The Emperor's Tomb (Cotton Malone 6)

“Minister, we need a word,” one of his men said in Mandarin.

He wondered if Malone or Vitt understood.

Neither of them indicated one way or the other.

“I will return in a moment.”

MALONE KNEW IT WAS COMING.

“There was no need to sell out Viktor,” Cassiopeia said as the door closed.

“He was already sold out.”

“You heard Ni. Viktor saved him.”

“Which means the Russians want Ni to beat Tang for control of this corruptible place. No surprise there.” He still did not mention Viktor’s two other objectives—killing Tang and retrieving, or silencing if necessary, Sokolov.

“You finished sorting through that brain of yours?” she asked.

He ignored her and stood.

“What are you going to do?”

“Play a hunch.”

He opened the door.

Two men reacted to his presence with hands that reached for holstered weapons. Ni Yong was speaking with the man who’d interrupted. He barked a command that Malone did not understand, but the men stood down.

“What is it?” Ni asked in English.

“I think I can help you.”

SIXTY-THREE

TANG SETTLED INTO THE HELICOPTER AS IT LIFTED INTO THE evening sky. Viktor sat across from him.

The Hall for the Preservation of Harmony.

He’d not visited there in a long while.

“Brothers, this will be the last time we speak face-to-face,” Pau Wen said.

Tang stood with a select group of fifty. Through open window frames he caught the scent of mountain air. A silk robe that he and the others wore provided little warmth from the afternoon chill, but he was not cold.

“We have planned well,” Pau said to them.

The long hall was fronted by an elaborate lattice screen that shielded hundreds of pigeonholed shelves containing the ancient words. Each manuscript was nearly a meter long, comprising loose sheets of centuries-old silk and linen, wrapped in cloth and compressed between two carved boards. He’d personally repaired several of them as part of his training. Silver lamps dotted the walls, but there was no need for their light as a bright sun flooded through the upper two galleries. Outside, the moan of a conch shell, blown by another brother, indicated that three PM had arrived.

“Of all our number, you are the ones I believe have the best chance of ascending to positions of power and influence. One of you may even become premier, which will make our goal that much easier to achieve. I have ensured that all of you have an adequate start. Each of you is ready. So go forth. Tou liang huan zhu.”

Replace the beams and pillars with rotten timber.

Tang understood the proverb perfectly.

Sabotage, destroy, or otherwise remove the key structures sustaining an opponent and substitute for them your own. Incapacitate your adversary, assume control from the inside.

“When the wheels are held up,” Pau Wen said, “the chariot can’t move. When the beams and pillars are withdrawn, the house will fall asunder.”

Tang was proud to be part of what was about to begin.

“I will be leaving soon,” Pau made clear. “That is necessary in order for our goal to succeed. But I shall monitor and command your progress from afar. Brother Tang will be my voice to you.”

Had he heard right? Why not one of the older ones? He was not even thirty and he was new to the Ba. Yet he would be in charge?

“His youth is his asset,” Pau said. “Our plan will take much time. Though there are many of you more experienced, time is not your ally.”

He glanced around the hall and saw that none of the others betrayed the slightest reaction. The Ba was not a democracy. In fact, that concept was devoid from Legalist thought. The Hegemon made all decisions, without discussion or debate.

“And why is it you must leave?” one of the older men suddenly asked.

Pau Wen’s face remained expressionless. “I could pose a distraction.”

“Meaning that your enemies could interfere.”

“You have long harbored reservations about our course,” Pau said.

“That is false. My reservations are directed toward you.”

Tang knew this man to be of nearly equal stature to Pau Wen. Favored in the capital, known to the Party. Respected. But Tang also realized what Pau was doing.

Lure the tiger from the mountains.

Rather than plunging into dangerous and unfamiliar territory to confront an adversary, it was far better to make him come out and fight you.

“You are setting us loose for an arduous battle,” the adversary said. “One that you are not willing to fight with us. Some of us may succeed, many of us will not. You, though, cannot lose.”

“What would you have me do?”

“At a minimum, stay here.”

