The Emperor's Tomb Part 27

This was not part of the plan. "I must know what comes of that meeting. Can you learn that?"

"I'm waiting for the information right now."

Malone saw that Ca.s.siopeia's patience had evaporated. He realized that her concern was Sokolov's son and that they currently had nothing to offer Karl Tang, so he tried asking Pau, "What did you see inside the emperor's tomb?"

"I can tell you that the reports of plunder were wrong. It was a virgin site. Untouched."

"And no one was told?" he asked. "Not even your good buddy Mao?"

"The times, Mr. Malone. Those things were not then important. Mao's Cultural Revolution caused countless amounts of Chinese history to be lost forever. The gangs broke pianists' hands, burned books and paintings, forced surgeons to clean bathrooms, teachers to wear dunce hats. Mao wanted great disorder so as to achieve a greater order, through him. It was a time when we willingly destroyed our heritage. The terra-cotta army discovery eventually helped change such foolish thinking, but that was a few years off. At the time of my discovery, I chose to keep what I saw to myself."

"But not anymore," Ca.s.siopeia added.

"I must return to China-"

"Unnoticed," Malone said.

Pau nodded. "You have a way. I'm in need. But you have needs, too. Inside Qin's tomb are hundreds of lamps, filled with oil. I even lit one."

Their host led them back to the silk map on the opposite side of the room and pointed to its center. "That is Xianyang, Qin's capital. The First Emperor's tomb was built here, nearby. If you can get me to Xi'an, I can deliver the oil sample you seek."

Malone studied the map more closely. He wished he could read the lettering on both its surface and in the surrounding border. "Are these ancient designations?"

Pau nodded.

"If we get you there, can you get back inside Qin's tomb?" Ca.s.siopeia asked.

"The library repository I located was refound just a few days ago, discovered adjacent to Pit 3 at the terra-cotta museum."

"Then they found the way into the tomb," Malone said.

"My reports are that those who found the chamber have been concentrating on the ma.n.u.scripts. They have not found the entrance, and they will not. I concealed that pa.s.sage well."

"How do you know all this?" Malone asked.

"Karl Tang told me, just a short while ago. We spoke on the phone. He mentioned the ma.n.u.scripts, but nothing about the entrance pa.s.sage."

That information piqued his interest.

"And why are you talking to Karl Tang?"

"We were once allies, but not any longer. I must return to China immediately. In return, I'll show you the entrance to the tomb and provide a lamp filled with oil from the time of Qin s.h.i.+."

"Where's the dragon lamp?" Ca.s.siopeia asked.

"Minister Ni Yong has taken it back to China. He came here, after you, in search of it, too. Since it's unimportant, I let him have it."

"He doesn't know about the oil?"

Pau shook his head. "I did not tell him."

"And you're still not going to tell us why that oil is so important to Karl Tang," Ca.s.siopeia asked.

"I will. Once I'm in China."

"Tell me this," Malone said. "And your seat on the plane is dependent on a really good answer." He paused. "How were you and Tang once allies?"

"We are both of the Ba. Eunuchs. Though I sense that you already suspected that."

Yes, he had.

He found his cell phone and said, "I need to make a call."

Pau motioned at the windows and the lit courtyard beyond.

Malone stepped outside and dialed Stephanie. She listened to his report and his request, spoke a moment with Ivan, who was there with her, then said, "We can make it happen. Bring him along."

"Lot of trust we're placing here."

"I know," she said. "One more thing, Cotton. Robin Hood from the museum, the one who tried to spear Ca.s.siopeia. When they examined the body they discovered something interesting that's now even more relevant."

But he already knew. "He was a eunuch, too."

Tang stood in the hallway and quietly digested the new developments.

The Americans were involved?

Unexpected, to say the least. But not insurmountable. He was about to step back inside and conclude his time with Lev Sokolov when the phone again demanded his attention.

He answered.

"My Russian handler just informed me," Viktor said. "Malone, Vitt, and Pau are coming to China."

"Do you know how?"

"The Russians are going to a.s.sist. They are working with the Americans."

Troublesome on one count, a relief on another. He listened as Viktor explained the travel plan, then said, "That should allow us the opportunity to eliminate them all at once."

"My thoughts exactly."

"When are you returning?"

"In a few hours. I'm already booked on a flight."

"I'll need you to personally take charge, once you're here." He thought of the spies in his office. "Communicate with me only. There are few here I can trust with this information."

"I'll finalize everything while on the way," Viktor said.

"I realize that you may actually enjoy Malone's death, but I've sensed that it's a different matter with regard to Vitt. Earlier you made clear that she would not survive the night. Of course, that did not happen."

"Because of Pau's interference."

"What you really mean is my interference."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. I ordered the strike on Ni, which failed. Pau obviously retaliated, which caused unforeseen problems."

"You're in charge," Viktor said.

"Still, I sense you are somewhat glad I interfered, at least as it relates to her."

"I do as you say."

"I want to know." He paused. "Any reluctance on your part to Vitt dying with the others?"

The line stayed silent a moment.

He waited.

"None," Viktor said. "I'll handle it."

FORTY-ONE.

HALONG BAY, VIETNAM.

THURSDAY, MAY 17.

7:00 AM.

Malone stared at the magnificent scene.

