“I was unaware that there existed a door in the wall,” Tang said.
Ni caught the irritation in the words.
“Only the Hegemon and a select few brothers know of this chamber,” Pau said. “You were not one of those. But I thought now a good time to show you both the Ba’s most precious possession.”
MALONE STARED DOWN AT THE WATER, SPEWING BETWEEN ROCKS as it bounded down from the mountains.
He waited for her to surface.
But she never did.
He focused on the roaring gush, which surely carried in its formidable current silt and more rock along with a swish of foam. He wanted to leap after her, but realized that was impossible.
He would not survive the fall, either.
He watched, disbelieving.
After all they’d been through the past three days.
She was gone.
On the opposite side of the gorge movement caught his eye. Viktor emerged from the rocks and approached the cliff edge.
Malone’s anger boiled to rage. “You sorry bastard,” he yelled. “You set us up. You killed her.”
Viktor did not reply. Instead he was hauling up the remnants of the bridge, tying the rope he’d brought to its tattered end.
“Go,” Viktor yelled. “Get up there. I’ll go after her.”
Like hell, he thought.
He found his gun.
Viktor tossed the bridge back over the edge. The rope found the water, its end dipped into the churning river. His enemy stared across, as if to say, Are you going to shoot me or let met try to find her?
The helicopter was swooping around for another pass.
Malone leveled the gun.
Cannon fire roared through the gorge. A deadly hail of heavy-caliber rounds pinged off stone just yards away, approaching in an ever-widening storm.
He dove for cover as the chopper zipped past.
“Get up there,” Viktor yelled. “Ni and Sokolov need you.”
And Viktor started climbing down.
What he wouldn’t give for some rope of his own. He wanted to kill Viktor Tomas, but the bastard was right.
Ni Yong and Sokolov.
Find them.
TANG ENTERED THE WINDOWLESS CHAMBER, ITS SPACE DIVIDED into four rooms. Pau Wen had stepped inside first, followed by Ni Yong. Two brothers waited outside, each carrying a crossbow.
Soft lights illuminated rose-red walls, the ceiling a deep blue and dotted with golden stars. The center chamber was dominated by a bronze plinth upon which lay a jade burial suit.
He was stunned by the sight, and now understood why the First Emperor’s tomb had been bare.
“I rescued Qin Shi,” Pau said. “Unfortunately, the jade altar upon which he lay was too large to transport. It obviously had been constructed within the mound. But this I could retrieve.” Pau pointed to the artifact. “The head and face masks, jacket, sleeves, gloves, pants, and foot coverings were tailored for the occupant. Which meant Qin Shi was no more than a hundred seventy-five centimeters tall and quite thin. So different from the image of a towering, portly man history has created.” Pau hesitated, as if to allow his words to sink in. “Two thousand and seven pieces of jade, sewn together with golden thread.”
“You counted them?” Ni asked.
“This is the most important archaeological find in all Chinese history. The body of our First Emperor, encased in jade. It deserves careful study. We estimate about a kilogram of golden thread was utilized to bind the stone. This suit would have taken artisans about a decade to produce.”
Tang wanted to know, “You plundered the entire site?”
“Every object. Here it all rests, in safety, inside a makeshift dixia gongdian. Not quite a traditional underground palace, but sufficient.”
The remaining three chambers brimmed with funerary objects. Bronze sculptures, copper vessels, lacquered wood, and bamboo ware. Objects of gold, silver, and jade. Musical instruments, pottery, and porcelain. Swords, spearheads, and arrows.
“Two thousand one hundred and sixty-five items,” Pau said. “Even the bones of the builders and the concubines. I made a complete photographic record of the tomb. The exact location of everything is precisely documented.”
“How gracious of you,” Ni said. “I’m sure historians will one day appreciate your diligence.”
“Does sarcasm make you feel superior?”
“What am I supposed to be? Impressed? You are a liar and a thief, just like I said the first time we met. Along with being a murderer.”
“Do you realize what Mao would have done with this?” Pau asked, motioning to the jade suit. “And the incompetents who ruled after him. None of it would have survived.”
“The terra-cotta warriors have,” Ni said.
