The Emperor's Tomb

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?”

“He departed from here in a state helicopter. He has a plane waiting in Xi’an, and a flight pattern west to Kashgar has been filed.” He recalled the location Pau had mentioned in the call.

Bao he dian.

“What type of help can you provide?” Ni asked Malone.

“I know where Pau Wen has gone.”

Actually, so did he. “And where would that be?”

“The Hall for the Preservation of Harmony.”

MALONE STEPPED BACK INTO THE ROOM, FOLLOWED BY NI Yong. Clearly, he’d uttered the correct response to the question. Ni had immediately dismissed his aide and gestured for them to return inside. Cassiopeia was still comfortable in the chair, feet propped on the table, but he knew she’d heard him.

“What do you know of this hall?” Ni asked.

He sat. “First things first. We’re not your problem.”

“I don’t know who you are.”

“We’re here,” Cassiopeia said, “because of a four-year-old boy.”

And she told Ni Yong the story of Lev Sokolov’s son.

The man listened, seemingly with a genuine concern, then said, “It is a problem throughout China. Every day, hundreds of children disappear.”

“And what do you do about it?” Malone asked.

Ni eyed him with irritation. “I do nothing. But I agree. Somebody should be doing something.”

“We’re not spies,” Cassiopeia said.

“Maybe not. But you brought Pau Wen, and he is a threat to this country.”

“That I believe,” Malone said.

“How can you help me?” Ni asked.

“I need my iPhone.”

Ni seemed to consider the request, then opened the door and said something in Chinese. A few moments later the phone was lying on the table.

Malone lifted the unit, tapped the screen, and found his photos. “I took this shot in Belgium, while we visited Pau Wen’s residence. It’s a silk map he had reproduced that he was mighty proud to show us.”

A swipe with his finger and Malone slid another picture into view.