He knew the tale. Once, a great dragon ran toward the coast with its tail flailing, gouging valleys and creva.s.ses along the way. As the beast plunged into the sea, water filled the low spots and left towering monoliths, like a crop of unfinished sculptures, one after the other, rising skyward. Standing on the dock, admiring Halong Bay, whose name meant "where the dragon descended into the sea," he found it easy to believe that legend. The tranquil waters stretched over six hundred square miles, eventually spilling out into the Gulf of Tonkin. Three thousand islands dotted the turquoise expanse, most uninhabited blocks of gray limestone. Verdant shrubs and trees sheathed most of them, the startling contrast of their spring color to the dull sheen only adding to the surreal scene.

Malone, Pau Wen, Ca.s.siopeia, Stephanie, and Ivan had flown on a U.S. Air Force EC-37 from Belgium to Hanoi. The modified Gulfstream had made the trip in a little over ten hours, thanks to a free pa.s.s over Russian airs.p.a.ce courtesy of Ivan. They'd then taken a helicopter for a short flight east to the coast and Quang Ninh province. Russia apparently enjoyed a close relations.h.i.+p with the Vietnamese, as their entrance into the country had been met with unquestioned cooperation. When Malone had inquired about the lovefest, Ivan had only smiled.

"Have you ever been here before?" Ca.s.siopeia asked him.

They stood near a cl.u.s.ter of houses that formed a floating village. Multidecked tour boats rested at anchor, as did many of the junks, their fan-shaped sails finding no wind. A tiny boat appeared with a fisherman standing in it, rowing with two oars crossed in an X. Malone watched as the man found his footing and tossed a net out into the water, its weights opening the mesh like a flower.

"Once," he said, "years ago. On an a.s.signment, I came through on the way into China."

"As you will today," Ivan said. The Russian was studying the sky, looking for something. "Border is less than two hundred kilometers north. But we do not go that way."

"I get the feeling you've done this before," Stephanie said.

"Sometimes."

Pau Wen had remained quiet during the long flight, sleeping most of the way, as had they all, trying to adjust to a six-hour time difference. Pau gazed out at the calm sea with a sense that he'd been here before, too. A light fog steamed from the sea's surface, filtering a rising sun. Oyster-colored clouds dotted a blue sky.

"Tran Hung Dao, Vietnam's grand commander, faced off Kublai Khan's army here," Pau quietly said, "in 1288. He placed bamboo stakes in the rivers so that when the Chinese boats arrived at low tide, which he knew they would, the hulls would be pierced. When that occurred, his troops swooped down and slaughtered the invaders."

Malone knew the rest of that story. "But the Chinese returned, conquered, and dominated here for nearly a thousand years."

"Which explains why Vietnam and China are not friends," Ivan said. "Long memories."

On the flight, Malone had read what Stephanie had hastily ama.s.sed on Pau Wen. His background was one of academics, focusing on history, anthropology, and archaeology, but clearly he was a consummate politician. How else could someone become the confidant of both Mao Zedong and Deng Xiaoping, two utterly different personalities, and prosper under both?

"My uncle was a fisherman," Pau said. "He sailed a junk. As a boy, I would go out on the water with him."

Maybe fifty or more of the distinctive s.h.i.+ps floated in the bay.

"The cotton sail is dipped in a liquid that comes from a plant similar to a yam," Pau said. "That's what gives the red-tan color. It also prevents rot and mildew. My task, as a boy, was to care for the sails." Pau made no effort to hide a nostalgic tone. "I loved the water. I still recall sewing the coa.r.s.e cotton panels together, one seam at a time."

"What are you after?" Malone asked.

"Are you always so direct?"

"Do you ever answer a question?"

Pau smiled. "Only when I want to."

Ca.s.siopeia grabbed three bags from the dock. Earlier, she'd volunteered to find food and drink, and Ivan had provided her with several hundred Vietnamese dong.

"Soft drinks and bread," she said. "Best I could do this early. In another hour there's a cafe open just beyond the end of the dock."

A small village nestled close to the sh.o.r.e-a cl.u.s.ter of low-slung pastel-colored buildings, rooftops bare and silent, a few faint curls of smoke wafting from several of the chimneys.

Malone accepted a Pepsi and asked Ivan, "Let's see if you can answer a question. What exactly are we going to do?"

"Time to time, we sneak into China. They have coastal radar, but rocks and mountains give shelter."

"We're going to sail a junk in?"

Ivan shook his head. "Not today."

Malone had also asked and received from Stephanie three other reports. One was on Karl Tang, China's first vice president and the Party's vice premier. Tang came from simple beginnings, trained as a geologist, rising steadily within the Communist Party until he was now one step from the top. In China's convoluted political system, the Communist Party was intimately interwoven with the national government. Every key governmental position was occupied by a Party official. Which explained why the president also served as Party premier. No one ever achieved election to any position without the Party's consent, which meant Karl Tang was a man of great power. Yet he required an oil lamp from an ancient grave so badly that he stole a four-year-old boy?

Ni Yong seemed the ant.i.thesis of Tang. Right off was his name, using the traditional form of last first. He'd grown up in Sichuan province in a village where nearly everyone was named Ni. He served two decades in the military, rising to high rank. He'd also been in Tiananmen Square in June 1989 when the tanks appeared. The West considered him a moderate, perhaps even a liberal, but they'd been fooled before by Chinese bureaucrats who said one thing then did another. Ni's administration of the central disciplinary commission was widely regarded as admirable, a refres.h.i.+ng change of pace from the Beijing usual. The hope was that Ni Yong could become a new breed of Eastern leader.