“The fate of China, as has happened many times through the centuries. That’s what has made our culture so special. It is what set us apart from all others. No emperor ever ruled solely because of his bloodline. Instead it was the emperor’s responsibility to set a moral example for both his government and his people. If he grew corrupt, or incompetent, rebellion has always been regarded as a legitimate recourse. Any peasant who could gather an army could found a new dynasty. And that happened many times. If prosperity came from his rule, then he was deemed to have gained the ‘mandate of Heaven.’ His male heirs were expected to succeed him, but they, too, could be overthrown if judged unfit. The mandate of Heaven not only must be maintained, but must be earned.”
“And the Communist Party earned theirs’?”
“Hardly. They manufactured it. But that illusion has become all too obvious. They forgot both their Legalist roots and Confucian morals. The people long ago judged them unfit to rule.”
“And you now have raised the army to overthrow them?”
“Not me, Minister.”
Out the window he heard a helicopter approaching.
“That is Tang,” Pau said. “Finally, he arrives.”
MALONE SAT PROPPED AGAINST THE RANGE ROVER’S TIRE, RUBBING his back. He recalled clearly what had happened last year in Central Asia, when he and Viktor had first squared off, and what Stephanie had said.
Apparently, Viktor had taken the offer to heart.
He resented what Stephanie had not told him, but liked the fact that Ivan certainly didn’t know Viktor was working every side.
Served the smug SOB right.
The street had returned to normal, the locals resuming their routines.
“That hurt,” he muttered. “How long has he been gone?”
Cassiopeia knelt beside him. “Nearly an hour.”
Malone’s head had cleared from the dizziness, and though his spine was sore he was otherwise okay.
He stood in a half crouch.
“He said to wait an hour before we followed.”
He glared at her. “He say anything else?”
“He was sorry for the cheap shot.”
He glared at her.
“And for us to trust him.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I think he’s trying to help.”
“Cassiopeia, I don’t know what the man is trying to do. We know the Russians want Sokolov back, but you have to realize that, if necessary, they’ll kill him to keep him from the Chinese, or the Americans.”
“If Stephanie is yanking Viktor’s chain, she wouldn’t want Sokolov dead.”
“Don’t sell her short. She wants him alive, but she doesn’t want the Chinese to have him, either.”
“You realize that Stephanie probably knew I was being tortured,” she said. “Viktor was hers.”
“No, she didn’t. She told me she only knew Viktor nabbed you after he made contact with me. I told her about the torture.”
He saw the frustration in her eyes. He felt it, too.
She told him about the Pakistanis whom Tang had involved, waiting for them in the highlands.
He forced himself to his feet. “I’ll take my chances.” He glanced around. “We need to find the route up.”
“Not a problem.”
“Let me guess. Viktor told you that, too.”
SEVENTY-FOUR
TANG ENTERED THE MAIN COURTYARD. EVERGREENS PLANTED during the Ming dynasty rose from breaks in the pavement. Colossal gates, which to him had always seemed to require giants to move, hung open, their doors carved with neolithic images that spoke of adventure and ruggedness. The flagstones beneath his feet had been laid centuries before, many engraved with poems, which gave the glazed structure at the courtyard’s center its name —
Above each of the multistoried buildings enclosing the space, an upturned eave reached out. At the corners, slender wooden pillars polished with layers of red paint and lacquer shone like glass. For centuries brothers had resided here, divided by a hierarchy defined by age and status. A place once innocent of electricity, far more suitable for birds than people, it had been transformed by the
The helicopter was gone.
Only his footsteps, the trickle of the water, and a metallic din of chimes disturbed the serenity.
Two brothers waited at the end of the courtyard, up a terraced stairway, each dressed in a wool gown with a red waistband. Their hair was shaved short in front but plaited in back. Olive-black eyes barely blinked. He strode straight toward a veranda supported by more pillars painted blood red and decorated in silver and gold. He climbed three-quarters of the way up, stopping at the base of the third terrace. Behind the brothers opened double doors, flanked on either side by two massive elephant tusks.
Pau Wen stepped from the portal.
Finally, they were face-to-face. After so many years.
Pau descended the steps.
Tang waited, then bowed. “Everything went according to your plan.”
“You have done well. The end is now in sight.”
He enjoyed the feeling of pride. He handed Pau the watch from the imperial library chamber. “I thought you would like this back.”
Pau accepted the gift with a bow. “My thanks.”
“Where is Ni Yong?”
“Waiting. Inside.”
“Then let us finish this and begin a new day for China.”
“IT’S AWFUL QUIET UP HERE,” MALONE SAID.
Their trek, so far, had been uneventful.
An ocean of jagged, snowy summits engulfed them. What had he once read? A land of black wolves and blue poppies—ibex and snow leopards.
No sign of Viktor yet, or of soldiers.
Little sound besides the scuffle of their feet on the rocky trail.
In the distance rose hardscrabble hills, washed with green and streaked in red. Herds of livestock and nomad tents flying yellow flags dotted the slopes. Down in one of the gorges he spied the decaying carcass of a donkey that had slipped to its death.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, ahead and above them.
He kept walking, as if unaware, and whispered to her, “Did you—”
“I saw it,” she muttered.
Four men.
The trail ahead led into a stretch of poplars. Cassiopeia led the way.
“Get ready to move,” he breathed, his hand reaching for the gun beneath his jacket.
He heard the crack of a weapon, then a bullet zipped by.
TANG ENTERED THE ROOM AND STARED AT NI YONG. PAU WEN had already removed Sokolov and the boy. Hopefully, a father-and-son reunion would calm the Russian and ensure his cooperation.
