by Steve Berry
And she told Ni Yong the story of Lev Sokolov’s son.
The man listened, seemingly with a genuine concern, then said, “It is a problem throughout China. Every day, hundreds of children disappear.”
“And what do you do about it?” Malone asked.
Ni eyed him with irritation. “I do nothing. But I agree. Somebody should be doing something.”
“We’re not spies,” Cassiopeia said.
“Maybe not. But you brought Pau Wen, and he is a threat to this country.”
“That I believe,” Malone said.
“How can you help me?” Ni asked.
“I need my iPhone.”
Ni seemed to consider the request, then opened the door and said something in Chinese. A few moments later the phone was lying on the table.
Malone lifted the unit, tapped the screen, and found his photos. “I took this shot in Belgium, while we visited Pau Wen’s residence. It’s a silk map he had reproduced that he was mighty proud to show us.”
A swipe with his finger and Malone slid another picture into view.
“This was taken inside the tomb, atop the plinth where Qin Shi would have lain.”
Ni studied the new image. Malone waited for a comment, but the man said nothing. Instead Ni brought the screen closer, switching back and forth between the two pictures. Ni laid the phone down and found his own, hitting one of the SPEED DIAL buttons and waiting for the connection to complete. When it did, he barked out commands in Chinese and waited. He offered a few more words, then ended the call.
Malone tried to assess Ni Yong, recalling what he’d read on the flight from Belgium. From his own experience he knew the Chinese were difficult to read. They practiced, almost as an art form, a strategy of deception, keeping not only their opponents but also their allies on guard. This man, though, was no low-level operative. Instead, he was the head of the most feared institution in all China. He could literally topple anyone at any time. Stephanie had told him that the United States considered Ni a political moderate in a nation of fanatics. Far more preferable to Karl Tang as the new leader. The Russians seemed to have a similar belief since they’d apparently ordered Viktor Tomas to look after Ni. But Stephanie had also noted that the State Department feared Ni Yong was not tough enough to master China.
Another Gorbachev, she’d said.
Ni’s phone chimed.
He tapped a button, waited a moment, then studied the screen. “When persons elevate to high office they bring things of value. These personal possessions are theirs alone. So to ensure that there is no misunderstanding as to origin, a photographic record is made by my department.”
“So you take with you only what you came with,” Malone said.
Ni nodded. “When you showed me that image it triggered a memory. In the presidential residence there’s a private study used only by the premier. The current occupant decorated the room with items brought when he assumed office nine years ago. Rosewood furniture, vases, scrolls, inlaid wood screens. I have been inside that room several times.”
Ni laid his phone down beside Malone’s. Though its screen was smaller than the iPhone’s, the image was nonetheless clear.
A silk map.
“This hangs on the wall there.”
Malone and Cassiopeia leaned close.
“They’re identical,” she said.
Malone instantly realized the implications.
“I’ve admired that map,” Ni said. “The premier told me the same thing, as Pau related to you. A reproduction that he had made from an ancient one he admired.”
“Tang and Pau are both eunuchs,” Malone said. “The Ba.”
And what was unspoken hung in the air.
What of the premier?
“I asked,” Ni said. “He says that he is no eunuch. He refused the operation.”
“You believe him?” Vitt asked.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“There’s something else,” Malone said, motioning to the phones. “Notice the border surrounding the map in the premier’s study.”
“Chinese numbers,” Ni said, pointing to the top left. “Three, four, six, eight, two, five, one, seven.”
Malone gently balanced his finger over the character that appeared two up from the left-hand vertical side. “Nine. Up here. On the top row. Two over. Four.”
He pointed to his phone and the image from Pau’s residence. “They are identical. But check this.” He flicked the screen with his finger and revealed the top of the plinth. “Different symbols in different places.”
He watched as Ni assessed the fact. “These are not numbers. They are characters.”
The thought seemed to occur to them all at once.
From an ancient one he once saw.
With changes.
