The Emperor's Tomb

The Russian pointed at Viktor.

“He works for me.”

THIRTY-THREE

HE LAY ON THE CUSHIONED BENCH AND STEADIED HIMSELF. HIS LEGS spread, his genitals exposed. Centuries ago there was a place, a ch’ang tzu, located outside the palace gates, where specialists performed the service for a modest six taels. They also taught apprentices the technique, thus transforming a profession into a tradition. The specialist he now faced was as skilled as those artisans, though he worked only for the brothers.

The final cleaning ended.

The hot water laced with pepper stung.

He’d remained rigid as the two attendants tightly wrapped his abdomen and thighs with white bandages. He could hardly breathe, but he understood their purpose.

Would it hurt?

He forced the thought from his brain.

Pain did not matter. Only his oath mattered. The bond. The brothers. They meant everything to him. His teacher had introduced him to the Ba and now, after several years of study, he would become a part. What would his mother and father say? They’d be mortified. But they were visionless nothings. Tools to be used as a shovel or a rake, discarded when either broken or no longer needed. He did not want to be one of those.

He wanted to command.

The specialist nodded and he adjusted his posture on the chair, spreading his legs wider. Two brothers clamped both limbs in place. To speak, to acknowledge the coming pain, would be a show of weakness, and no brother could be weak.

Only the strong were allowed.

He saw the knife, small and curved.

“Hou huei pu hou huei?” he was asked.

He slowly shook his head. He would never regret it.

It happened fast. Two swipes, and his severed scrotum and penis were displayed.

He waited for the pain. He felt blood seeping from the wound, the skin burning, his legs shaking. But no pain.

He watched as the organs were laid on a silver tray, blood encircling the flesh like some presentation at a restaurant.

Then the pain arrived. Sharp. Bitter. Excruciating.

His brain exploded in agony. His body trembled.

The two men maintained strong grips. He kept his mouth closed. Tears welled in his eyes but he bit his tongue to steady his control.

Silence was the only acceptable response.

One day he would lead the brothers, and he wanted them to say that he’d accepted his initiation with courage.

Tang thought back to that day thirty-six years ago. He’d lain still while the wound had been wrapped in wet paper, layer upon layer, until the bleeding stopped. He’d fought the shock that swept through his nerves, keeping a loose hold on reality. The three days that followed tested him further with agony from thirst and the inability to urinate. He recalled hoping that liquid would flow on the fourth day.

And it had.

He stood in the quiet trailer, remembering, readying himself to leave the drill site. He seldom thought of that day anymore, but tonight was special.

His satellite phone rang.

He found the unit and noted the number displayed. Overseas. A Belgian country code. He knew the number well.

Pau Wen’s residence.

“I did exactly as you instructed,” he said as he answered. “I ordered the strike on Ni Yong, while he was there at your residence.”

“And I thwarted that strike, just as planned. Minister Ni was most grateful and now believes me to be his ally.”

“Where is Ni?”

“He will shortly be on his way back to China. With the lamp.”

“The lamp was to be mine.”

“It matters not anymore,” Pau said. “The oil is gone. Burned away.”

“You assured me the lamp would be safeguarded.” His voice had risen. “You told me that it would be turned over to me, intact, once Ni left Belgium.”

“And you were not to disturb Cassiopeia Vitt,” Pau said. “She was to bring the lamp to you.”

“She couldn’t be trusted.”

“So you stole her away and hoped to win your prize by force?”

“I did what I thought best.”

“And you were only to attack Ni Yong,” Pau calmly said. “Not kill me.”

He steadied himself.

“We killed three of the men you sent,” Pau said. “And captured the fourth. I questioned him. He was most uncooperative, but finally told me that he and the others were ordered to kill Minister Ni and myself. No one was to be left alive at my residence. He said your orders on that were clear. Of course, he was not a brother. Only paid to do a job, which he failed to do.”

The moment had come.

“You are the one no longer needed,” he told Pau.

“From that comment, I assume you have taken charge of the brotherhood? The Ba now answers to you?”

“As they have for the past decade. I am the only master they know.”

“But I am Hegemon. Their duly elected leader.”

“Who abandoned us, and this country, years ago. We no longer require your involvement.”

“So you ordered my death?”

“Why not? It seemed the right course.”

“I conceived this endeavor. From the beginning. You were but a young initiate, fresh to the Ba.”

“Is that when you found the Confucian texts at the terra-cotta warrior site?”

“What do you know of that?”

“The repository was rediscovered a few days ago. Your watch was found inside.”

“So I did lose it there,” Pau said. “I long suspected. But of course I intended on returning and examining that chamber further. Unfortunately, I never had the opportunity.”

“Why did you remove only the Confucian texts?”

“To preserve them. If Mao’s research fellows and archaeologists had discovered them, they would never have survived. Mao despised Confucius.”

“The library is gone. Burned.”

“You are no better than they were.”

He resented the insolent tone. “I am not a young initiate any longer. I am first vice premier of the People’s Republic of China. Poised to be the next premier and president.”

“All because of me.”

He chuckled. “Hardly. You have been gone for a long time. We have implemented your plan without your