The Emperor's Tomb

CASSIOPEIA HIT THE WATER HARD AND WAS SWEPT FORWARD with a rush from an overwhelming current, her body tossed about as if in a tornado. The water was cold, but that was the least of her problems. Breathing was her main concern and she managed to thrust her way to the surface, grabbing a quick breath through the foam before the water assaulted her again.

She had to stop moving forward. Eventually she would be propelled into rocks, breaking a bone, smashing her skull, if not killing her. Her ears were filled with a deep rumble and the swirl of a trillion bubbles. She’d yet to touch bottom.

She snagged another breath and caught sight of what lay ahead.

Boulders. Big ones. Their soaked profiles protruding from the surge.

She’d have to risk it.

In a wild scramble, she pawed at the water and tried to steer her course. Her body was tossed with no regard, the water oblivious to everything but gravity. A cloud of brown foam boiled against her face. She kept her arms extended, leading the way, feeling until her hands slammed into something hard.

But she did not bounce off.

Instead, she held tight.

Her head emerged.

Water thundered past her shoulders, but at least she wasn’t moving. She sucked several deep breaths, shook the blur from her eyes, and finally realized she was freezing.

MALONE FOLLOWED A TRAIL LINED WITH CHORTEN AND PRAYER walls. A sudden breeze brought the chilling breath of nearby glaciers. He trembled from both the brisk air and a nearly overwhelming intensity, fists closed tight, eyes moist with emotion.

How many more friends did he have to lose?

Gray rabbits scurried across the path, then dove into crevices. He could still hear the water tumbling behind him. The helicopter was gone. Viktor was presumably at the bottom of the gorge, doing whatever he thought he could do.

Damn that son of a bitch.

He hadn’t felt such rage since Gary was taken last year. He’d killed his son’s abductor without the slightest remorse. And he’d do the same to Viktor.

Right now he had to focus. Protecting Sokolov was the key. Helping Ni Yong, imperative. Obviously, Stephanie had considered both of those objectives important. Why else would she have used both him and Cassiopeia, and enlisted Viktor’s help. He’d wondered in Copenhagen why Stephanie had not been overly concerned about Cassiopeia’s predicament. And how she knew so much about abiotic and biotic oil.

Now he knew.

She had Viktor on the scene, supposedly looking after her. But had he been?

Stephanie, too, would have to face a few consequences when this was over.

He spotted a stone altar lit by two lamps and approached with caution. The trail ahead veered right and a sheer wall blocked what lay past the turn. Light splintered off the towering gray rock in shimmers and sparkles. He lived in fear of emotions, denying their existence, burying them under an avalanche of responsibilities. Yet in truth, he was utterly dependent upon them—a fact he’d never realized until far too late.

He’d miss Cassiopeia Vitt more than he ever imagined.

He’d loved her—yes, he had—but could never bring himself to utter the words.

Why the hell not?

A gong sounded in the distance.

Deep tones faded, and a great, empty, reverberating silence engulfed him.

NI WAS DETERMINED THAT HE WAS NOT GOING TO SHOW WEAKNESS. He would face these fanatics down to the end.

“The Soviets maintained,” he said, “that they could force the people to serve them. Even you, Pau, in Belgium pointed out that mistake.”

“The Soviets did indeed make many errors. We must avoid those.”

“But I will not allow China to lose its way,” Tang declared. “The West tries every day to promote its values and ideologies here, believing that we can be destabilized by some sort of marketing campaign. By democracy.”

“You have no idea the dangers we face,” Ni said. “We are not the China of Qin Shi’s day.”

“We are still Chinese,” Tang said. “Toppling our government, whether from outside or within, will be far more difficult than it was in the Soviet Union.”

Ni watched both Tang and Pau Wen. Men so deceitful were no different from the despots who’d come before them. China did indeed seem doomed to repeat one mistake after another.

He stepped away from the plinth and stared into the three other chambers, not as large as their underground counterparts in Xi’an, but roomy, each filled with grave goods.

Pau approached. “A few of the bronze vessels are filled with liquid. I broke the seal on one and savored an ambrosial aroma. The liquid inside tested for alcohol, sugar, fat—a buttered rum, from over two thousand years ago.”

Any other time he’d be impressed, but at the moment he was trying to determine how to avoid dying in a helicopter crash.

“Those bronze lamps,” Tang said. “There. Are they the same?”

Ni had already noticed them. Arranged around the walls on pedestals, on shelves, and on the floor. A dragon’s head on a tiger’s body, with the wings of a phoenix. Maybe a hundred of them. Just like the one he’d retrieved at the museum.