by Steve Berry
“Of course, Minister. You may have it. I only ask that you keep it from Karl Tang. I also have some disturbing news.”
He waited.
“Tang conducted a virtual meeting with members of the Ba a few hours ago. Quite a gathering, I’m told. They are preparing for their final assault.”
He decided he’d had enough of accepting what this man said on blind faith. “Where is Tang?”
Pau appraised him with a curious glare. “A test, Minister? To see if I speak with authority?” The older man paused. “All right. I understand your skepticism, though after what happened at the museum I had hoped we were making progress. But it is good to be cautious. It will keep you alive much longer.”
“You haven’t answered the question.”
“He’s at an oil exploration site, in northern Gansu.”
Exactly what his aide had reported.
“Did I pass?”
“What assault has begun?”
Pau smiled, pleased at knowing he’d been right. “The Ba is again alive, after decades of self-imposed sleep.”
“I’m leaving for home.”
Pau nodded. “The lamp is packaged and ready.”
“And you still have no idea of its significance?”
Pau shook his head. “Only that Minister Tang and Cassiopeia Vitt both wanted it. There is writing on the outside. Perhaps it’s significant. Surely you have experts who can interpret it for you.”
He did, but this old man was lying and he knew it. No matter. A war awaited him in China, and he was wasting time. He did need to know, “What happened at the museum?”
“Three bodies were removed. I assume one of those was my brother. Miss Vitt and two other men were brought out by the authorities.”
“What will happen now?”
“For you, Minister? Nothing. For me, it means Cassiopeia Vitt will be returning here.”
“How do you know that?”
“Years of experience.”
He was tired of this man’s pedantics, knowing now that the dull face and clever words were a mask for a callous, calculating mind. Pau was an expatriate who’d obviously interjected himself, once again, into Chinese politics. But Pau was in Belgium, a long way from the fight. A nonplayer. He was curious, though, on one point. “What will you do when Vitt returns?”
“Perhaps it’s better you not know, Minister.”
He agreed.
Perhaps it was.
THIRTY-FIVE
Malone rubbed his wrists and allowed the circulation to return. The police had bound them too hard. Perhaps they were pissed about the museum, thinking him the culprit? But they were wrong. The culprit was standing a few feet away beside his new benefactor.
“You told me you worked for Karl Tang and the Chinese,” Cassiopeia said to Viktor.
“I do. But I’m there because of the Russians.”
Malone shook his head. “Same as in Central Asia. Working for us, them, then us, then them. Hell, I don’t see how you keep it straight.”
“I’m a talented individual,” Viktor said, adding a smile. “I’ve even worked for her.” And he pointed at Stephanie.
Stephanie shrugged. “I used him on a couple of freelance assignments. Say what you want, but he does a good job.”
“Last time, he almost got us killed,” Malone pointed out. “I went in there blind, thinking he was on our side.”
“I was,” Viktor added.
“Is good agent,” Ivan said. “Is close to Karl Tang, right where we want him.”
Which explained how Ivan had such square-on intelligence about what was happening to Cassiopeia. But Malone had to ask, “What did you need us for?”
“Tang involved you,” Viktor said. “I told him to leave you alone.”
Ivan shook his head. “I not ask Stephanie to get in my business. Her idea, not mine. I hire Viktor for job. He do job well.”
“Sokolov’s son is the important thing,” Cassiopeia said. “He’s why I’m here. And I need to get going.”
Stephanie grabbed Cassiopeia’s arm. “Like hell. Look around you. There’s a museum burning to the ground, three men are dead. And by the way, which one of you killed them?”
Malone raised his hand. “I shot one. But I was being nice.”
“Meaning you shot him after you set him on fire?” Stephanie asked.
He shrugged. “Call me crazy, but it’s the kind of guy I am.”
“Viktor killed the other two,” Cassiopeia added.
Malone heard the gratitude in her voice, which bothered him.
