The Emperor's Tomb

“That will not happen. His death will be attributed to one of his many investigations, one that went terribly wrong. It will happen outside the country.”

He saw that several agreed, but a few did not.

“Ni has strong support in the military,” one of the generals said. “His death will not be ignored.”

“Nor should it be. But in the larger view, he will be quickly forgotten as events play out. The premier’s demise will be unexpected. That will inevitably lead to uncertainty, and the people will not allow that condition to exist for long. They will crave security, and we will provide it.”

“How fast will we move?”

“As fast as the constitution allows. I’ve arranged for the provinces to call for an immediate vote. Of course, until that happens, I will be in temporary charge, as first vice president. We should have control in a matter of weeks.”

Then the real work would begin, starting with a swift, hasty retreat from democratization, which should stay the Party’s demise. And there would no longer be a need for the Central Discipline Inspection Commission. Instead corruption would be dealt with privately. Likewise, all dissension would be quelled with appropriate punishments. Many world observers had predicted either the Westernization of China or the end of the Communist Party, and staying the present course would almost certainly have accomplished both. His goal was to alter that course 180 degrees.

Qin Shi, the emperors after him, and Mao had all done it.

Now he would do it.

All Chinese have an irrational fear of chaos and disorder.

“We will offer the nation exactly what it craves,” he said. “Stability. Order. Once those are established, the people will grant us many liberties.”

“We are but a few,” another of the men said. “Keeping that order could prove difficult.”

“Which is why we must control the premiership. That office grants us unrestricted power. From there, we can easily reshape the nation.”

He was careful when speaking with the brothers to always use the first-person plural we. Theirs was, in theory, a collective effort, and he realized that he could not accomplish his goal without everyone’s help.

“We must be ready to act with short notice,” he said to the others. “For my part, I am presently working on a tactic that could greatly enhance our position, perhaps even grant us a dominant hand in world politics. The West will not be dictating how China lives, moralizing on what is right and wrong, deciding our future.”

“You sound confident.”

“Their missionaries and educators tried to modernize and Christianize us. The Japanese wanted to conquer us. The Americans attempted to democratize us. The Soviets tried to insinuate control. They all failed. Even worse, we experimented with ourselves and failed, too. We are a great civilization.” He paused. “We shall once again be what we were.”

He saw that the men on the other end of the connection agreed with him.

“And what of the master?” one of the men finally asked. “We hear nothing from him.”

“Rest assured,” he made clear. “He is with us.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

ANTWERP

CASSIOPEIA PASSED THROUGH ANOTHER OF THE MUSEUM’S many parlors, recalling its layout from her first visit. The ground-floor rooms were arranged around a central hall from which a marble staircase rose in broad flights. She passed the same English long clock and two Chinese-style cases that held expensive curios. A porcelain gallery opened to her right, the 18th-century tables littered with ivories, enamels, and some 19th-century Adelgade Glasvaerker collectibles. Through a main hall, divided by four Ionic columns, she found a rear staircase, most likely once used by the household staff.

She started to climb.

Her entry had been easy. She knew that many of these old places were not alarmed. Instead, interior motion sensors were the security of choice, but on her first visit she hadn’t noticed any. Perhaps it was thought that there was nothing here thieves would waste time stealing, or maybe it was a matter of cost.

She kept her steps light, her senses alert, the gun at her side. She stopped at the first landing and glanced down to the ground floor, her ears attuned to every sound. But she heard nothing.

She shook away her apprehension.

Just get the lamp and get out.

MALONE HAD NO IDEA WHERE HE WAS HEADED, BUT THE THREE men ahead of him did not suffer the same problem. They moved through the rooms in a deliberate path, following the tracker, which the one man still held. He stayed back and used furniture for cover, careful with his rubber soles on the marble floor. He was inside a gallery, probably light and airy during the day thanks to bay windows that opened to the rear garden.