The Emperor's Tomb (Cotton Malone 6)

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.”

“And allowed Minister Ni to slip away,” Tang said.

“That’s not—”

CASSIOPEIA HUSTLED TOWARD THE STAIRS AND CLIMBED THE marble risers to the first-floor gallery. She crouched, keeping herself beneath the balustrade that protected the gallery from the hall beyond, and eased herself to the corner. A quick look confirmed that one man stood about a third of the way down, dressed in a woolen robe, holding a crossbow, his back to her.

Quietly, she shed Viktor’s fleece jacket.

She listened, hearing Cotton’s voice.

Then Tang’s.

And allowed Minister Ni to slip away. That’s not—“Malone.” Viktor’s voice.

Knife in hand, she crept forward.

TANG SAW VIKTOR APPEAR, SEEMINGLY FROM NOWHERE. HE wondered how long he’d been inside the hall. The man should actually be dead, along with Malone and Vitt.

Was anyone else here?

NI SAW THE FOREIGNER, THE SAME MAN WHO’D SAVED HIS LIFE inside Qin Shi’s tomb.

Was he friend or foe?

At the instant he decided foe, and was about to cry out an alarm, the man shouted Malone’s name.

MALONE WHIRLED.

Viktor was rushing toward him, then leaping forward, tackling him to the floor.

Malone lost his grip on the gun, but grabbed Viktor by the throat, raining down blows with his right fist, yelling, “Where is she?”

Viktor broke free, a mad glaze coating his eyes. “She’s far downstream. Gone.”

Malone lunged and slugged away in earnest, enjoying the thud of his fist hitting bone. Viktor retreated.

Lots of room existed for them to maneuver among the arches, the weaponry, and the braziers. He thought one of the swords might come in handy. Viktor seemed to read his mind, his gaze darting to lances displayed beside armor and shields. Viktor rushed forward, grabbing the bamboo hilt of a lance, brandishing its tip, keeping Malone at bay.

His breath came racked and shallow and his light-headedness returned.

His insides boiled like lava.

This man had been nothing but trouble on every occasion. Now Cassiopeia was dead, thanks to him.

“Aren’t you a tough guy with a spear?” he taunted.

Viktor tossed him

the weapon, then grabbed another.

CASSIOPEIA HEARD THE FIGHT. SHE NEEDED TO POSITION HERSELF to help. That meant taking out the man she was creeping toward, whose attention was on the melee. She passed wall mirrors and a pair of cabinets displaying bronze, jade, and porcelain treasures. The morning sun filtered in through mussel-shell panes dotting the gallery’s length. She held the knife, but another option formed in her brain. To her right, displayed in a wall niche, were a dozen or so figurines. Human bodies with animal heads, arms folded across their chests. Maybe thirty centimeters high. She stepped close, stuffed the knife in her pocket, and grabbed one.

A dog-faced piece, heavy, with a thick rounded base.

Perfect.

She headed straight for her target.

One swing to the base of the neck and the man crumpled to the marble. As he fell, she relieved him of the crossbow. He’d have a headache later, but that was better than being dead.

She glanced down.

Viktor and Cotton faced each other in the center of the hall, each holding a lance. Ni still had the sword to Pau’s neck. No one seemed to have noticed what had happened one floor up. She stared across at the remainder of the first-floor arches and spotted no one.

She was alone, armed, ready.

TANG HAD INSTRUCTED ONE BROTHER TO POSITION HIMSELF in the upper first-floor gallery, crossbow ready. He should be stationed to his left, about halfway down toward the main entrance. Two other brothers waited to his right, within the ground-floor gallery, out of Ni’s sight.

As the fight continued in the center of the hall, he casually glanced right and caught sight of the two brothers.

A gentle shake of his head signaled, Not yet.

But soon.

MALONE KEPT HIS EYES LOCKED ON VIKTOR.

Pupils that smoldered like black embers stared back, and an ugly scowl twisted the face.

“Do you know how many times I could have let you die?” Viktor asked.

He wasn’t listening. Memories washed over him in sickening waves. All he could see was Cassiopeia being waterboarded, her body dropping into the river, Viktor taunting him on the video, appearing on the rocks, to blame for it all.