The Emperor's Tomb

“Don’t say things you’ll regret.”

The room seemed some sort of gathering place, as there was one chair that held Viktor, three empty chairs, and a few tables and lamps. Windows opened to the front of the house through which she saw the Toyota.

“You tortured me.”

He shrugged. “Would you rather it not have been me? I made sure the experience was at least bearable.”

She fired into the base of the upholstered chair, aiming for a point between his legs. “Is that what you call it? Bearable?”

He never flinched, his eyes owlish and inexpressive. “Got that out of your system?”

The last time she’d seen this man was a year ago. He’d been serving a Central Asian dictator. Apparently, he’d found new employment.

“Who are you working for?”

He stood from the chair. “Chinese first vice premier Karl Tang.”

A renewed burst of anger surged through her. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you dead.”

“How about that I know where Lev Sokolov’s son is being held.”

TWELVE

NI WAS ASTONISHED. “YOU AND THE PREMIER HAVE SPOKEN about me?”

Pau nodded. “Many times. We also talk of the nation.”

“And why would he talk to you about that?”

“A long time ago, he and I shared much together. He is not the impotent imbecile many think him to be.”

Ni knew that most of the Central Committee no longer cared what the premier thought. He was nearing eighty, sickly, and held the position simply because no one had, as yet, emerged with enough support to seize control.

Pau was right.

A division existed within the Chinese Communist Party. Similar to when Mao lay dying in 1976, and Mao’s wife and three others formed the infamous Gang of Four. The then-premier and Deng Xiaoping allied to oppose the gang, ultimately winning political control in another ideological battle—Legalism versus Confucianism—the conflict settled outside the public eye, within the Party hierarchy, just as the current conflict would be.

“What is it the premier is working for?”

“Trying to determine what is best for China.”

That told him nothing.

“Minister, you may think you enjoy widespread political support, and perhaps you do. But that support would evaporate in an instant if the Ba were to seize control. They have always been Legalists. Their every act geared to oppressive, single-minded domination. They would have no tolerance for you.”

“What could I have to fear from a group of eunuchs?”

Pau motioned at the open doorway across the courtyard that led back into the exhibit hall. “I have many great manuscripts from our past stored there. Fascinating texts, but there is no Magna Carta. No great forums or halls of independence. Minister, despotism is our inheritance. Chinese history is dominated by warlords, emperors, and communists. Legalists, one and all.”

“As if I do not know that. You worked for them once.”

“Tell me, what makes you think your future will be any different? What would you have for China? If given the premiership, what would you do?”

Privately, he’d considered that question many times. The nation teetered literally on the brink of collapse. The current national system was simply incapable of generating enough wealth and technology to both compete with the world and effectively contain a billion and a half people. Following Mao’s beliefs, concentrating all economic resources in the hands of the state, had failed. But so had Deng’s subsequent policies of encouraging unregulated foreign investment.

That had led to exploitation.

Governing China seemed like flying a kite on a windless day. You could adjust the tail, change the design, run faster, but without a breeze to sweep the thing skyward nothing would happen. For decades Chinese leaders had ignored that there was simply no breeze. Instead they tinkered and tinkered, trying to force the kite upward, always failing.

“I want to change everything,” he quietly said, surprised he’d voiced the words.

But Pau had finally coaxed them from him.

How did this old man know so much about him?

“Minister, there once was a time when the superiority of Chinese life, with its advanced agriculture, written language, and highly developed arts, was so attractive that those we conquered, or those who conquered us, willingly sought assimilation. They came to admire us, and wanted to be part of our society. That desire was complemented by an application of humane Confucian ritual—which stressed harmony, hierarchy, and discipline. There are countless ancient texts that reference peoples who, centuries ago, ceased to exist as separate ethnic groups, so complete was their assimilation. What happened? What changed us into something to be avoided?”

“We destroyed ourselves,” he said.

China had indeed gone through successive cycles of unification and fragmentation—and each time something was lost. Something irretrievable. A part of the collective conscience. A part of China.

“Now you understand why I left,” Pau quietly said.

No, he actually still didn’t.