says the Russians have known of infinite oil for a long time.”
“It’s not that easy for them. How many samples of two-thousand-year-old oil exist on the planet? Samples verifiable, comparable with modern-day samples extracted from same field?” Sokolov paused, his gaze to the floor. “Only one place on the planet has that. Here, in China. No one else was capable of drilling for oil that long ago. Only the Chinese. The proof is here. Nowhere else.” The voice stayed low, as if Sokolov was actually sorry he’d made the discovery.
“Your son will be okay.”
“How you know that?”
“You’re too valuable. Tang knows the boy is his only real bargaining power with you.”
“At least until he learns what I know.”
“Did you tell him?’
“Some. But not all.”
He remembered the disgust the Russian voiced on the plane and felt compelled to say, “We are not all like Karl Tang.”
Sokolov glanced up for the first time. “No. But you are all Chinese. That’s bad enough.”
TANG WALKED DOWN BATANG’S ONLY STREET, NOTICING THAT it remained a place of drab buildings and shadeless alleys, all swept by dust. Wooden carts dotted the edges, along with a couple of trucks parked at odd angles. Two prayer wheels creaked with each revolution and rang bells. A huge mastiff rocketed from one of the alleys and flipped on his back when he found the end of a rope tied to his collar. The dog stood and pounced again, seemingly determined to either stretch or break the restraint.
Tang faced the barking animal.
A gong hung suspended by beams and leather straps a few meters away. Soon it would announce the start of another day.
A small hotel, half ruined, with doors ajar and walls iced with grit and grim beckoned. That, too, had changed little.
The dog continued to bark.
“Wake the owner,” he ordered Viktor.
He knew that venturing into the mountains without sunlight was foolish. The trails were fragile and subject to rockslides. Increasing daylight, and a diminishing haze, were already bringing the distant peaks into focus.
It would not be long.
NI WAS NOT AFRAID ANYMORE. THE INSIDE OF QIN SHI’S TOMB, underground, in a locale no one knew even existed, had offered Tang the perfect venue to kill him. But doing it here, with all of these witnesses, seemed out of the question. Not even the first vice premier could keep that secret. Instead, he realized they would be taken somewhere private, and the sound of rotors approaching signaled that his conclusion seemed correct.
Sokolov reacted to the sound, too.
“We are going to where your son is,” he said.
“How do you know that?”
“Tang needs us both alive. Me for just a short while. You, much longer. So he will reunite you and the boy, as a way to placate.”
“You are not afraid?”
“I’m more afraid of failing.”
Sokolov seemed to understand. “What about Malone and Vitt?”
“I’m afraid their situation is much worse.”
SEVENTY
MALONE LISTENED AS THE HELICOPTER ROTORS REVVED, THEN faded. The aircraft had stayed for only a few minutes, long enough, he assumed, to board Ni and Sokolov.
“Our turn,” he said to Cassiopeia.
They both still sat on the floor.
“But we aren’t going to be flown away,” she said.
“We might. We’ll just land a little differently.”
They were foreigners, here illegally, spies that no one would claim or care about. One of those occupational hazards of his former job.
He didn’t have to say it. She knew. They would take their chances at the first opportunity. Since they literally had nothing to lose.
The scrape of metal indicated that the steel door was being unlocked. Cassiopeia started to rise, but he placed a hand on her knee and shook his head. She stayed on the floor.
The door swung open and the police commander from earlier entered, carrying a pistol. He didn’t look happy.
“Tough night?” Malone asked.
He wondered if the man understood. But this was not Beijing or eastern China where English was common. This was the middle of frigging nowhere. The man motioned for them to stand and leave. Outside the doorway, two more men waited with automatic rifles.
Malone studied them. Both young, unsure, and jittery. How many times had they been in this situation before? Not many, he guessed.
The commander motioned again.
He noticed that the steel door, which opened to the outside, contained no knob-operated latch, just a handle and a lock that engaged, once closed, in a steel catch, which required a key to release.
“I don’t think these people understand English,” he muttered to Cassiopeia.
The head man was impatient with their chatter but did not seem to know what they were saying. Malone smiled and said in a calm voice, never breaking his smile, “You smell like a pig.”
The commander stared back with no reaction to the insult, offering only another gesture with the gun for them to leave.
He turned and said to her, “He knows no English. Ladies first. Be ready to move.”
She stepped through the doorway.
He watched as the chief dropped back to give him room to leave, exactly what he thought the man might do. That way he could counter if they tried anything funny, the distance between them adding protection.
Except for one thing.
As Malone exited, he swung his right foot up and slammed the door shut, trapping the policeman inside. At the same time, his left elbow burrowed into the man nearest him, sending the guard careening back.
Cassiopeia pounced, attacking the man closest to her with a kick to his chest.
Both guards had been caught unawares.
Malone lunged forward and planted a fist into his man’s face. The guard tried to retaliate while also keeping a grip on the rifle—bad idea—and Malone gave him no time to think. Three more right jabs and the man went down. He relieved him of the weapon, along with a pistol from a waist holster.
He turned to see Cassiopeia having a little difficulty:
“Hurry up,” he said.
Two thrusts of the other man’s fists missed as she dodged. The guard had already lost his weapon, which lay on the floor. Cassiopeia lashed out, but the blow just grazed her opponent’s throat. She then spun and jumped, her right leg swinging in an arc that landed with full force in his chest. Another leg jab smashed him into the wall, and she finished with two thrusts to the throat, which sent the guard slinking to the floor.
“Took you long enough,” he said.
“You could have helped.”
“As if you needed it.”
She stole the man’s pistol from his holster and retrieved the rifle. The chief was no threat, locked away inside
