by Steve Berry
With some things added.
He wished he still had his iPhone, but it had been confiscated, along with their weapons, when the guards searched them. Without it, he wasn’t absolutely sure—but sure enough.
The door opened.
A man entered, perhaps mid- to late fifties, taut cheeks pitted with scars, dark hair piled thick shading ears splayed outward.
A grave determination filled his eyes.
“I am Minister Ni Yong.”
SIXTY-TWO
Tang left the security building and headed straight for the car he and Viktor had commandeered. He’d told Viktor to wait outside, and apparently he’d been smart enough to conceal himself when Ni and his men arrived. Two of Ni’s minions stood guard at the entrance to the building. He decided he should not be obvious in searching for Viktor, so he slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and drove away.
Movement in the backseat startled him.
Viktor’s face appeared in the rearview mirror. “I was wondering when you’d come out.”
“Minister Ni is looking for you.”
“I’m sure he is.”
He’d determined that Viktor’s usefulness was at an end. If Ni managed to capture him, it would not take long for him to talk. Chinese interrogation procedures were quite effective. Unlike the West, there was no hesitation to employ torture.
But there was the problem of Pau Wen. Where had the old man gone?
His phone rang. He’d reactivated the unit as he’d left the security building. He wheeled the car to the side of the road and answered, placing the call on speaker.
“I have returned,” Pau Wen said.
But he wanted to know, “You said that tomb contained lamps with oil. There was nothing there.”
“It once contained many lamps, all filled with oil,” Pau said. “But when I entered two decades ago, I removed all of the artifacts, including the lamps.”
“Where are you?”
Pau laughed. “Why would I answer such a question?”
“You’re inside China. I will find you.”
“I’m sure you saw on the cameras that the two brothers stationed to guard the library chamber left with me. That should be proof enough that you do not enjoy the total support of the brotherhood.”
“I have men enough to finish you.”
“But whom can you really trust? Who else is likewise deceiving you?”
“I must have that oil sample. You know that.”
“To get one of those lamps, you will have to deal with me.”
“You assured me that I would have a sample. It is imperative to our plan.”
“But it is not our plan any longer. You assumed control. It is now your plan. That was made clear the last time we spoke.”
He knew what to say. “How can we resolve this impasse?”
“Bao he dian,” Pau said.
He realized Viktor understood Mandarin perfectly and knew the translation.
The Hall for the Preservation of Harmony.
“There,” Pau said. “We will talk.”
“And you can kill me?”
“If I wanted you dead, you already would be.”
To prove the theory of abiotic oil, and free China from the bonds of imports, Sokolov had to be provided a verified sample of oil that had been extracted from the Gansu fields 2,200 years ago. Pau Wen was the only known source for that sample. Still—
“How will I know that the sample you provide is authentic?”
“I relocated everything from Qin Shi’s tomb. That required great effort. It would be inconceivable for me to alter anything I went to so much trouble to save.”
“Why did I never know this?”
“Because it was not necessary to tell you.”
“I’m on the way,” he declared.
“Then we shall speak again. There.”
The connection ended, and he closed the phone.
“I assume we’re both going?” Viktor asked.
The call had been troublesome on many layers, one of which told him that he still needed this foreigner.
At least for a while.
“That is correct.”
Ni studied the two strangers. Their passports identified them as Cotton Malone and Cassiopeia Vitt, which his staff had verified to be true. Spies didn’t normally carry correct identification. They’d also been armed with two PLA sidearms, most likely secured from the helicopter that had flown them north from Lake Dian. A quick Internet vet had revealed Cassiopeia Vitt to be a wealthy woman, living in southern France, her father a self-made billionaire who left everything to his only child. Her name appeared in numerous news accounts from around the globe, most dealing with archaeological finds or some sort of threatened historical object that she’d either liberated or renovated.
Cotton Malone was a different story. A lawyer, navy commander, and former American agent working with the U.S. Justice Department. He’d retired two years ago and now owned a bookshop in Copenhagen, Denmark.
A cover?
Perhaps, but it seemed a bit obvious.
“I want to know about the pilot who flew you from Yunnan province,” he said in English.
“That’s easy,” Malone said. “His name is Viktor Tomas and he’s a pain in the ass. If you could arrest him that would be great.”
“I’d love to do just that. He killed one of our pilots.”
“Who was trying to kill us,” Cassiopeia said.
Ni glared at her. “He was an officer in the PLA, following orders. He had no idea who you were.”
“Viktor’s around here somewhere,” Malone said. “He works for Karl Tang.”
He sensed animosity. “You don’t care for this man.”
“He’s not on my Christmas card list.”
“Why are you two here?” he asked.
“Sightseeing,” Malone said. “It’s a new tour being offered by the PLA. You get a ride in one of your choppers, attacked by a fighter, they throw in a sneak peek inside an ancient tomb.”
Ni smiled at the humor. These two were no threat. At least not to him. “You were in the tomb, firing at Tang and his men?”
