The Emperor's Tomb

Which explained why Karl Tang had been so interested in Zhao’s execution. Ni told Malone and Vitt about Zhao’s charges, trial, and death sentence, which Tang had personally overseen.

“He was good man,” Sokolov said. “Slaughtered by you people.”

“Not by me,” Ni made clear.

“Your whole country rotten. Nothing about it good.”

“If you feel that way, why immigrate?” Malone asked.

“I love my wife.”

Ni wondered how many people the Chinese Communist Party had similarly alienated. Millions? No. Hundreds of millions. Not counting the tens of millions who had been butchered for no reason other than to sustain power. The past few days had opened his eyes, and he did not like what he was seeing.

“China’s view of the world,” Ni said, “has always been clouded by a belief of superiority. Unfortunately, our vulnerabilities are exaggerated by this conceit. Taiwan is an example. A small, insignificant island yet it has dominated our thoughts for decades. Our leaders have proclaimed that it must be reincorporated into China. Wars have been threatened, international tensions heightened—”

“And oil is your weakest point of all,” Malone said. “China couldn’t survive more than two weeks without foreign oil.”

Ni nodded. “That is no secret. When Deng Xiaoping modernized us we became utterly dependent on oil, most of it foreign, which is why China was forced to engage the world. In order to produce the goods for sale, to accommodate a billion and a half people, we must have energy.”

“Unless the oil coming out of the ground, inside China, is infinite,” Cassiopeia said.

“China oil is abiotic,” Sokolov said. “I test every well. It is consistent with theory.”

Ni shook his head. “Knowing we are no longer dependent on imported energy would dramatically change our foreign and domestic policies.”

Malone nodded. “And not for the good.”

“Right now, we bargain for oil. Knowing he did not have to bargain, Tang would move to fulfill territorial dreams that China has harbored for centuries.”

“Like Taiwan,” Malone said.

Ni nodded. “Which could start a world war. America would not allow that to go unanswered.”

“Is my son really where we go?” Sokolov asked.

Cassiopeia nodded. “We think so.”

“But we’re taking the word of an e-mail from Pau Wen, a pathological liar,” Malone said.

Ni felt compelled to say to Sokolov, “We will find your son. Know that I will do all I can to locate him.”

“And will you kill Karl Tang?” Sokolov asked.

A question he’d asked himself repeatedly, ever since fleeing Qin Shi’s tomb. Tang clearly wanted him dead. That was why he’d been lured underground.

“You need to know,” Cassiopeia said to Sokolov, “the Russians are involved.”

Alarm filled the man’s tired eyes.

She explained how they’d entered China with Russian help.

“They thought me dead,” Sokolov said.

“Not necessarily,” Malone said. “They want me back?”

Sokolov seemed to grasp the implications. So did Cassiopeia Vitt.

“Viktor’s here to kill him, isn’t he?” she asked Malone.

“Like I said. Having him back is good, but a lid on this is better.”

SIXTY-SIX

TANG SAT SILENT DURING THE FLIGHT, THE HELICOPTER BUFFETING across what he knew to be ever- thinning air into the western highlands. They were most likely following the Karakoram Highway, which connected Kashgar with Pakistan through a mountain pass nearly five thousand meters above sea level. This had once been the route used by caravans traveling the Silk Road, patrolled only by bandits who took advantage of the impossible terrain to slaughter and plunder. Now it was a forgotten corner of the republic, claimed by many, controlled by none.

He’d left the headphones on as a way not only to buffet the rotor’s drone, but also to avoid talking to Viktor Tomas. Luckily, the man had closed his eyes and dozed off, his headset removed.

For a decade he’d intentionally avoided the Hall for the Preservation of Harmony. Only a few brothers still lived there, mainly to perpetuate the illusion of a mountain monastery, a home to holy men who wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

He told himself to be cautious.

Everything was happening for a reason.

“Minister,” the pilot said in his headphones.

The word jarred him from his thoughts. “What is it?”

“A call from your office.”

He heard a click, then, “Minister, we are fairly confident of Ni Yong’s destination. Yecheng.”

Also known as Kargilik. He’d visited once, admiring for the staterun television cameras its 15th-century mosque and adobe-walled backstreets.

“There is a small airport south of town,” his chief aide said. “The turboprop that Minister Ni commandeered can land there. It is the only available location on their route.”

“Listen to me carefully. This must be done. I will hold you personally responsible if it fails.”

Silence confirmed that his chief aide understood the gravity.

“Locate the municipal police commander in Yecheng. Wake him from his sleep. Tell him I want the occupants of that plane detained. One of them, a Russian, Lev Sokolov, along with Minister Ni, are to be isolated from the others and held until I send for him. Forward by computer or fax a photo of Sokolov so his identity will not be a question. Minister Ni, I assume, he will recognize.”

“It will be done.”

“One other item. I do not want Sokolov or Ni harmed. If they are, tell that policeman that he will pay a heavy price.”

“And the other two?”

“I harbor no protective feelings for them. In fact, if they were to disappear that local commander might find himself rewarded.”

MALONE SNAPPED HIS SEAT BELT INTO PLACE AS ROUGH AIR jostled the plane’s descent.

“We’re going to avoid Kashgar,” Ni said. “I’ve been told that both Tang and the premier flew there. This plane can land much closer to our destination. There is a small airport, about an hour’s drive away from our destination, in Yecheng.”

Ni held a map of the region and explained how Afghanistan, Pakistan, and India, three volatile neighbors, had long claimed the mountains and valleys as their own. The Himalaya, Karakoum, Hindu Kush, and Pamir ranges all merged here, summits noted as high as twenty thousand feet. And though monasteries were common farther east into Tibet, they were relatively rare this far west.

“There is only one locale in the vicinity of what was noted on the silk maps,” Ni said to them. “It’s ancient, in the mountains, inhabited by reclusive monks. I’m told that it is a quiet place, and there have never been any reports of unusual activity.”

“Why would there be?” Malone asked. “The last thing the Ba would want is to attract attention.”

“Getting there could be a challenge. We will have to consult the locals.”

“We’ll need weapons,” Cassiopeia said.

“I brought your guns and spare ammunition.”

“Lot of trust,” Malone said.

Ni seemed to catch the underlying message. “I placed a call before we left Xi’an, to a friend at the American