had said. “Eventually, after another two hundred years of conflict, seven states emerged, each led by a Hegemon. Their councilors were all brothers of the Ba, Legalists who taught that he who has the greatest force will be paid tribute to by others, while he who has less force will pay tribute to others. The Ba consolidated their influence over the kings, advocating an end to the feudal system. Inherited posts were replaced with appointed bureaucrats, whom the ruler could discharge or even execute at will. Inherited fiefdoms were redrawn into administrative units called counties. Cleverly, by appointing officials who were mere extensions of himself, the Hegemon gathered all power into himself’.”

By the end of the Warring States period, the Ba had assumed virtual control over the monarchs. Though other technological feats were better known—the discovery of gunpowder, the cultivation of silkworms—Tang believed that the Chinese invention of totalitarianism may have had the greatest impact on the world.

“It was a revolution from above,” his teacher had explained. “The people gave little resistance. Five centuries of incessant warfare had left them prostrate, and no one could argue with the order the Legalists provided. And though all that occurred over 2,500 years ago, to this day all Chinese have an irrational fear of chaos and disorder.”

A decade later the kingdom of Qin conquered the seven surviving states, transforming a backward dukedom and six warring neighbors into the First Empire.

“Qin Shi embedded Legalism in our culture, and it remains part of our culture today, though the concept has changed over the centuries. Those changes are why you and I must talk further.”

And they had, many times.

“Study Mao,” his teacher had advised. “He was a modern Legalist. He understood how the Chinese mind fears chaos—and that, more than anything else, explains both his success and his failure.”

Tang had studied.

Nationally, Mao had wanted to make China united, strong, and secure, just as Qin Shi had done. Socially, he had wanted China to evolve into an egalitarian society in the Marxist tradition. Personally, he wanted to transcend his own mortality and ensure that his Revolution became irreversible.

On the first goal he succeeded. The second was an utter failure.

And the third?

That was the unanswered question.

Amazing how like Qin Shi Mao had become. Both established new regimes, bringing unity after long periods of bloody turmoil, crushing all local fiefdoms. They were standardizers, social engineers, insisting on one language, currency, orthodoxy, and loyalty. Grandiose building projects became common. They both loathed merchants and silenced intellectuals. They encouraged worship of themselves and invented new titles to match their egos. Qin had chosen First Emperor, while Mao had preferred Chairman. In death, they were lavishly entombed and harshly criticized, but the framework of their regimes had endured.

“That was no accident,” his teacher told him during one of their final conversations. “Mao understood the First Emperor. You should, too.”

And he did.

No 20th-century Chinese leader had captured the people’s devotion like Mao. He became emperor-like, and not a single pact that Beijing later made with the people could compare to the “destiny of Heaven” that emperors like Mao enjoyed.

But Mao’s day was over.

Give allegiance to political solutions proposed centuries ago by long-dead scholars. That’s what Confucius had advised as the way to understanding. That seemed impossible.

A second hare would not die at the same stump.

He wholeheartedly agreed with Mao’s Cultural Revolution. In deference to it, that was when he’d stopped using the traditional form of his name—Tang Karl, his family name first. Instead he chose the modern incarnation Karl Tang. He recalled when the Red Guards rampaged across the country, shutting down schools, imprisoning intellectuals, restricting publications, disbanding monasteries and temples. Every physical reminder of China’s feudal and capitalistic past had been destroyed—old customs, old habits, old culture, and old thinking were all eliminated.

Millions had died, millions more had been affected.

Yet Mao emerged more loved than ever, the state stronger than ever.

He checked his watch, then sucked more breaths of the clean air.

A smile formed on his lips.

Let it begin.

TWENTY-FIVE

ANTWERP

CASSIOPEIA APPROACHED THE MUSEUM, HEADING FOR THE same rear entrance she’d scouted two days ago. She’d stumbled across the Dries Van Egmond in a hotel brochure while trying to decide where best to hide the lamp. Its rooms held a collection of Dutch, French, and Flemish objets d’art. But its Chinese boudoir, on the third level, was what really caught her attention.

She hoped the lamp had gone unnoticed.

She’d passed couples homeward-bound and walkers self-absorbed, but no one dodging into a doorway or dogging her footsteps. Advertisements plastered on plate-glass windows shouted from closed shops. But she’d ignored all distractions. She needed to retrieve the lamp, then make contact with Sokolov, that connection facilitated through a couple who shared Sokolov’s agony of losing a child—who’d agreed to forward any coded e- mail messages sent from Belgium.

She wondered what had happened with Malone. Viktor had told her that he hadn’t heard anything from Copenhagen, but that meant nothing coming from him. Perhaps she’d head for Denmark once this errand was completed. Cotton could help her decide what to do next.

A train would be best.

No security checks.

And she could sleep.

MALONE SPOTTED THE MUSEUM, SQUEEZED INTO A ROW OF buildings that alternated old and new. Its facade revealed details that suggested an Italian motif. Little traffic filled Antwerp’s streets, only lights over empty sidewalks, the city dozing off for the night. He studied the building’s sculpted window frames, stacked one atop the other in varying squares, circles, and rectangles. None glowed with life.

He’d parked two blocks away and approached with slow steps. He wasn’t sure what was about to happen. How was Cassiopeia planning on entering? Breaking in? Certainly not from here. The main entrance was protected