The Emperor's Tomb

alter anything I went to so much trouble to save.”

“Why did I never know this?”

“Because it was not necessary to tell you.”

“I’m on the way,” he declared.

“Then we shall speak again. There.”

The connection ended, and he closed the phone.

“I assume we’re both going?” Viktor asked.

The call had been troublesome on many layers, one of which told him that he still needed this foreigner.

At least for a while.

“That is correct.”

NI STUDIED THE TWO STRANGERS. THEIR PASSPORTS IDENTIFIED them as Cotton Malone and Cassiopeia Vitt, which his staff had verified to be true. Spies didn’t normally carry correct identification. They’d also been armed with two PLA sidearms, most likely secured from the helicopter that had flown them north from Lake Dian. A quick Internet vet had revealed Cassiopeia Vitt to be a wealthy woman, living in southern France, her father a self-made billionaire who left everything to his only child. Her name appeared in numerous news accounts from around the globe, most dealing with archaeological finds or some sort of threatened historical object that she’d either liberated or renovated.

Cotton Malone was a different story. A lawyer, navy commander, and former American agent working with the U.S. Justice Department. He’d retired two years ago and now owned a bookshop in Copenhagen, Denmark.

A cover?

Perhaps, but it seemed a bit obvious.

“I want to know about the pilot who flew you from Yunnan province,” he said in English.

“That’s easy,” Malone said. “His name is Viktor Tomas and he’s a pain in the ass. If you could arrest him that would be great.”

“I’d love to do just that. He killed one of our pilots.”

“Who was trying to kill us,” Cassiopeia said.

Ni glared at her. “He was an officer in the PLA, following orders. He had no idea who you were.”

“Viktor’s around here somewhere,” Malone said. “He works for Karl Tang.”

He sensed animosity. “You don’t care for this man.”

“He’s not on my Christmas card list.”

“Why are you two here?” he asked.

“Sightseeing,” Malone said. “It’s a new tour being offered by the PLA. You get a ride in one of your choppers, attacked by a fighter, they throw in a sneak peek inside an ancient tomb.”

Ni smiled at the humor. These two were no threat. At least not to him. “You were in the tomb, firing at Tang and his men?”

Malone eyed him. “Judging from your wet clothes and the grime that we all have all over us, you were there, too. ‘Hey, assholes.’ Remember that?”

“You gave me time to escape.”

“That was the whole idea,” Vitt made clear. “Though we didn’t know who we were helping.”

He decided to risk it. “This Viktor Tomas helped me escape.”

Malone seemed surprised. “Lucky you. Seems you’re on his Christmas card list.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“All depends on what side of the fence he’s on today.”

“Where is Pau Wen?” he asked.

“He’s gone,” Vitt said. “He disappeared in a tunnel on the way into the tomb. We have no idea where.”

“You, of course,” Malone said, “already knew that. He’s left here, hasn’t he?”

Ni noted that Malone possessed good instincts. But from a former agent, he would expect no less. “He drove away two hours ago.”

“Seems you have a multitude of problems,” Malone said.

“As do you.”

The door opened.

“Minister, we need a word,” one of his men said in Mandarin.

He wondered if Malone or Vitt understood.

Neither of them indicated one way or the other.

“I will return in a moment.”

MALONE KNEW IT WAS COMING.

“There was no need to sell out Viktor,” Cassiopeia said as the door closed.

“He was already sold out.”

“You heard Ni. Viktor saved him.”

“Which means the Russians want Ni to beat Tang for control of this corruptible place. No surprise there.” He still did not mention Viktor’s two other objectives—killing Tang and retrieving, or silencing if necessary, Sokolov.

“You finished sorting through that brain of yours?” she asked.

He ignored her and stood.

“What are you going to do?”

“Play a hunch.”

He opened the door.

Two men reacted to his presence with hands that reached for holstered weapons. Ni Yong was speaking with the man who’d interrupted. He barked a command that Malone did not understand, but the men stood down.

“What is it?” Ni asked in English.

“I think I can help you.”

SIXTY-THREE

TANG SETTLED INTO THE HELICOPTER AS IT LIFTED INTO THE evening sky. Viktor sat across from him.

The Hall for the Preservation of Harmony.

He’d not visited there in a long while.

“Brothers, this will be the last time we speak face-to-face,” Pau Wen said.

Tang stood with a select group of fifty. Through open window frames he caught the scent of mountain air. A silk robe that he and the others wore provided little warmth from the afternoon chill, but he was not cold.

“We have planned well,” Pau said to them.

The long hall was fronted by an elaborate lattice screen that shielded hundreds of pigeonholed shelves containing the ancient words. Each manuscript was nearly a meter long, comprising loose sheets of centuries-old silk and linen, wrapped in cloth and compressed between two carved boards. He’d personally repaired several of them as part of his training. Silver lamps dotted the walls, but there was no need for their light as a bright sun flooded through the upper two galleries. Outside, the moan of a conch shell, blown by another brother, indicated that three PM had arrived.

“Of all our number, you are the ones I believe have the best chance of ascending to positions of power and influence. One of you may even become premier, which will make our goal that much easier to achieve. I have ensured that all of you have an adequate start. Each of you is ready. So go forth. Tou liang huan zhu.”

Replace the beams and pillars with rotten timber.