The Cotton Malone Series 7-Book Bundle

by Steve Berry

  The People’s Liberation Army.

  “It’s for Tang,” a new voice said.

  Malone turned.

  Viktor stood ten feet away.

  Tang fled the hotel through a rear door. Its proprietor had been most accommodating, the few hundred yuan Viktor provided quelling any questions. He passed a carpentry shop, wood spinner, key maker, and tailor shop, following a rear alley that led straight to a meadow north of the town limits. Colorful edelweiss could be seen at the far end of the alley.

  He heard the helicopter draw closer.

  Malone and Vitt still being alive was a problem. They had been unknowns from the start, used for an advantage, but now they were drawing too close. And time was running out.

  He found his phone and dialed his office, thankful for satellites unaffected by mountainous terrain. His chief aide answered immediately.

  “Tell our friends in Islamabad that I want them to do as I asked.”

  “They are waiting to hear.”

  “Make sure they understand success is all that counts. Nothing less. Assure them I will not forget the favor.”

  “Still only one target?”

  “No. Three. And I want them all eliminated.”

  SEVENTY-TWO

  Malone studied Viktor. A coil of rope over one shoulder, backpack on the other, a thick jacket zipped in front. “Where are you headed? As if I have to ask.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Cassiopeia stepped forward. “Tang has Ni and Sokolov.”

  “He already knows that,” Malone said. “You’re a busy guy. First, you kidnapped Cassiopeia, tortured her, let her escape, then allowed us to fly into a Chinese ambush. After that, you disappear and allow us to nearly get killed two more times. Now you’re here.”

  “You’re still alive, aren’t you? I saved your sorry hide in that tomb.”

  “No. You saved Ni. That’s part of your mission.”

  “You have no idea about my mission.”

  Malone saw the chopper rising into the morning sky. “Tang’s leaving?”

  “I have to go,” Viktor said.

  “So do we,” Cassiopeia said.

  “The Russians want to make sure Ni Yong is the next premier of this godforsaken place,” Malone said. “And they want Sokolov back.”

  “Get real, Malone. You think they’re the only ones who want that? Why do you think Stephanie Nelle was in Copenhagen? I’m working for her. She knew I had Cassiopeia. She okayed it. She wanted you involved. I’m not the manipulator here, I’m just a pawn on the board. As are you two.”

  The realization struck him hard. Stephanie had played him. Believe me, I hedged my bets. I’m not relying on Ivan 100 percent.

  Now he knew what she’d meant.

  “I’m just doing my job,” Viktor said. “Do yours, or get the hell out of the way.”

  Malone grabbed Viktor’s arm. “You risked Cassiopeia’s life for this game.”

  “No, actually Stephanie did that. But lucky for us you were around to save the day.”

  He shoved Viktor back.

  The coiled rope dropped from his shoulder at the same time Viktor’s other arm slipped free of the backpack.

  But Viktor did not retaliate.

  “You enjoy killing that pilot?” Malone asked. “Blew him out of the sky. Was that part of your mission, too?”

  Viktor stayed silent.

  “You’re a murderer,” Malone said. “You killed that pilot for no other reason than to suck us in. To prove to us you were on our side. Then, as soon as we get to the tomb, there you are, trying to kill us again. One of those flashlights searching through that fog was yours.”

  Anger flared in Viktor’s eyes.

  “Did you enjoy torturing Cassiopeia? Taunting me with what was happening. You pour the water yourself?”

  Viktor catapulted himself into Malone, pounding them both onto the Range Rover’s hood. The street around them cleared as they rolled down to hard earth. Malone freed himself of the grip and sprang to his feet, but Viktor was faster, already up, planting a kick to the stomach.

  The breath left him.

  He recovered and swung, catching Viktor in the chest with a sweeping jab. He struggled with the thin air, breathing in heavy gasps, the exertion taxing his lungs, the world spinning. The lack of oxygen, combined with Viktor’s blow, stunned him more than he’d expected.

  He caught hold of himself, focused, and advanced.

  Viktor stood his ground, but Malone was ready, dodging one blow, then another, ramming his right fist into Viktor’s gut. He followed with two more blows. Like slugging stone, but he did not relent. An uppercut to the jaw and Viktor teetered on weak knees, then fell. He waited to see if Viktor would stand, but he remained down.

  He sucked deep breaths. Damn this altitude. He turned and started back toward where Cassiopeia stood.

  He never saw what hit him, but it was solid and delivered square across his spine. Pain doubled him over, his knees buckling. Another blow to his shoulders drove him forward, and he hit the pavement, then rolled, Viktor on top, grabbing two handfuls of his jacket, yanking him up.

