The Emperor's Tomb

“The geological age of the crude coming out of those wells I mentioned, the ones seemingly replenishing, is different than it was twenty years ago.”

“And that means?”

“The oil is coming from a different source.”

He also caught what else it meant.

Not from dead plants or dinosaurs.

“Cotton, biotic oil is shallow. Hundreds or a few thousand feet down. Abiotic oil is much deeper. There is no scientific way for organic material to end up so deep beneath the surface, so there has to be another source for that oil. Stalin figured that the Soviet Union could obtain a massive strategic advantage if this new theory about oil’s availability could be proven. He foresaw back in the early 1950s that oil would become politically important.”

He now grasped the implications, but wanted to know, “Why have I never heard of this?”

“Stalin had no reason to inform his enemies of what he learned, especially us. Anything published on this was printed in Russian, and back then few outside of the Soviet Union read the language. The West became locked into the fossil fuel theory and any alternative was quickly deemed crackpot.”

“So what’s changed?”

“We don’t think it’s crackpot.”

TANG LEFT THE PIT 1 MUSEUM AND STEPPED OUT INTO THE warm night. The plaza that encompassed the historical complex loomed still and quiet. Midnight was approaching.

His cell phone vibrated.

He removed the unit and noted its display. Beijing. He answered.

“Minister,” he was told, “we have good news. Lev Sokolov has been found.”

“Where?”

“Lanzhou.”

Only a few hundred kilometers to the west.

“He’s under close surveillance, and is unaware we are there.”

Now he could move forward. He listened to the particulars, then ordered, “Keep him under watch. I’ll be there in the morning. Early.”

“There is more,” his assistant said. “The supervisor at the drill site called. His message says you should hurry.”

Gansu lay two hundred kilometers north. The final stop on this planned journey. His helicopter waited nearby, fueled, ready to go. “Tell him I’ll be there within two hours.”

“And a final matter.”

His subordinates had been busy.

“Minister Ni has been inside Pau Wen’s residence for three hours.”

“Have you learned if Ni’s trip was officially sanctioned?”

“Not that we can determine. He booked the flight two days ago himself and left abruptly.”

Which only confirmed that Ni Yong possessed spies within Tang’s office. How else would he have known to go to Belgium? No surprise, but the depth of Ni’s intelligence network worried him. Precious few of his staff were aware of Pau Wen’s significance.

“Is Ni still within the compound?” he asked.

“As of ten minutes ago.”

“Have both Ni and Pau eliminated.”

SIXTEEN

NI FOCUSED ON THE INTERESTING WORD PAU WEN HAD USED.

Pride.

“We were once the greatest nation on earth,” the older man said. “Possessed of a proven superiority. During the Tang dynasty, if a foreign resident took a Chinese wife he was not allowed to leave China. It was deemed unthinkable to take a woman out of the bounds of civilization, to a lesser realm.”

“So what? None of that matters any longer.” He was frustrated and it showed. “You sit here, safe in Belgium, while we fight in China. You talk of the past as if it is easily repeated. My task is far more difficult than you imagine.”

“Minister, your task is no different from the tasks of many who have come before you. In my time there was no refuge from Mao. No public building was without a statue or bust of him. Framed pictures hung everywhere—on matchboxes, calendars, taxis, buses, planes. Fire engines and locomotives displayed giant photos fixed to the front, banked by red flags. Yet, as now, it was all a lie. Mao’s unblemished face rosy with health? That image bore no resemblance to the man. He was old and sick, his teeth blackened. He was ugly, weak looking.” Pau motioned at the bowl with fish swimming inside. “Then, and now, China is like fish in trees. Totally lost. Out of place. No hope to survive.”

Ni’s thoughts were in chaos. His moves after he returned home seemed no longer viable. He’d planned on initiating his quest for the premiership. Many were ready to assist him. They would start the process, recruiting more to their cause. But a new threat had arisen, one that might foretell failure.

He stared around at the courtyard, reminded of what his grandfather had taught him about feng shui.

Where one chose to live had great importance. How one orientated one’s house could be even more important. Face it south. Choose right and the hills are fair, the waters fine, the sun handsome.

His grandfather had been wise.

Amid confusion, there is peace. Amid peace, one’s eyes are opened.

He tried to take heed of that lesson and gather his thoughts back into order, telling himself to stay in control.