north.”
“Where?”
“Xi’an,” Pau said. “To the tomb of Qin Shi.”
NI STRAINED TO HEAR THE PREMIER’S SOFT VOICE THROUGH the phone.
“The time just before and after Mao died was chaotic. Politics shifted back and forth between Maoism and something utterly different. What that new direction was to be, no one knew. Mao himself tried to balance these conflicting views, but he was too old and weak to keep them in check.”
Though young, Ni remembered the early 1970s, and knew that the Gang of Four, radical Maoists led by Mao’s wife, had favored tactics such as class struggle, anti-intellectualism, egalitarianism, and xenophobia. Their opposition advocated economic growth, stability, education, and pragmatism.
“The balance tipped back and forth in the two years before Mao died. There were internal struggles, private battles, public purges, even some deaths. Eventually, Deng Xiaoping claimed power. But the struggle to arrive at that point was long and bitter. The scars ran deep. Pau Wen and I were there during every battle.”
“On whose side?”
“That matters not. But the mistakes made then still haunt us. This is why the battle for control, between you and Tang, cannot be a public spectacle. I will not allow the same mistake to be made again.”
The premier sounded like a Confucian.
“Deng Xiaoping was, in many ways, worse than Mao,” the premier said. “To him, any reform was acceptable so long as it did not call the Party, the government, or Marxism into question. Improve the standard of living, regardless of the method—that was his philosophy, and look what happened. He allowed us to destroy our country.”
He could not argue with that conclusion. The scars from unregulated and unrestrained development loomed everywhere. Nowhere had the nation been spared.
“We seem doomed,” the premier said. “Once we were an isolated land, then the Portuguese came. Two hundred years later we were overrun with our own corruption. Western troops and gunboats controlled our ports, as we were but a colony of the Western powers. That atmosphere of defeat was perfect for the rise of a Mao, someone who told the people exactly what they wanted to hear. But communism has proved far worse than anything that came before. Mao isolated us again. Deng tried to change that, but went too fast, too far. We were not ready. That’s when Pau Wen decided to act. He saw an opportunity and dispatched every brother of the
“And he has others, not of the
“Many others. His arguments are persuasive, as were those of Mao and Deng. Many on the Central Committee, and in the National Assembly, will gladly support Tang in his Legalism.”
His own advisers had warned of the same probability.
“History is a maiden, and you can dress her however you wish,” the premier said. “Within ten years of Mao’s death our government had been completely transformed, reorganized, thousands of new officials appointed, the past utterly eradicated. Pau Wen learned from that chaos. With careful skill, for the past three decades, he has directed the brothers of the
Ni recalled the recorded phone conversation and told the premier, then said, “Clearly, Tang and Pau have parted ways.”
“Careful, Minister. Eunuchs cannot be trusted.”
His nerves were frayed to the breaking point. He waited for the premier to offer more, but there was only silence. Finally, the old man said, “Minister, I’ve just been told that a helicopter left Lake Dian with four people aboard. Three of them, Pau Wen included, swam from the lake.”
“Intercept it.”
“What would we learn from that?”
He knew the answer. Nothing.
“Thankfully,” the premier said, “I believe I know where that helicopter is going.”
He listened.
“Xi’an. You should head there immediately. But first, there is something else you must be told. Something not even Pau Wen knows to exist.”
TANG WAITED AT THE AIRFIELD OUTSIDE LANZHOU. THE TERMINAL, a gray cement cubicle, with red velvet curtains adorning tall windows, cast the charm of an abandoned building. He could not leave until he knew exactly what had happened on Lake Dian. If everything went according to plan, Viktor Tomas would have all three passengers on board his helicopter. If that were so, Viktor would not make an oral report. Instead a code had been devised whereby a message could be sent without arousing suspicion.
He had placed much trust in this foreigner, but so far Viktor had performed admirably. He’d listened yesterday as past exploits with Cotton Malone and Cassiopeia Vitt had been explained, appreciating how that insight could be used to their advantage. He’d agreed with Viktor’s assessment that to re-ingratiate himself with Malone and Vitt, to know precisely what the Russians and the Americans were after, something telling would have to occur.
Which was why he’d approved the downing of the fighter.
Now he could learn exactly what his enemies intended.
Once he assumed the premiership, in total command of the Party and the nation, enjoying the absolute backing of the Central Committee and the military, he would never be in doubt.
Until that happened, he was vulnerable.
So anything that minimized his risks was appreciated.
His phone alerted him to an incoming text message from his staff. He studied the screen. WEATHER ACCESSED FOR LINTONG COUNTY.
By monitoring the helicopter’s data stream, it was possible to know what digital information was both sent and received from the onboard electronics. Viktor had said that if he failed to radio in, but instead requested weather conditions for a particular locale, then that was where they were headed.
Lintong lay in Shaanxi province, just east of Xi’an.
Where the tomb of Qin Shi and the terra-cotta army rested.
He answered the text to his staff with a concise order.
MAKE SURE THEIR PATH IS CLEAR. NO INTERFERENCE.
FIFTY
1:00 PM
MALONE SAT IN THE HELICOPTER’S PASSENGER COMPARTMENT with Cassiopeia and Pau Wen, while Viktor flew alone in the cockpit. His clothes were wet from his dip in Lake Dian, but they were drying. They were flying northeast, a thousand kilometers across the heart of China, toward Shaanxi province and Xi’an. He remained skeptical as hell about trusting Viktor, so he motioned at Cassiopeia and Pau to remove their headsets.
He nestled close to them and said, “I want to have a talk without him listening.” He kept his voice just below the din of the rotors.
“We’re making progress, Cotton,” Cassiopeia said, and he caught her irritation.
“I realize your goal is to find Sokolov’s boy. But does either of you think all this is happening with no one knowing?”
“It clearly is not,” Pau said. “But we are getting where we need to go. Once there, we can change the situation.”
“And fighting with Viktor,” Cassiopeia said, “is not going to make things easier.”
“You’ve got a soft spot for him, don’t you?”