“What of this lamp?” Ivan asked Cassiopeia. “Do you find it?”
“I had it, but it’s gone,” Malone said.
He told them what happened in the garden. Ivan seemed agitated—things apparently weren’t going according to plan.
“Must have the lamp,” the Russian declared. “We need to know who is the man in garden.”
“It’s not hard,” Cassiopeia said. “The archer, that thief in the garden, they were Pau Wen’s men. He has the lamp. Again.”
“How do you know that?” Stephanie asked.
Cassiopeia repeated what the archer had said.
Ivan faced Malone. “When it falls does lamp stay together?”
“The thing was made of bronze. It was fine. But I used the oil inside to take care of the man I killed.”
Ivan’s brow creased. “Oil is gone?”
He nodded. “Burned up.”
“Then we are all in trouble. Karl Tang not want the lamp. He want oil inside.”
Tang watched dawn break to the east, the first shafts of sunlight brightening the sky from violet, to salmon, to blue. His helicopter was rising into the early-morning air, their destination Lanzhou, four hundred kilometers to the west, but still inside Gansu province.
He felt invigorated.
The conversation with Pau Wen had gone well. Another element completed. Now it was time to deal with Lev Sokolov.
What that man knew could well determine all of their futures.
“It’s your own fault,” Malone said to Ivan. “If you’d told us the truth, that wouldn’t have happened.”
“Why is that particular oil so critical?” Stephanie asked, and Malone heard the interest in her voice.
Ivan shook his head. “Is important. To Tang. To Sokolov. To us.”
“Why?”
A broad smile creased the Russian’s pudgy cheeks. “Oil is from long ago. Direct sample from the earth. It stays in tomb for over two thousand years. Then it stays in lamp till tonight.”
“How do you know that?” Malone asked.
“We only know,” Viktor said, “what Karl Tang said. He told me the lamp was removed from an excavation by Pau Wen back in the 1970s and has stayed in Pau’s possession ever since. The dragon’s mouth was sealed with beeswax.”
Malone nodded. “Until the fire. Which your men started.”
“Against my wishes,” Viktor said.
“That’s not what you told them when you arrived. You said to get the gasoline, just in case.”
“Ever heard of playing a part?” Viktor asked. “Tang ordered us to retrieve the lamp and mask any evidence we were there. If we got in and out cleanly, then there would have been no need. Of course, I had no idea that we were going to have this wonderful reunion.”
Malone saw the defeat on Cassiopeia’s face.
“Sokolov’s son is gone,” she said to him. “No oil. No lamp.”
“But none of this makes sense,” he said.
“We need to pay Pau a visit.”
He nodded. “I agree. But we also need some rest. You look like you’re about to drop. I’m tired, too.”
“That little boy is depending on me.”
He saw resolve re-form in Cassiopeia’s eyes.
“I will make contact with Pau,” Ivan said.
Malone shook his head. “Really bad idea. What do you think you can learn? Cassiopeia’s been there. She owes him. We have a reason to show up.”
/> “I do not like that plan. Look what happen last time I listen to you.”
“He probably is thinking himself clever at the moment,” Cassiopeia said. “One of those people down the street watching this spectacle is surely working for Pau. So he knows I’m alive.”
He caught what she hadn’t voiced.
And one of his men isn’t.
“I want to know all about Pau Wen,” Malone said to Stephanie. “Before we go. You think you can get us some quick background?”
She nodded.
He stared at Ivan. “We’ll find out what we need to know.”
The burly Russian nodded. “Okay. Give try.”
“I have to leave,” Viktor said.
Malone motioned with his arms. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”
Cassiopeia blocked Viktor’s path. “Not before you tell me where Sokolov’s child is. You told me you knew.”
“I lied, so you’d take me with you.”
“Where is the child?” she asked, the plea in her voice clear.
But Viktor seemed unmoved. “I really don’t know.” He faced Ivan. “Tang will want to hear from me. Of course, his men are dead and I don’t have the lamp. That’s not going to make him happy.”