“Pau has been in that tomb,” Malone said.
“So has the premier,” Ni added.
“Is that how those lights got there?” Malone asked.
Ni nodded.
Malone traced two lines in the air above the screen. One down from the four. Another over from the nine.
“It’s a grid,” he said, “created for their maps. Just like grids used on maps everywhere. They used four and nine. Lucky and unlucky. Pau showed me that in the library chamber. I’m betting that where those lines intersect is important.”
He lifted his phone and enlarged the relevant portion of the map. The lines did indeed intersect at a defined point. What had Pau said? A lonely locale in the western mountains. Denoted by three characters.
“I know what those mean,” Ni said. “Beside the capital.”
“We can’t see it on this tiny image on your phone,” Malone said. “But if someone looks at the photo you have, I’m betting those same three symbols will be in the same location.”
Ni placed another call, and it took only a few moments for the confirmation to be reported.
Dots were connecting in Malone’s brain.
Ni’s phone chimed again. He lifted the unit, tapped a button, and read.
Malone caught the consternation on the man’s face. He and Cassiopeia listened as Ni explained about a telephone call his people had intercepted just a short while ago, between Tang and Pau.
“There’s some sort of division occurring between them,” Ni said. “Pau Wen enticed Tang, and now he wants me to come as well. A few years ago we opened a website to allow informants to report corruption electronically. Pau is aware of the site. He made mention of it to me. He sent a message through the site. Inform Minister Ni that I await him in the Hall for the Preservation of Harmony. Much corruption can be located there. Tell Cassiopeia Vitt that what she seeks is there, too.”
“The bastard knew all along where the boy is,” she said.
Malone shook his head. “His information network must be top-notch. Pau knows we survived and that you have us.”
“Spies,” Ni said.
“We have to go there,” Cassiopeia said.
“Karl Tang is headed west, as we speak,” Ni quietly noted.
“She’s right,” Malone said. “We have to go.”
Ni shook his head. “I can’t allow it.”
Cassiopeia didn’t want to hear that. “Why not? I’m betting you know all about the Ba. You also seem to know quite a bit about Pau Wen. I don’t know Karl Tang, but I’ve had enough experience with him the past few days to know he’s dangerous. There’s no telling how far this threat stretches. You’ve got Russia and America worried enough that they’re working together to stop them. I know you have a problem with Viktor Tomas, and I’m not excusing what he did with that pilot, but he saved your ass. Now it appears the premier himself may be involved. You don’t know us at all, Minister. But we’re the most trustworthy allies you’ve got. This thing is about to end—” She pointed to the map still on Malone’s phone screen. “—right there.” She checked her watch. “It’s nearly seven PM. We need to go.”
Ni’s expression softened. “There’s something that
has to happen first. I was informed of it outside, earlier.”
Malone waited.
“We found Lev Sokolov. He’s on his way here.”
SIXTY-FIVE
KASHGAR
XINJIANG AUTONOMOUS REGION
FRIDAY, MAY 18
1:00 AM
Tang exited his jet and stepped out into the early morning. The flight west across the Taklamakan Desert had been uneventful, the air tranquil. He noticed that the clocks outside the airport were set two hours early, an unofficial defiance of the decree that all of China run on Beijing time. The present government had been tolerant of such slights. He would not be as generous. The riots and unrest that permeated the western portion of the nation would be quelled. Separatist leanings would be punished. If need be, he would raze every mosque and publicly execute every dissident to make the point that this land would remain part of China.
Viktor followed him off the plane. They’d spoken little on the flight, both of them sleeping a few hours, readying themselves for what lay ahead.
He needed to speak with his office, but had been unable to make contact.
A military chopper waited a hundred meters away, its blades already whirling. The flight south, into the mountains, was only three hundred kilometers and should not take long.
He gestured and, together, he and Viktor trotted toward the helicopter.