A smart stratagem, Tang thought. When an opponent possessed the edge, rather than resisting directly, deplete his resources, sap his strength. Cause a mistake. On a lesser man the ploy may have worked—

“But then you would not be able to undermine me,” Pau said.

Gazes locked.

“I am aware of what you have been doing,” Pau declared. “I know that once I leave, you will usurp all that I have planned. That is why you were not chosen as my emissary. That is why we are here, for all to know of your treachery.”

The man stood his ground, his back as rigid as his attitude. “You will be our ruin.”

Pau’s arms were folded across his chest, each hand concealed within the robe’s sleeves. Tang watched as only the older man’s eyes glanced left, and the brother standing close to Pau’s challenger advanced two steps, grabbed the man’s head with both hands, and spun it right.

A crack broke the silence and the body sank to the marble.

None of the others reacted.

Pau Wen stood rigid.

“After writing The Art of War, Sun Tzu was given an audience with the king of Wu. He wanted command of the king’s army, but the king did not believe that anyone could be trained as a soldier, so the king presented Sun Tzu a challenge. Train the court concubines to fight and you may command my army. Sun Tzu accepted the challenge, appointing two of the women as officers and explaining the commands for marching. But when the drum signals were given, all the women burst out laughing. Sun Tzu knew that if orders are not clear, the general is at fault. So he repeated his explanation, but the officers and the women only laughed again. Sun Tzu also knew that when orders are clear but not followed, the officers are at fault. So he ordered the officers, the king’s two favorite concubines, beheaded. After that, the remaining women followed orders perfectly and became well trained. The king, though disgusted and angry, gave Sun Tzu command of the army.”

All of them stood silent.

“Are my orders clear?” Pau asked the group.

They all nodded.

Tang recalled what had happened after the gathering. He and two others had taken the body outside, beyond the rocks, to the sacred place. There the limbs were cut away, the corpse hacked to pieces, rocks used to pound the flesh and bones into a pulp, which they mixed with barley flour and milk.

Then the vultures had been summoned.

He’d witnessed the jhator many times. The literal translation was “giving alms to the birds,” the only practical way to dispose of human remains in a land too rocky to dig graves and too short of timber to cremate.

“It is a bad omen,” Pau once said, “if the birds have to be coaxed to eat or even if a small portion of the offering remains after they fly away.”

But on that day the birds had departed only after nothing remained to be eaten.

He wished he could deal with Ni Yong as easily as Pau Wen had dismissed his challenger.

Ni’s boldness was disturbing. Had the premier actually authorized Ni Yong to detain him? He decided to find out and ordered the helicopter pilot to connect him with Beijing. His chief assistant came on the line and he learned that the premier had left the capital a few hours ago.

“Where is he headed?”

“Xinjiang region. There is a ceremony in Kashgar commemorating the opening of a new water treatment facility.”

Not something that would usually command the Party’s premier and the country’s president, so he voiced his concerns.

“I thought the same thing,” his assistant said. “I inquired and was told that the governor is worried about more unrest in the region.”

The far western reaches of China had always been a problem. Eight nations shared its border, the culture far more Muslim and Central Asian than Eastern. To dilute its nearly 90% population of non-Han Chinese, Mao had encouraged immigrations. Subsequent governments, the present one included, continued the policy. Of late, the violent protests against a perceived cultural invasion action had escalated.

“Is that all you could learn?”

“They began to question why I was so interested. I told them that you required a meeting.”

An adequate ruse.

“Minister, I have just been informed of something else.”

He did not like the change in tone.

“The laboratory in Lanzhou has been attacked. The men there are dead. Lev Sokolov was taken.”

SIXTY-FOUR

NI STARED AT COTTON MALONE, WHO STOOD IN THE DOORWAY confident and sure. Daring, also, to fly into China unannounced. He’d requested more information on both Malone and Vitt, but nothing had yet been provided. Instead he’d just listened to a report about a mobile phone conversation intercepted a few minutes ago—Karl Tang speaking to Pau Wen.

“You assured me that I would have a sample. It is imperative to our plan.”

“But it is not our plan any longer. You assumed control. It is now your plan.”

“How was this obtained?” he’d asked.

“We are monitoring every phone number Minister Tang currently utilizes.”

“Where is Tang?”