MALONE HEARD A SHOUT.
As did Sokolov, who cradled the boy in his arms, keeping his face buried in his shoulder, holding tight.
“That sounded like Ni,” he whispered.
“Something about showing themselves or their master will die,” Sokolov interpreted.
He allowed a soft exhale to escape his lips while he considered his options. He spotted an open doorway a few feet away. He grasped Sokolov’s arm and led him into the building. Another long corridor lined with doors spread out before them. He crept to one of the doors and slowly released its latch. Inside was a small windowless chamber, perhaps eight feet square, filled with oversized pottery, perhaps for the courtyard.
The Russian nodded, seemingly saying,
“I’ll be back, hide behind some of this stuff.”
“Where’s Cassiopeia?”
He couldn’t tell him what happened. Not now. “Just stay quiet. You’ll be fine.”
He closed the door, fled the building, and headed straight for the open doorway at the far end of the courtyard, where voices could still be heard.
TANG WAS ENJOYING THE MOMENT.
Ni Yong was trapped.
Only nine brothers manned the monastery. Two were here, one more watched over Lev Sokolov. The remaining six were scattered throughout the complex, awaiting his command.
MALONE ENTERED.
Beyond the open portal, he found a vestibule, and then an assembly hall, majestic in dignity, topped by a roof of more gleaming yellow tiles. The glow from six braziers, arranged three to a side, splashed the colorful walls with a fiery brilliance. Displays of armor and weaponry lined the perimeter. At the opposite end he saw five men.
Pau, Tang, Ni, and two others.
Ni held a sword to Pau’s throat.
They stood before shelving of diagonal bins, stuffed with rolled manuscripts. Thousands of them, rising fifty feet. He kept to the shadows, confident that nothing had betrayed his presence. He noticed that lesser rooms and pavilions formed a closed perimeter around the ground floor, screening out the world. Light streamed in from the upper colonnades, which apparently were lined with windows.
Outside, a gong rang again.
He used the armor and weaponry for cover. His gaze raked the upper two stories of galleries. He thought he caught movement, but wasn’t sure.
He had to help Ni.
One of the braziers burned a few feet away, just outside the gallery where he was hiding. He advanced and shielded his body with the huge copper vessel, its heat intense, glancing left and behind to see if any danger existed.
Nothing.
“Minister Ni,” he called out. “It’s Cotton Malone. I have you covered with a gun.”
NI COULD NOT BELIEVE HIS GOOD FORTUNE AND CALLED OUT, “It is good to hear your voice.”
He saw Malone emerge from behind one of the braziers, gun pointed his way.
“Now I can slit your throat and be done with it,” he whispered in Pau’s ear. “Your lies are over.”
“Have you found the courage to take a life?”
“Yours would not be a problem for me.”
“Choose wisely, Minister. Much is at stake.”
The blade rested tight to the skin, an easy matter with one swipe to sever the old man’s throat. He stared at Karl Tang, wishing it was him, not Pau, who faced the sword.
That decision would be an easy one.
And he noticed something in Tang’s eyes.
“He wants you to do it,” Pau whispered.
SEVENTY-NINE
CASSIOPEIA AND VIKTOR ENTERED THE MONASTERY AND FOUND a central courtyard. Everything was quiet except for voices rising from an open set of double doors at the far end. With caution, they advanced in that direction, staying within the colonnades. Once there, Viktor pressed himself to the building’s wall and carefully peered past the doorway.
“Malone is in there,” he whispered.
Together they crept in, staying within a vestibule that led into what appeared to be a grand hall. Cotton stood about halfway toward a raised portion at the opposite end, facing Tang and two brothers, along with Pau Wen. Ni Yong stood behind the older man, holding a sword to Pau’s neck.
They hid behind a thick pillar and watched.
Tang was talking to Cotton, but what was happening above grabbed Cassiopeia’s attention. A man in the first-floor gallery, tucked within one of the arches, held a crossbow. The angle made it impossible for Cotton to see the danger directly above him.
“He doesn’t know,” Viktor whispered.
“Let’s tell him.”
He shook his head. “We need to keep the element of surprise. You take that guy out. I don’t see anyone else up there.”
She could not argue with the plan.
He motioned behind them, to the left. “That way. Cover our backs.”
“What are you going to do?”
He did not answer her, but she didn’t like what she saw in his eyes. “Don’t be foolish,” she said.
“No more than I have already been? Tang will be off guard when he sees me. Let’s use that.”
She wished they had a gun. “Give me your knife.” He surrendered the blade. “It won’t be any good to me.”
“Cotton probably thinks I’m dead.” He nodded. “I’m counting on that.”
MALONE BREATHED IN THE WARM AIR, HEAVY WITH THE SMELL of charcoal. He kept himself fifty feet from where the others stood. The upper galleries were a problem, which was why he hugged the right edge of the hall, from where he could clearly see the left galleries and anyone above him would have to show themselves in order to obtain a clear shot. Ni also could keep a watch.
“I managed to avoid the welcoming committee you sent,” he said to Tang, trying to steal a glimpse above.
“And what of Ms. Vitt?”
“Dead. On your orders.” He made no effort to disguise his bitterness. He also realized Tang surely wanted to know something else, so he said, “Your man Viktor may still be alive, though.”
Tang said nothing.
“Where’s Sokolov?” Malone asked, buying more time. “He’s here,” Ni said. “With his son.”
“And will he get a sample of oil? One that can prove it’s infinite?”
“I see you, too, know what is at stake,” Pau said.
“You wanted me to see that map in your house, didn’t you?”
“If you had not noticed, I would have made sure you did.”
“Were you the one who set Qin Shi’s tomb on fire?” Tang asked.
“That was me. Kept you from killing us.”