Cassiopeia had been thrilled to see Lev Sokolov. They’d waited for him at the airfield in Xi’an. Her friend appeared tired and fragile, but otherwise in good spirits. As soon as Sokolov arrived, she, Malone, Sokolov, and Ni Yong boarded a Chinese turboprop, commandeered from Sichuan Airlines. With room for sixty and only four aboard, they’d been able to stretch out and sleep, even eat a little something, as the galley had been stocked before they left. Before crossing the Taklamakan wasteland, they’d stopped once for fuel.
During the flight they’d listened as Sokolov explained about his capture by Tang, the torture, then imprisonment in the lab. Earlier, Ni’s men had stormed the facility, surprised the guards and freed him, killing two of Tang’s associates. Sokolov’s only concern seemed to be his son, and his spirits lifted when Cassiopeia told him that they may well know the boy’s whereabouts.
“Why are you so important to Karl Tang?” Ni asked.
“I hate you Chinese,” Sokolov spat out.
“He’s here to help,” she said. “Tang tried to kill him and me.”
“I understand your resentment,” Ni said. “But I did not have to bring you along, nor did I have to rescue you. I chose to do both, so I’m hoping that says something for my intentions.”
Sokolov’s face softened, his eyes cooled.
“I discover oil is infinite.”
Tang listened through the earphones as his subordinates reported what had happened in Xi’an after he departed, and what had happened at the laboratory in Lanzhou.
“Sokolov was flown south to Xi’an,” his chief aide stated. “Minister Ni is on his way west, with two foreigners and Lev Sokolov.”
“Do we know where?”
“No, sir. They filed no flight path.”
“Locate the plane. Sichuan Airlines has transponders. I want to know where they land.”
His aide acknowledged the order.
Time for some preventive measures.
“Connect me to the Pakistani defense ministry,” he told his subordinate. “Now.”
Viktor had been listening to the conversation through his own headset. While Tang waited for the call to be made, he said, “Ni has decided to utilize Malone and Vitt. Make them his allies.”
Viktor nodded. “Smart play. But Malone is a problem. Ni doesn’t understand what he’s dealing with.”
Tang didn’t like any of this. He was being forced to take ever-bolder steps. So far he’d been able to operate within the confines of Party secrecy where no one questioned anything. But this was not Beijing.
He felt vulnerable.
“You want me to go handle Malone and Vitt?” Viktor asked.
“No. This time I’ll do it myself.”
Ni heard the words that Lev Sokolov had spoken. “Explain yourself.”
“Oil is infinite. It comes from deep in earth and can be replenished. Its origins are abiotic. Biotic oil all consumed long ago.”
“Is that why Tang wanted the lamp with the oil?” Cassiopeia asked.
The Russian nodded. “I need sample for comparison test that would prove theory. Some oil taken from ground long ago, at defined spot.”
Ni’s mind reeled. “Tang knows this?”
Sokolov nodded. “That why he took my child. Why”—the man gently touched his shirt above his abdomen—“he torture me.”
“You have a way to prove that oil is infinite?” Malone asked.
“I do. It’s my lifework. My friend Jin Zhao was killed for it.”
Which explained why Karl Tang had been so interested in Zhao’s execution. Ni told Malone and Vitt about Zhao’s charges, trial, and death sentence, which Tang had personally overseen.
“He was good man,” Sokolov said. “Slaughtered by you people.”
“Not by me,” Ni made clear.
“Your whole country rotten. Nothing about it good.”
“If you feel that way, why immigrate?” Malone asked.
“I love my wife.”
Ni wondered how many people the Chinese Communist Party had similarly alienated. Millions? No. Hundreds of millions. Not counting the tens of millions who had been butchered for no reason other than to sustain power. The past few days had opened his eyes, and he did not like what he was seeing.