“Get back to him,” Ivan said. “Do what you do best.”
“Lie.” Malone couldn’t resist.
“I can handle Tang,” Viktor said. “But there’s something you people should know.”
Malone was listening.
“Tang ordered a strike on Pau Wen. He may not even be alive.”
“And you’re just now mentioning this?” Malone asked.
“You know, Malone, I’ve only been around you a few minutes, but I’ve already had enough.”
“You’re welcome to take your best shot.”
“Settle this later,” Stephanie said. “Right now, I’m concerned about this Pau Wen. Cotton, you and Cassiopeia check him out. I’ll get what you need, and Ivan and I will wait to hear from you. Viktor, go do what you have to do.”
“Who die and make you in charge?” Ivan asked.
“We don’t have time to argue.”
And he saw that Ivan agreed.
Malone watched as Viktor hustled off among the parked cars.
“You could have been a little easier on him,” Cassiopeia said. “He’s in a tough spot.”
Malone could not care less. “He didn’t save my life. Twice.”
THIRTY-SIX
LANZHOU, CHINA
7:20 AM
Tang disliked Lanzhou nearly as much as he did Chongqing. The town hugged the banks of the Yellow River, crammed into a narrow valley and hemmed by steep mountains. Hundreds of brickyards and smoking kilns dotted its outskirts, everything cast in the same shade of clay as the landscape. Once it had served as the gateway to China, the last place to change horses and buy provisions before heading west into the harsh desert. Now it was the capital of Gansu province—skyscrapers, shopping centers, and a convergence of railway lines stimulating commerce. No trees, but plenty of chimneys, minarets, and power lines, its overall impression one of bleakness.
He stepped from the car that had driven him from the airport. He’d been informed that Lev Sokolov was now in custody, his men having entered the house where Sokolov had hidden.
He approached the apartment building, passing a fountain that contained nothing but dirt and dead mice. An overhead mist thinned with the rising sun, revealing a sky tinted the color of ash. The odor of fresh cement mixed with the smoggy exhaust of cars and buses. A labyrinth of alleys and lanes radiated in all directions, bisecting blocks of more ramshackle housing. A mad tangle of pushcarts, peddlers, bicycles, and farmers selling produce engulfed him. The faces mainly Arab and Tibetan. Everyone wore variations of gray, the only bright colors coming from displays in some of the shops. He’d changed clothes, discarding his tailored suit for trousers, an untucked shirt, running shoes, and hat.
He stopped before the granite-faced building, a flight of wooden steps leading to the upper floors. He’d been told it contained housing for midlevel managers at the nearby petrochemical refinery. He climbed, the stairway musty and dim, the landings piled with boxes, baskets, and more bicycles. On the second floor he found the pocked wooden door, a man waiting outside.
“There were men watching us,” the man reported.
He stopped at the door and waited.
“They work for Minister Ni.”
“How many?”
“Five. We dealt with them.”
“Quietly?”
The man nodded.
He acknowledged his praise with a smile and a slight nod of the head. The leak within his office was worse than he believed. Ni Yong had sent men straight here. That would have to be corrected.
But first.
He stepped inside.
The single room held a few chairs and a low table, the kitchenette along one wall littered with filthy utensils, food wrappers, plates, and rotting food. On a Naugahyde sofa sat Lev Sokolov, his hands and feet bound, a strip of black tape across his mouth, his shirt soaked with sweat. The Russian’s eyes went wide when he spotted Tang.
He nodded and pointed. “You should be afraid. You’ve put me through a great deal of trouble.”
He spoke in Chinese, knowing that Sokolov understood every word.
Tang removed his hat. Two more of his men flanked the sofa at each end. He gestured for them to wait outside, and they left.
He glanced around at walls painted beige, low-wattage bulbs doing little to brighten the gloom. Green fungus sprouted near the ceiling.