  “Stop,” Cassiopeia yelled.

  She’d watched as Viktor had grabbed a shovel propped beside one of the shop doors and blindsided a retreating Malone. Then he’d followed the blow with another. Now he straddled a clearly woozy Cotton, ready to slam the back of his head into the pavement.

  “Let him go,” she said, staring hard into Viktor’s angry eyes.

  His breaths came quick and hard.

  “Let him go,” she said again, her voice lower.

  “I told you next time it would be different,” Viktor muttered as he released his hold and climbed off.

  The spectators drifted off. Fight over. No police were in sight. She doubted this town employed any. Viktor moved toward his backpack, reshouldered it, then looped his left arm through the rope coil.

  Cotton was reaching for his spine, still on the ground.

  “Tang has ordered an attack on you,” Viktor said. “From the Pakistanis. The border is up there on the route to the monastery. There are soldiers, waiting.”

  “You realize that he’s probably ordered that attack for you, too,” she said.

  “The thought occurred to me. That’s why I’m going up first. I’d prefer that neither one of you follow, but you’re not going to listen to me, are you?”

  “You’re going to need some help.”

  “Malone was right. I risked your life too many times.”

  “And you also saved it.”

  “I’m not doing it again.”

  “Risking? Or saving?”

  “Neither one, and since I know you won’t stay here, the trail west of town leads to a suspension bridge. Beyond are some carvings that point the way to the hall. Wait an hour. That should give me time to do something. Maybe I can lead them off.” Viktor pointed at Cotton. “He’s not going to be ready to go till then anyway.”

  He started to leave.

  She grabbed his arm and felt him shudder. “What are you going to do?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  He gestured with his head toward Cotton.

  “Why didn’t you just tell me in Belgium that you were working for Stephanie?”

  “It’s not my way.”

  “Torturing me is?”

  “Don’t think I enjoyed that. I had no choice.”

  She saw the pain in his eyes and wanted to know, “Are you loyal to anything?”

  “Myself.”

  But she wasn’t fooled. “There’s more to you than you want anyone to know.”

  He gestured again. “A lot like him.”

  Then she realized. “You wanted a fight here, didn’t you?”

  “I had to delay your departure. Tell him I regret the cheap shot, but it seemed the only way to slow you down.”

  “Are you here to kill Tang?”

  “There are a lot of people who would be pl
eased with that. I had the chance, just a short while ago, to shoot him down.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Too soon. I need to know what’s up there in those mountains. Ni is up there. I have to get him out.”

  “What are you going to do with Sokolov?”

  He did not answer her.

  “You going to kill him?”

  More silence.

  “Tell me,” she said, her voice rising.

  “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

  “I do.”

  “Then we’ll be fine.”

  And he left.

  SEVENTY-THREE

  Ni admired his prison. The bedchamber was spectacular. Marble columns sprouted upward toward a coffered ceiling, bas-relief dragons twisting from bottom to top. Frescoes on the walls depicted an emperor’s journey, one wall showing him leaving his palace, the procession unfolding through the mountains along two more, and ending on the fourth at a cluster of buildings streaked with purple, gray, and shades of ocher, rising from the shoulder of the mountain.

  Here. This exact place.

  As depicted by the artist, and as Ni had seen flying in on the helicopter, glaciers brooding above a barren valley.

  He and Sokolov had been flown straight from Yecheng. They’d been treated well, escorted from a landing pad outside the walls by two younger men adorned in woolen robes, their hair wound on top, secured with red tassels, red woven sashes wrapping their waists.

  A butter lamp the size of a washbasin and fashioned of beaten copper burned in one corner, scenting the room. Windows hung open, cool air seeping inside, mellowing the flame’s hypnotic influence. Occasionally, the distant bellow of a yak could be heard. He realized there was no danger of him escaping since the windows opened into a courtyard within the outer walls.

  Sokolov sat in one of several lacquered chairs, the furniture exquisite in both detail and design. Expensive rugs cushioned the marble floor. Apparently, the Ba believed in living comfortably.

  The door opened.

  He turned to see Pau Wen.

  “I was told that you had returned to China,” Ni said to the older man.

  Pau wore a golden-yellow robe, an interesting choice in color since Ni knew it symbolized the throne. Two more younger men stood behind Pau, each carrying a loaded crossbow, held ready.

  “Minister Tang is on his way,” Pau said.

  “For me?” Sokolov asked.

  Pau nodded. “Your revolutionary discovery is vital to what he has planned.”

  “How do you know of my discovery?”