“China’s view of the world,” Ni said, “has always been clouded by a belief of superiority. Unfortunately, our vulnerabilities are exaggerated by this conceit. Taiwan is an example. A small, insignificant island yet it has dominated our thoughts for decades. Our leaders have proclaimed that it must be reincorporated into China. Wars have been threatened, international tensions heightened—”
“And oil is your weakest point of all,” Malone said. “China couldn’t survive more than two weeks without foreign oil.”
Ni nodded. “That is no secret. When Deng Xiaoping modernized us we became utterly dependent on oil, most of it foreign, which is why China was forced to engage the world. In order to produce the goods for sale, to accommodate a billion and a half people, we must have energy.”
“Unless the oil coming out of the ground, inside China, is infinite,” Cassiopeia said.
“China oil is abiotic,” Sokolov said. “I test every well. It is consistent with theory.”
Ni shook his head. “Knowing we are no longer dependent on imported energy would dramatically change our foreign and domestic policies.”
Malone nodded. “And not for the good.”
“Right now, we bargain for oil. Knowing he did not have to bargain, Tang would move to fulfill territorial dreams that China has harbored for centuries.”
“Like Taiwan,” Malone said.
Ni nodded. “Which could start a world war. America would not allow that to go unanswered.”
“Is my son really where we go?” Sokolov asked.
Cassiopeia nodded. “We think so.”
“But we’re taking the word of an e-mail from Pau Wen, a pathological liar,” Malone said.
Ni felt compelled to say to Sokolov, “We will find your son. Know that I will do all I can to locate him.”
“And will you kill Karl Tang?” Sokolov asked.
A question he’d asked himself repeatedly, ever since fleeing Qin Shi’s tomb. Tang clearly wanted him dead. That was why he’d been lured underground.
“You need to know,” Cassiopeia said to Sokolov, “the Russians are involved.”
Alarm filled the man’s tired eyes.
She explained how they’d entered China with Russian help.
“They thought me dead,” Sokolov said.
“Not necessarily,” Malone said. “They want me back?”
Sokolov seeme
d to grasp the implications. So did Cassiopeia Vitt.
“Viktor’s here to kill him, isn’t he?” she asked Malone.
“Like I said. Having him back is good, but a lid on this is better.”
SIXTY-SIX
Tang sat silent during the flight, the helicopter buffeting across what he knew to be ever-thinning air into the western highlands. They were most likely following the Karakoram Highway, which connected Kashgar with Pakistan through a mountain pass nearly five thousand meters above sea level. This had once been the route used by caravans traveling the Silk Road, patrolled only by bandits who took advantage of the impossible terrain to slaughter and plunder. Now it was a forgotten corner of the republic, claimed by many, controlled by none.
He’d left the headphones on as a way not only to buffet the rotor’s drone, but also to avoid talking to Viktor Tomas. Luckily, the man had closed his eyes and dozed off, his headset removed.
For a decade he’d intentionally avoided the Hall for the Preservation of Harmony. Only a few brothers still lived there, mainly to perpetuate the illusion of a mountain monastery, a home to holy men who wanted nothing more than to be left alone.
He told himself to be cautious.
Everything was happening for a reason.
“Minister,” the pilot said in his headphones.
The word jarred him from his thoughts. “What is it?”
“A call from your office.”
He heard a click, then, “Minister, we are fairly confident of Ni Yong’s destination. Yecheng.”
Also known as Kargilik. He’d visited once, admiring for the staterun television cameras its 15th-century mosque and adobe-walled backstreets.
“There is a small airport south of town,” his chief aide said. “The turboprop that Minister Ni commandeered can land there. It is the only available location on their route.”
“Listen to me carefully. This must be done. I will hold you personally responsible if it fails.”
Silence confirmed that his chief aide understood the gravity.
“Locate the municipal police commander in Yecheng. Wake him from his sleep. Tell him I want the occupants of that plane detained. One of them, a Russian, Lev Sokolov, along with Minister Ni, are to be isolated from the others and held until I send for him. Forward by computer or fax a photo of Sokolov so his identity will not be a question. Minister Ni, I assume, he will recognize.”