“Not much of a hiding place. Unfortunately for you, we assumed you never left Lanzhou, so we concentrated our efforts here.”
Sokolov watched him with eyes alight with fear.
A cacophony of grinders, power drills, and air jacks, along with the chatter of people, could be heard out a window no bigger than a baking sheet.
Sokolov was tall, broad-shouldered, with a narrow waist and thin hips. A short, straight nose with a slight bump protruded above the tape sealing his mouth, while a dark mop of black hair, long and uncut, dropped to his ears. The beginnings of a beard dusted his cheeks and neck. Tang knew this foreigner was brilliant. Perhaps one of the world’s greatest theorists on oil geology. Together he and Jin Zhao may well have proven a theory that could forever change the planet.
“I have you,” Tang said. “And I have your son. I offered you a way to have your son back, but you chose another path. Know that Cassiopeia Vitt failed. She is most likely dead by now. She did not obtain the lamp. In fact, its oil is gone.”
Terror filled Sokolov’s eyes.
“That’s right,” he said. “What use are you any longer? And what of your son? What will happen to him? Wouldn’t it be fitting that he be reunited with his mother? At least he’ll have one parent.”
Sokolov shook his head in a furious attempt to block out the harsh reality.
“That’s right, Comrade Sokolov. You will die. Just as Zhao died.”
The head shaking stopped, the eyes bright with a question.
“His appeal was denied. We executed him yesterday.”
Sokolov stared in horror, his body trembling.
Tang reminded himself that he needed Sokolov alive, but he also wanted this man to know terror. Months ago, he’d ordered a complete profile. From that he’d learned of the Russian’s devotion to his son. That was not always the case. Tang knew many men who cared little for their children. Money, advancement, even mistresses were more important. Not so with Sokolov. Which was, in a way, admirable. Not that he could sympathize.
Something else from the profile came to mind.
A small item that only last night had become important.
He stepped to the door, opened it, and motioned for one of the men to draw close.
“In the car below there are a few items,” he said in a low voice. “Retrieve them. Then,” he paused, “find me a few rats.”
Malone drove while Cassiopeia sat silent in the passenger seat. His hip still hurt, but his pride was more deeply wounded. He should have kept his cool with Viktor. But he had neither the time nor the patience to deal with any distractions, and that man bore constant watching. Perhaps, though, he was more bothered by Cassiopeia’s defense of Viktor.
“I meant it,” she said. “I appreciate you coming.”
“What else would I have done?”
“Sell books.”
He smiled. “I don’t get to do that as much as I thought I would. Video links from friends getting waterboarded keep getting in the way.”
“I had to do this, Cotton.” He wanted to understand.
“Five years ago, I was involved with something in Bulgaria that went bad. I met Sokolov there. He worked for the Russians. When trouble hit, Sokolov got me out of there. He took a big chance.”
“Why?”
“He hated Moscow and loved his new wife. A Chinese. Who was pregnant at the time.”
Now he understood. The same child now at risk.
“What were you doing in the Balkans? That’s a tough place to roam around.”
“I was after some Thracian gold. A favor to Henrik that turned ugly.”
Things with Henrik Thorvaldsen could go that way. “You find it?”
She nodded her head. “Sure did. But, I barely made it out. With no gold. Cotton, Sokolov didn’t have to do what he did, but I would never have made it out of there, but for him. After, he found me on the Internet. We’d communicate from time to time. He’s an interesting man.”
“So you owe him.”
She nodded. “And I’ve screwed the whole thing up.”
“I think I had a little to do with that, too.”
She motioned to the intersection approaching in the headlights and told him to turn east.
“You had no idea about the oil in the lamp,” she said. “You were flying blind.” She paused. “Sokolov’s wife is destroyed. That boy was her world. I met her last week. I don’t think she can survive knowing he’s gone forever.”
“We’re not done yet,” he said.
She turned her head and looked at him. He glanced across the darkness and caught sight of her face. She looked tired, frustrated, angry.