The Emperor's Tomb

It’s too risky, Viktor mouthed. Let’s find another way down.

“There’s a back staircase that way.” She pointed to their left. “I used it to go up.”

“Lead the way. When they find those bodies, this place is going to be heavy with police.”

They scampered through a series of dim rooms to the stairs and crept down to the basement, careful their soles did not slap the risers. A black hallway led into the mansion’s center, passing several doors clamped tight with hasp locks. Storage rooms, most likely. A high-pitched moan from overhead pipes suggested elevated pressure and temperature. They entered a room stuffed with gardening supplies—but it had an exit door.

“That has to lead up to ground level,” Viktor said.

“More likely the side of the building,” she noted. “We could be okay there.”

The door unlocked from the inside. Viktor eased the metal door inward and peered out. Emergency lights brought the darkness to life in a rhythmic beat. But she heard no sounds from where a short set of stone steps ended up at ground level.

“After you,” Viktor said.

She slipped out and savored the cool air. They crouched and climbed, using the stairway for cover.

At the top they darted to the right, where the street that ran before the museum stretched. She realized that they needed to emerge, unnoticed, from the narrow alley that separated the museum from the building next door.

Two meters from the end the path was suddenly blocked.

A woman stood in the way.

Stephanie Nelle.

MALONE WAS BROUGHT TO THE FRONT OF THE MUSEUM BY WAY of a police car that waited just beyond the garden, in the rear drive. A bruise on his right hip emitted a steady ache that caused him to limp.

He was pulled from the car and saw three fire trucks occupying the street that had been deserted when he first arrived. Hoses spit water into the air from ladders that extended upward off two trucks. As close as everything stood, on both sides of the block, confining the fire to one building could prove challenging. Luckily, the weather was calm.

One of the uniformed officers led him through the maze of trucks where cars were parked, maybe a hundred feet from the inferno.

He spotted Stephanie.

She didn’t look happy.

“They found three bodies in there,” she said as he was brought close. “All shot.”

“What about Cassiopeia?”

Stephanie pointed to her right. Cassiopeia appeared from behind one of the police vans, her face blackened with smoke, wet with sweat, eyes bloodshot, but otherwise she appeared okay.

“I found her slipping out of the building.”

Behind her walked a man. At first, Malone was so pleased to see Cassiopeia that he did not notice. But now, as his fears alleviated and calm returned, he focused on the face.

Viktor Tomas.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Malone asked.

“Long time, no see, Malone,” Viktor said. “I love the handcuffs. They suit you.” Viktor pointed a finger. “I haven’t forgotten that I still owe you one.”

He knew what that meant. From the last time they were together. In Asia.

“And here we are,” Viktor said. “Together again.”

Malone faced Stephanie. “Cut these cuffs off.”

“Are you going to behave?”

Cassiopeia stepped close and said to him, “Thanks for coming.”

He saw that she appeared unscathed. “I had little choice.”

“That I doubt. But thanks.”

He motioned with his head toward Viktor. “You and him working together?”

“He saved my life in there. Twice.”

He glanced over at Viktor and asked, “What’s your involvement this time?”

“I answer that, Malone,” Ivan said, waddling out from behind another of the parked vehicles.

The Russian pointed at Viktor.

“He works for me.”

THIRTY-THREE

HE LAY ON THE CUSHIONED BENCH AND STEADIED HIMSELF. HIS LEGS spread, his genitals exposed. Centuries ago there was a place, a ch’ang tzu, located outside the palace gates, where specialists performed the service for a modest six taels. They also taught apprentices the technique, thus transforming a profession into a tradition. The specialist he now faced was as skilled as those artisans, though he worked only for the brothers.

The final cleaning ended.

The hot water laced with pepper stung.

He’d remained rigid as the two attendants tightly wrapped his abdomen and thighs with white bandages. He could hardly breathe, but he understood their purpose.

Would it hurt?

He forced the thought from his brain.