The Emperor's Tomb

“She produced a gun and stole it from me. I had no choice. I am but an old man, living here alone.”

That he doubted. “A wealthy old man.”

Pau smiled. “Life has been kind to me. Has it to you, Minister?”

“When was she here?” he asked.

“Two days past.”

He needed to find this woman. “Did she say anything about herself?”

Pau shook his head. “Just pointed her gun, took the lamp, and left.”

A disturbing and unexpected development. But not insurmountable. She could be found.

“You came all this way for that lamp?” Pau asked. “Tell me, does it relate to your coming political war with Minister Karl Tang?”

The question threw him. Pau had been gone from China a long time. What was happening internally was no state secret, but neither was it common knowledge—not yet, anyway. So he asked, “What do you know of that?”

“I am not ignorant,” Pau said in nearly a whisper. “You came because you knew Tang wanted that lamp.”

Outside of his office, that fact was unknown. Concern now rifled through him. This old man was far better informed than he’d ever assumed. But something else occurred to him. “The woman stole the lamp for Tang?”

Pau shook his head. “She wanted it for herself.”

“So you allowed her to take it?”

“I thought it better than Minister Tang acquiring it. I have anticipated that he might come and, actually, was at a loss as to what to do. This woman solved the problem.”

His mind reeled, assessing the changed situation. Pau Wen stared at him with eyes that had surely borne witness to many things. Ni had come thinking a surprise visit to an elderly, ex-Chinese national would provide an easy opportunity. Obviously, the surprise was not Pau’s.

“You and Minister Tang are the two leading contenders for the presidency and premiership,” Pau said. “The current holder of that office is old, his time draws to a close. Tang or Ni. Everyone will have to choose their side.”

He wanted to know, “Which side are you on?”

“The only one that matters, Minister. China’s.”

FIVE

COPENHAGEN

MALONE FOLLOWED THE CHINESE COURIER, HIS SUSPICIONS confirmed. She knew nothing about what she was sent to retrieve, only to take what he offered. Hell, she’d even flirted with him. He wondered how much she was being paid for this dangerous errand, and was also concerned about how much Cassiopeia’s captor knew. The voice on the laptop had made a point to taunt him about his government experience—yet they’d sent an uninformed amateur.

He kept the courier in sight as she eased her way through the crowd. The route she was taking would lead them out a secondary gate in Tivoli’s northern boundary. He watched as she passed through the exit, crossed the boulevard beyond, and reentered the Strøget.

He stayed a block behind her as she continued her stroll.

They passed several secondhand-book stores, the owners all competitors and friends, and countless outdoor tables for the many eateries, ending at Højbro Plads. She veered right at the Café Norden, which anchored the square’s east edge, and headed toward the steeple of Nikolaj, an old church that now served as a public exhibition hall. She turned along a side street that led away from Nikolaj, toward Magasin du Nord, Scandinavia’s most exclusive department store.

People paraded in the streets, enjoying a collective joviality.

Fifty yards away, cars and buses whizzed back and forth where the Strøget ended.

She turned again.

Away from the department store and the traffic, back toward the canal and the charred ruins of the Museum of Greco-Roman Culture, which still had not been rebuilt from a fire that had destroyed it last year. Cassiopeia Vitt had appeared that night and saved his hide.

Now it was his turn to return the favor.

Fewer people loitered here.

Many of the 18th- and 19th-century structures, their façades long restored, had once been brothels frequented by Copenhagen’s sailors. Apartments, favored by artists and young professionals, dominated today.

The woman disappeared around another corner.

He trotted to where she’d turned, but a trash receptacle blocked the way. He peered around the plastic container and spied a narrow alley closed in by walls of crumbling bricks.

The woman approached a man. He was short, thin, and anxious. She stopped and handed over the envelope. The man ripped it open, then yelled something in Chinese. Malone did not have to hear what was said to understand. Clearly, he knew what was expected, and it damn well wasn’t a book.

He slapped her face.

She was thrown back and struggled to regain both her balance and composure. A hand went to her wounded cheek.

The man reached beneath his jacket.

A gun appeared.

Malone was way ahead of him, already finding his Beretta and calling out, “Hey.”

The man whirled, saw both Malone and the gun and immediately grabbed the woman, jamming the barrel of his weapon into her neck.

“Toss the gun in that trash bucket,” the man yelled in English.

He was deciding whether to risk it, but the terrified look on the woman’s face told him to comply.