The Emperor's Tomb

He’d thoroughly investigated Jin Zhao and knew that he was not a Party member, not associated with any Party activities, and often spoke disparagingly about the government. His name appeared regularly on a local watch list, and he’d been warned several times to cease dissident activities. Tang had acted as protector on more than one occasion, blocking an arrest, but that had been conditioned on cooperation.

Zhao pushed himself up from the floor. “I will not tell you a thing.”

The soldier slammed a fist into Zhao’s jaw. Another found the chest. A third blow crashed down on the man’s skull.

Zhao collapsed.

Blood seeped from his half-opened mouth.

Two teeth were spit out.

A kick to the stomach and Zhao retreated into the fetal position, arms and legs brought tight to his body

.

A few minutes later Jin Zhao lapsed into an unconsciousness from which he never awoke. A cerebral hemorrhage protected all that he knew, but a search of his house and office revealed enough documents for Tang to learn that right here, 2,200 years ago, men had drilled for brine and found oil. And while Jin Zhao lay on the floor, begging for help, screaming that his head exploded with pain—

“Tell me this,” Tang said. “One simple thing and I will call the doctor. You can receive care. No more beatings.”

He saw the hope of truth in the older man’s eyes.

“Has Lev Sokolov found the marker?”

Zhao’s head nodded yes.

At first slowly, then quickly.

TWENTY-TWO

ANTWERP

9:05 PM

CASSIOPEIA HUSTLED DOWN THE STREET SEARCHING FOR A place to hide. Three men had been following her since she’d left the hotel. Her left arm cradled the dragon lamp. She carried it carefully, nestled within a plastic bag, surrounded by balled paper.

Redbrick buildings and whitewashed houses surrounded her, all guarding a maze of empty cobbled streets. She rushed past a quiet square, the three men fifty meters behind. No one else could be seen. She could not allow them to take the lamp. Losing it meant losing Sokolov’s son.

“Over here,” she heard a voice say

.

Across the street stood Cotton Malone.

“I got your message,” Cotton said. “I’m here.”

He was waving her toward him.

She ran, but when she made it to the corner he was gone.

The three men kept pace.

“Here.”

She stared down a narrow lane. Cotton was fifty meters away, still waving her forward

.

“Cassiopeia, you’re making a mistake.”

She turned.

Henrik Thorvaldsen appeared.

“You can’t help him,” he said.

“I have the lamp.”

“Don’t trust him,” he said, and then the Dane was gone. Her eyes searched the street and buildings. The three men had not advanced closer and Cotton was still waving for her to come.

She ran.

Cassiopeia awoke.