The Emperor's Tomb

He’d left the headphones on as a way not only to buffet the rotor’s drone, but also to avoid talking to Viktor Tomas. Luckily, the man had closed his eyes and dozed off, his headset removed.

For a decade he’d intentionally avoided the Hall for the Preservation of Harmony. Only a few brothers still lived there, mainly to perpetuate the illusion of a mountain monastery, a home to holy men who wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

He told himself to be cautious.

Everything was happening for a reason.

“Minister,” the pilot said in his headphones.

The word jarred him from his thoughts. “What is it?”

“A call from your office.”

He heard a click, then, “Minister, we are fairly confident of Ni Yong’s destination. Yecheng.”

Also known as Kargilik. He’d visited once, admiring for the staterun television cameras its 15th-century mosque and adobe-walled backstreets.

“There is a small airport south of town,” his chief aide said. “The turboprop that Minister Ni commandeered can land there. It is the only available location on their route.”

“Listen to me carefully. This must be done. I will hold you personally responsible if it fails.”

Silence confirmed that his chief aide understood the gravity.

“Locate the municipal police commander in Yecheng. Wake him from his sleep. Tell him I want the occupants of that plane detained. One of them, a Russian, Lev Sokolov, along with Minister Ni, are to be isolated from the others and held until I send for him. Forward by computer or fax a photo of Sokolov so his identity will not be a question. Minister Ni, I assume, he will recognize.”

“It will be done.”

“One other item. I do not want Sokolov or Ni harmed. If they are, tell that policeman that he will pay a heavy price.”

“And the other two?”

“I harbor no protective feelings for them. In fact, if they were to disappear that local commander might find himself rewarded.”

MALONE SNAPPED HIS SEAT BELT INTO PLACE AS ROUGH AIR jostled the plane’s descent.

“We’re going to avoid Kashgar,” Ni said. “I’ve been told that both Tang and the premier flew there. This plane can land much closer to our destination. There is a small airport, about an hour’s drive away from our destination, in Yecheng.”

Ni held a map of the region and explained how Afghanistan, Pakistan, and India, three volatile neighbors, had long claimed the mountains and valleys as their own. The Himalaya, Karakoum, Hindu Kush, and Pamir ranges all merged here, summits noted as high as twenty thousand feet. And though monasteries were common farther east into Tibet, they were relatively rare this far west.

“There is only one locale in the vicinity of what was noted on the silk maps,” Ni said to them. “It’s ancient, in the mountains, inhabited by reclusive monks. I’m told that it is a quiet place, and there have never been any reports of unusual activity.”

“Why would there be?” Malone asked. “The last thing the Ba would want is to attract attention.”

“Getting there could be a challenge. We will have to consult the locals.”

“We’ll need weapons,” Cassiopeia said.

“I brought your guns and spare ammunition.”

“Lot of trust,” Malone said.

Ni seemed to catch the underlying message. “I placed a call before we left Xi’an, to a friend at the American embassy. He checked and said you are a man who can be trusted. He said, if you are here, it must be important.”

“Ever heard of bullshit?”

Ni smiled. “No, Mr. Malone, I think both you and Ms. Vitt are far more ally than enemy.”

For the past hour he’d talked with Ni Yong about China, Ni fielding his questions, delivering straight answers.

“I’m told you could be the next premier,” he’d said.

“Is that what America wants?”

“I don’t work for America.”

Ni grinned. “You’re a bookseller. That’s what my friend at the embassy said. I, too, love books. Unfortunately, China does not feel the same. Did you know that not one book about what happened in Tiananmen Square is allowed in China. All websites and Web pages that even mention the words are filtered. It is as if that event never happened.”

Malone saw the pain in Ni’s eyes. “Were you there?”

Ni nodded. “I can still smell the odor, the stench of feces from a million people. Sanitation workers had tried to clear it in the months before, but they never managed to keep pace. When the people finally fled, only their waste remained. A horrible smell.” Ni paused. “Made worse by death.”

Malone had read about the massacre. Seen the video of the tank columns, trundling down the street, a young man in a white shirt and black pants, shopping bags in each hand, blocking their way. When the tanks swerved around him, he jumped in front. Would they run him over? Would soldiers shoot him? Their duel continued for several tense minutes until he was hustled away.

He’d told Ni what he recalled.

“I was there,” Ni said. “I watched that duel. Many had already died. Many more were going to die. The whole time I kept thinking of the street where it was all occurring—Chang’an, Avenue of Eternal Peace. How ironic.”

Malone agreed.