Malone eyed him. “Judging from your wet clothes and the grime that we all have all over us, you were there, too. ‘Hey, assholes.’ Remember that?”
“You gave me time to escape.”
“That was the whole idea,” Vitt made clear. “Though we didn’t know who we were helping.”
He decided to risk it. “This Viktor Tomas helped me escape.”
Malone seemed surprised. “Lucky you. Seems you’re on his Christmas card list.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“All depends on what side of the fence he’s on today.”
“Where is Pau Wen?” he asked.
“He’s gone,” Vitt said. “He disappeared in a tunnel on the way into the tomb. We have no idea where.”
“You, of course,” Malone said, “already knew that. He’s left here, hasn’t he?”
Ni noted that Malone possessed good instincts. But from a former agent, he would expect no less. “He drove away two hours ago.”
“Seems you have a multitude of problems,” Malone said.
“As do you.”
The door opened.
“Minister, we need a word,” one of his men said in Mandarin.
He wondered if Malone or Vitt understood.
Neither of them indicated one way or the other.
“I will return in a moment.”
Malone knew it was coming.
“There was no need to sell out Viktor,” Cassiopeia said as the door closed.
“He was already sold out.”
“You heard Ni. Viktor saved him.”
“Which means the Russians want Ni to beat Tang for control of this corruptible place. No surprise there.” He still did not mention Viktor’s two other objectives—killing Tang and retrieving, or silencing if necessary, Sokolov.
“You finished sorting through that brain of yours?”
she asked.
He ignored her and stood.
“What are you going to do?”
“Play a hunch.”
He opened the door.
Two men reacted to his presence with hands that reached for holstered weapons. Ni Yong was speaking with the man who’d interrupted. He barked a command that Malone did not understand, but the men stood down.
“What is it?” Ni asked in English.
“I think I can help you.”
SIXTY-THREE
Tang settled into the helicopter as it lifted into the evening sky. Viktor sat across from him.
The Hall for the Preservation of Harmony.
He’d not visited there in a long while.
“Brothers, this will be the last time we speak face-to-face,” Pau Wen said.
Tang stood with a select group of fifty. Through open window frames he caught the scent of mountain air. A silk robe that he and the others wore provided little warmth from the afternoon chill, but he was not cold.
“We have planned well,” Pau said to them.
The long hall was fronted by an elaborate lattice screen that shielded hundreds of pigeonholed shelves containing the ancient words. Each manuscript was nearly a meter long, comprising loose sheets of centuries-old silk and linen, wrapped in cloth and compressed between two carved boards. He’d personally repaired several of them as part of his training. Silver lamps dotted the walls, but there was no need for their light as a bright sun flooded through the upper two galleries. Outside, the moan of a conch shell, blown by another brother, indicated that three PM had arrived.
“Of all our number, you are the ones I believe have the best chance of ascending to positions of power and influence. One of you may even become premier, which will make our goal that much easier to achieve. I have ensured that all of you have an adequate start. Each of you is ready. So go forth. Tou liang huan zhu.”
Replace the beams and pillars with rotten timber.
Tang understood the proverb perfectly.
Sabotage, destroy, or otherwise remove the key structures sustaining an opponent and substitute for them your own. Incapacitate your adversary, assume control from the inside.
“When the wheels are held up,” Pau Wen said, “the chariot can’t move. When the beams and pillars are withdrawn, the house will fall asunder.”
Tang was proud to be part of what was about to begin.
“I will be leaving soon,” Pau made clear. “That is necessary in order for our goal to succeed. But I shall monitor and command your progress from afar. Brother Tang will be my voice to you.”
Had he heard right? Why not one of the older ones? He was not even thirty and he was new to the Ba. Yet he would be in charge?
“His youth is his asset,” Pau said. “Our plan will take much time. Though there are many of you more experienced, time is not your ally.”
He glanced around the hall and saw that none of the others betrayed the slightest reaction. The Ba was not a democracy. In fact, that concept was devoid from Legalist thought. The Hegemon made all decisions, without discussion or debate.
“And why is it you must leave?” one of the older men suddenly asked.
Pau Wen’s face remained expressionless. “I could pose a distraction.”
“Meaning that your enemies could interfere.”
“You have long harbored reservations about our course,” Pau said.
“That is false. My reservations are directed toward you.”
Tang knew this man to be of nearly equal stature to Pau Wen. Favored in the capital, known to the Party. Respected. But Tang also realized what Pau was doing.
Lure the tiger from the mountains.
Rather than plunging into dangerous and unfamiliar territory to confront an adversary, it was far better to make him come out and fight you.
“You are setting us loose for an arduous battle,” the adversary said. “One that you are not willing to fight with us. Some of us may succeed, many of us will not. You, though, cannot lose.”
“What would you have me do?”
“At a minimum, stay here.”
A smart stratagem, Tang thought. When an opponent possessed the edge, rather than resisting directly, deplete his resources, sap his strength. Cause a mistake. On a lesser man the ploy may have worked—
“But then you would not be able to undermine me,” Pau said.
