The Emperor's Tomb

Liang obeyed.

The driver seemed to not want a fight and complied, standing from the door, hands above his head.

MALONE COMPLETED THE ARC AND STRAIGHTENED THE PLANE’S nose, once again facing the two vehicles. He was pleased to see one of the policemen on the ground with Ni’s gun to his neck and the other with his hands in the air, Cassiopeia rising to her feet. Apparently, his diversion had worked.

But an unease swept through him.

What about the van?

There had to be at least a driver inside, yet no reaction had been offered to the unfolding drama.

The van’s rear doors swung open.

Four men leaped out, each carrying an assault rifle. They assumed positions on the ground, knees bent, guns aimed—two at the plane, one each at Ni and Cassiopeia.

“That’s a problem,” he muttered.

He’d taken a risk, gambling the locals could be either overwhelmed or outsmarted. Apparently, he’d underestimated them.

The propellers still spun and he could charge again, but that would be foolish.

They would simply obliterate the plane with bullets.

NI KEPT HIS GUN PRESSED AS THE REINFORCEMENTS ASSUMED A firing position.

“Let me up,” Liang ordered, seeing that the situation had changed.

But Ni kept the weapon close.

“You cannot win this battle,” Liang said.

No, he couldn’t.

Unsure of how far Tang’s orders stretched, and recalling what had happened in the tomb and the threats after, he withdrew his weapon and stood.

The plane’s engines died.

Apparently Malone had realized the same thing.

They’d lost.

SIXTY-NINE

TANG LEFT THE HELICOPTER, HOPPING OUT INTO A DARK, GRASSY meadow adjacent to the town of Batang. He knew what surrounded him. Storied peaks, glittering glaciers, forests, and silty rivers fed by cascades that dropped hundreds of meters in perfect watery veils. He’d visited the hamlet many times as a young man, making the trek down from the highlands to retrieve rice, meat, chilies, cabbage, and potatoes—whatever the brotherhood required.

Dawn was not far away, but daylight came slowly in the highlands. He sucked in the crystalline air and rediscovered the strength he’d once acquired in this solitary land. This was a place without moderation—black nights, brilliant days—the air perilously thin, the sun hot, the shadows stabbing the earth like black ice.

A hundred meters away Batang slept. Maybe three thousand lived there, and not much had changed. Whitewashed buildings adorned with red ocher and flat roofs. A market town, busy with pilgrims, sheep, yaks, and traders. One of many that dotted the sporadic green carpets among the gray peaks, scattered like dice on the landscape. Cultural connections here ran far more to the south and west than east. Truly a world unto itself, which was why the Ba had long ago chosen this as its home.

He started to walk across the packed earth, Viktor at his side.

The helicopter lifted off into a salmon-colored sky. Rotors faded and the meadow lapsed into a deep silence.

Yecheng was a mere thirty-minute flight north.

Hopefully, there’d been success there and the chopper would return with Ni Yong and Lev Sokolov. He was dressed in his same filthy clothes. On the flight he’d forced himself to eat a few of the onboard rations. He was prepared. Ready for this day. One he’d been anticipating for two decades.

“What is going to happen?” Viktor asked.

“It doesn’t concern you.”

Viktor stopped. “Doesn’t concern me? I killed a pilot for you. I delivered Malone, Vitt, and Ni Yong for you. I played out your game, exactly as you ordered. And this doesn’t concern me?”

He, too, stopped, but did not turn around. Instead, he allowed his gaze to focus on the distant mountains, west, beyond Batang, and what he knew waited there. “Do not try my patience.”

He did not need to face Viktor to know that a gun was trained on him. He’d allowed him to keep the weapon.

“You plan to shoot me?” he calmly asked.

“Could solve many problems, not the least of which is your ingratitude.”

He kept his back to Viktor. “Is that what the Russians want you to do? Kill me? Would that please them?”

“You pay better.”

“As you keep telling me.” He decided to use diplomacy, at least until all of the threats were eliminated. “Know that I do need your assistance. I ask simply for patience. All will be clear in the coming hours.”

“I should have gone to Yecheng.”

Viktor had asked and he’d said no. “You were not needed there.”

“Why am I here?”

“Because what I seek is here.”

And he started walking.

MALONE SAT WITH CASSIOPEIA ON A FILTHY BRICK FLOOR. THEY were kept separately from Ni and Sokolov, all of them held at the landing field, inside the tiny terminal, locked in some sort of steel-walled storage room lit by a dusty yellow bulb.

“None of that went right,” Cassiopeia said.

He shrugged. “Best I could do on short notice.”

The fetid air carried the scent of a dumpster. He wondered what had been kept inside here recently.

“I doubt Sokolov is in danger,” Malone said. “At least not for now. Tang went to a lot of trouble to get him back. Ni, though, is another matter. I think whatever is going to happen to him will not be good.”

Cassiopeia sat with her arms wrapping bended knees. She looked tired. He definitely was, though they’d both slept some on the flight. They’d been sitting here for more than an hour without a sound from outside.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“Play for a fumble.”

She smiled. “You always so optimistic?”

“Beats the hell out of the alternative.”

“You and I have some issues.”

That he knew. “Later. Okay?”

She nodded. “I agree. Later.”

But what went unspoken hung clear. So long as there is a later.

A new sound invaded their silence.

Helicopter rotors.

NI SAT IN THE LIT ROOM. ITS ONLY WINDOW WAS GUARDED ON the outside by one of the men with automatic rifles. Another surely stood on the other side of the closed door. He wondered what had happened to Malone and Vitt. Clearly, Tang wanted both him and Sokolov alive. Defeat clouded Sokolov’s face, but not the panic he’d expected.

“Why hasn’t anyone else ever considered what you discovered?” he asked the Russian in Mandarin. “Malone