The Emperor's Tomb

She could not speak Chinese, so his words meant nothing.

“Get it over with,” she called out, waiting for the slap of the bowstring, then the arrow piercing her flesh.

Would it hurt?

Not for long.

Two bangs startled her.

The archer staggered and she realized that the man had been shot. She dove to the right just as he lost his grip on the bowstring. But because he was collapsing as the arrow released, its metal tip found only marble.

She pushed herself up from the floor and stared past the thick spindles.

A man walked up from the floor below, stopping at the landing where the archer’s body lay twitching in violent spasms.

Another shot and all movement stopped.

Viktor Tomas turned toward her.

She did not like the look in his eyes. He was surely angry from her attack on him back at the house. Yet he was here, holding her gun, the one that had fallen away, now aiming the weapon straight toward her, steadying his grip with both hands.

She faced the same dilemma with him that she had with the archer.

Nowhere to run.

He fired.

THIRTY-TWO

MALONE ROLLED OUT OF THE SHRUBBERY. GOD BLESS THE groundskeeper who’d groomed these hedges thick, trimming them into a perfect wall that stood six feet high. Their many branches had broken his fall, though one annoying stalk had bruised his hip.

He rose to his feet.

At forty-eight he was a little old for this, but thoughts of Cassiopeia rushed through his brain. He needed to find her. He recalled noticing on the climb down that the first two levels had yet to burn, but this might no longer be the case. Sirens were approaching, so he assumed the privacy Stephanie had arranged was gone, as were the lamp and its thief.

All in all, a total bust for the evening.

He turned toward the terrace and the doors through which they’d all first entered.

Three firemen burst out.

They seemed startled by his appearance, and one of them shouted something. Flemish was not a language he knew. But no translation was required. Two policemen appeared and drew their guns.

He knew what they wanted.

So he raised his hands.

CASSIOPEIA WAITED FOR THE BULLET, BUT ALL SHE FELT WAS A slap of air as the round zoomed past her right ear.

She heard metal sucking into flesh and whirled.

The man she’d beaten had risen to his feet, advancing toward her with a knife. Viktor’s shot had caught him in the chest. The body dropped to the marble, trembled as if racked by fever, then went still.

“I told you I wasn’t the enemy,” Viktor said.

She caught her breath, then hustled down the stairs to the landing. “If you work for Tang, who do these men work for?”

Viktor pointed back to the top of the stairs. “He was mine. But this one.” He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“You shot your own man?”

“He’s actually Tang’s. And would you have preferred to be stabbed?”

She pointed. “He said something before you shot him. In Chinese. I don’t speak it.”

“I do.”

Her ears perked.

“He said, ‘Death to the thief who steals from the master.’ ”

MALONE DECIDED TO TRY WHAT HE COULD. “THERE’S A WOMAN inside. On the third level. She needs help.”

He wasn’t sure if his English was being understood, as the two policemen were intent only on taking him into custody. They didn’t seem to care about anybody else.

His arms were twisted behind his back and a nylon strap pulled tight at his wrists.

Too tight, but there was little he could say.

CASSIOPEIA FOLLOWED VIKTOR DOWN THE MAIN STAIRCASE, away from the fire and a black ceiling of ash above them. Streams of soot-stained sweat stung her eyes. Breathing was easier, as the smoke seemed confined to the top two stories. She heard sirens and spotted flashing emergency lights through the windows. They needed to leave. Far too many questions would be asked, and she had no satisfactory answers.

“I hope you have an exit plan,” she said.

“There’s a way out through the basement. I checked.”

“How did you find me?”

Wood splintered below and something crashed. Voices were raised in urgency. Firemen, most likely, breaking through the main entrance.

She and Viktor stopped at the first-level landing.

Let them pass, he mouthed.

She agreed.

They abandoned the stairway and retreated into one of the first-floor rooms. No fire was here as yet. She hoped the emergency personnel would be concentrating on the upper stories.

A large billiard table provided cover, its green baize decorated with ivory accessories.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she whispered. “How did you find me?”

He motioned with the gun he still held. “If you hadn’t pounded me on the head, I would have told you that it had a pinger inside. Tang’s idea. Chinese intelligence issue. We would have left the gun. As it was, we tracked you straight here.”

And she already knew who’d sent the archer. Pau Wen. Death to the thief who steals from the master. She’d sensed more to that old man, but had been in too much of a hurry to care.

Footfalls rang out. Firemen rushed up the staircase and kept ascending, carrying axes and hoses.