“True. But for how long? The site is deteriorating by the day. And what is being done? Nothing. The communists care nothing for our past.”
“And you do?”
“Minister, my methods may have been unconventional, but the results are clear.”
Ni stepped close to the plinth.
Tang kept back, himself drawn to the surreal image—like a robot lying there, stiff, unbending. But he was growing impatient. He wanted to know why Pau had killed the four men in Belgium and allowed Ni to survive. Why had the master lied to him about the oil lamps in Qin Shi’s tomb?
“Did you open the suit?” Ni asked.
Pau shook his head. “That did not seem right. Qin deserves our respect, even in death.”
“How many hundreds of thousands died so he could rule?” Ni asked.
“That was necessary in his time,” Pau said.
“And it still is,” Tang felt compelled to add.
“No,” Ni said. “Fear and oppression are no longer viable mechanisms. Surely, you can see that we have progressed beyond that. Two-thirds of the world practices democracy, yet we cannot embrace even a few of its qualities?”
“Not while I am in charge,” Tang declared.
Ni shook his head. “You will find, as our communist forefathers learned, that force is only a short-term solution. For a government to survive, it must have the willing support of the people.” Ni’s face tightened. “Has either of you ever visited the petition office in Beijing?”
“Never,” Tang said.
“Every day hundreds of people from all over the country are there, waiting in line, to register complaints. Nearly all of them have been victimized. Their son was beaten by a local official. Their land was taken by a developer, with the local government’s help. Their child was stolen.”
Ni hesitated, and Tang knew he was allowing that charge to hang in the air.
“They are angry at local officials and are convinced that if only someone in the capital hears their case, then their wrongs will be addressed. You and I know they are sadly mistaken. Nothing will ever be done. But those people understand basic democracy. They want the ability to address their government directly. How long do you think we can continue to ignore them?”
Tang knew the answer.
“Forever.”
SEVENTY-SEVEN
CASSIOPEIA HIT THE WATER HARD AND WAS SWEPT FORWARD with a rush from an overwhelming current, her body tossed about as if in a tornado. The water was cold, but that was the least of her problems. Breathing was her main concern and she managed to thrust her way to the surface, grabbing a quick breath through the foam before the water assaulted her again.
She had to stop moving forward. Eventually she would be propelled into rocks, breaking a bone, smashing her skull, if not killing her. Her ears were filled with a deep rumble and the swirl of a trillion bubbles. She’d yet to touch bottom.
She snagged another breath and caught sight of what lay ahead.
Boulders. Big ones. Their soaked profiles protruding from the surge.
She’d have to risk it.
In a wild scramble, she pawed at the water and tried to steer her course. Her body was tossed with no regard, the water oblivious to everything but grav
ity. A cloud of brown foam boiled against her face. She kept her arms extended, leading the way, feeling until her hands slammed into something hard.
But she did not bounce off.
Instead, she held tight.
Her head emerged.
Water thundered past her shoulders, but at least she wasn’t moving. She sucked several deep breaths, shook the blur from her eyes, and finally realized she was freezing.
MALONE FOLLOWED A TRAIL LINED WITH CHORTEN AND PRAYER walls. A sudden breeze brought the chilling breath of nearby glaciers. He trembled from both the brisk air and a nearly overwhelming intensity, fists closed tight, eyes moist with emotion.
How many more friends did he have to lose?
Gray rabbits scurried across the path, then dove into crevices. He could still hear the water tumbling behind him. The helicopter was gone. Viktor was presumably at the bottom of the gorge, doing whatever he thought he could do.
Damn that son of a bitch.
He hadn’t felt such rage since Gary was taken last year. He’d killed his son’s abductor without the slightest remorse. And he’d do the same to Viktor.
Right now he had to focus. Protecting Sokolov was the key. Helping Ni Yong, imperative. Obviously, Stephanie had considered both of those objectives important. Why else would she have used both him and Cassiopeia, and enlisted Viktor’s help. He’d wondered in Copenhagen why Stephanie had not been overly concerned about Cassiopeia’s predicament. And how she knew so much about abiotic and biotic oil.