Gazes locked.
“I am aware of what you have been doing,” Pau declared. “I know that once I leave, you will usurp all that I have planned. That is why you were not chosen as my emissary. That is why we are here, for all to know of your treachery.”
The man stood his ground, his back as rigid as his attitude. “You will be our ruin.”
Pau’s arms were folded across his chest, each hand concealed within the robe’s sleeves. Tang watched as only the older man’s eyes glanced left, and the brother standing close to Pau’s challenger advanced two steps, grabbed the man’s head with both hands, and spun it right.
A crack broke the silence and the body sank to the marble.
None of the others reacted.
Pau Wen stood rigid.
“After writing The Art of War, Sun Tzu was given an audience with the king of Wu. He wanted command of the king’s army, but the king did not believe that anyone could be trained as a soldier, so the king presented Sun Tzu a challenge. Train the court concubines to fight and you may command my army. Sun Tzu accepted the challenge, appointing two of the women as officers and explaining the commands for marching. But when the drum signals were given, all the women burst out laughing. Sun Tzu knew that if orders are not clear, the general is at fault. So he repeated his explanation, but the officers and the women only laughed again. Sun Tzu also knew that when orders are clear but not followed, the officers are at fault. So he ordered the officers, the king’s two favorite concubines, beheaded. After that, the remaining women followed orders perfectly and became well trained. The king, though disgusted and angry, gave Sun Tzu command of the army.”
All of them stood silent.
“Are my orders clear?” Pau asked the group.
They all nodded.
Tang recalled what had happened after the gathering. He and two others had taken the body outside, beyond the rocks, to the sacred place. There the limbs were cut away, the corpse hacked to pieces, rocks used to pound the flesh and bones into a pulp, which they mixed with barley flour and milk.
Then the vultures had been summoned.
He’d witnessed the jhator many times. The literal translation was “giving alms to the birds,” the only practical way to dispose of human remains in a land too rocky to dig graves and too short of timber to cremate.
“It is a bad omen,” Pau once said, “if the birds have to be coaxed to eat or even if a small portion of the offering remains after they fly away.”
But on that day the birds had departed only after nothing remained to be eaten.
He wished he could deal with Ni Yong as easily as Pau Wen had dismissed his challenger. Ni’s boldness was disturbing. Had the premier actually authorized Ni Yong to detain him? He decided to find out and ordered the helicopter pilot to connect him with Beijing. His chief assistant came on the line and he learned that the premier had left the capital a few hours ago.
“Where is he headed?”
“Xinjiang region. There is a ceremony in Kashgar commemorating the opening of a new water treatment facility.”
Not something that would usually command the Party’s premier and the country’s president, so he voiced his concerns.
“I thought the same thing,” his assistant said. “I inquired and was told that the governor is worried about more unrest in the region.”
The far western reaches of China had always been a problem. Eight nations shared its border, the culture far more Muslim and Central Asian than Eastern. To dilute its nearly 90% population of non-Han Chinese, Mao had encouraged immigrations. Subsequent governments, the present one included, continue
d the policy. Of late, the violent protests against a perceived cultural invasion action had escalated.
“Is that all you could learn?”
“They began to question why I was so interested. I told them that you required a meeting.”
An adequate ruse.
“Minister, I have just been informed of something else.”
He did not like the change in tone.
“The laboratory in Lanzhou has been attacked. The men there are dead. Lev Sokolov was taken.”
SIXTY-FOUR
Ni stared at Cotton Malone, who stood in the doorway confident and sure. Daring, also, to fly into China unannounced. He’d requested more information on both Malone and Vitt, but nothing had yet been provided. Instead he’d just listened to a report about a mobile phone conversation intercepted a few minutes ago—Karl Tang speaking to Pau Wen.
“You assured me that I would have a sample. It is imperative to our plan.”
“But it is not our plan any longer. You assumed control. It is now your plan.”
“How was this obtained?” he’d asked.
“We are monitoring every phone number Minister Tang currently utilizes.”
“Where is Tang?”
“He departed from here in a state helicopter. He has a plane waiting in Xi’an, and a flight pattern west to Kashgar has been filed.” He recalled the location Pau had mentioned in the call.
Bao he dian.
“What type of help can you provide?” Ni asked Malone.
“I know where Pau Wen has gone.”
Actually, so did he. “And where would that be?”
“The Hall for the Preservation of Harmony.”
Malone stepped back into the room, followed by Ni Yong. Clearly, he’d uttered the correct response to the question. Ni had immediately dismissed his aide and gestured for them to return inside. Cassiopeia was still comfortable in the chair, feet propped on the table, but he knew she’d heard him.
“What do you know of this hall?” Ni asked.
He sat. “First things first. We’re not your problem.”
“I don’t know who you are.”
“We’re here,” Cassiopeia said, “because of a four-year-old boy.”