  “Because Karl Tang is a brother of the Ba.”

  He recalled the phone conversation and the split between Pau and Tang. “You lie well.”

  Pau seemed to absorb the insult. “I have been of the brotherhood nearly my entire adult life. I was subject to the knife at age twenty-eight. I rose to Hegemon by age forty. Never doubt, though, that I love China. Its culture. Its heritage. I have done all I can to preserve it.”

  “You are a eunuch, as deceitful as all of them who came before you.”

  “But there were many of us who did great things, who performed our duties with skill and honor. In fact, Minister, history shows that there were far more of those than of the other.”

  “And which one are you?” Ni asked.

  “I am no monster,” Pau said. “I have willingly returned home.”

  He was not impressed. “And why is that?”

  “To see who will lead China.”

  “That seems already decided.”

  “Your cynicism is self-defeating. I tried to warn you of that in Belgium.”

  “Where’s my son?” Sokolov asked. “I was told he was here.”

  Pau motioned and the two brothers standing behind him parted. Another brother strode forward holding the hand of a small boy, perhaps four or five, the same hair and face as Sokolov. The boy spotted his father and rushed forward. They embraced and Sokolov began to rattle off words in Russian, both of them sobbing.

  “You see,” Pau said. “He is fine. He has been here all along, well cared for.”

  Sokolov was not listening, smothering the boy with kisses. Ni, unmarried, could only imagine the agony the father had endured.

  “I have gone to a great deal of trouble to lure everyone here,” Pau said.

  That he did believe. “And what will that decide?”

  “The fate of China, as has happened many times through the centuries. That’s what has made our culture so special. It is what set us apart from all others. No emperor ever ruled solely because of his bloodline. Instead it was the emperor’s responsibility to set a moral example for both his government and his people. If he grew corrupt, or incompetent, rebellion has always been regarded as a legitimate recourse. Any peasant who could gather an army could found a new dynasty. And that happened many times. If prosperity came from his rule, then he was deemed to have gained the ‘mandate of Heaven.’ His male heirs were expected to succeed him, but they, too, could be overthrown if judged unfit. The mandate of Heaven not only must be maintained, but must be earned.”

  “And the Communist Party earned theirs’?”

  “Hardly. They manufactured it. But that illusion has become all too obvious. They forgot both their Legalist roots and Confucian morals. The people long ago judged them unfit to rule.”

  “And you now have raised the army to overthrow them?”

  “Not me, Minister.”

  Out the window he heard a helicopter approaching.

  “That is Tang,” Pau said. “Finally, he arrives.”

  Malone sat propped against the Range Rover’s tire, rubbing his back. He recalled clearly what had happened last year in Central Asia, when he and Viktor had first squared off, and what Stephanie had said.

  Viktor, if you ever get tired of freelancing and want a job, let me know.

  Apparently, Viktor had taken the offer to heart.

  He resented what Stephanie had not told him, but liked the fact that Ivan certainly didn’t know Viktor was working every side.

  Served the smug SOB right.

  The street had returned to normal, the locals resuming their routines.

  “That hurt,” he muttered. “How long has he been gone?”

  Cassiopeia knelt beside him. “Nearly an hour.”

  Malone’s head had cleared from the dizziness, and though his spine was sore he was otherwise okay.

  He stood in a half crouch.

  “He said to wait an hour before we followed.”

  He glared at her. “He say anything else?”

  “He was sorry for the cheap shot.”

  He glared at her.

  “And for us to trust him.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I think he’s trying to help.”

  “Cassiopeia, I don’t know what the man is trying to do. We know the Russians want Sokolov back, but you have to realize that, if necessary, they’ll kill him to keep him from the Chinese, or the Americans.”

  “If Stephanie is yanking Viktor’s chain, she wouldn’t want Sokolov dead.”

  “Don’t sell her short. She wants him alive, but she doesn’t want the Chinese to have him, either.”

  “You realize that Stephanie probably knew I was being tortured,” she said. “Viktor was hers.”

  “No, she didn’t. She told me she only knew Viktor nabbed you after he made contact with me. I told her about the torture.”

  He saw the frustration in her eyes. He felt it, too.

  She told him about the Pakistanis whom Tang had involved, waiting for them in the highlands.

  He forced himself to his feet. “I’ll take my chances.” He glanced around. “We need to find the route up.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Let me guess. Viktor told you that, too.”

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  Tang entered the main courtyard. Evergreens planted during the Ming dynasty rose from breaks in the pavement. Colossal gates, which to him had always see
med to require giants to move, hung open, their doors carved with neolithic images that spoke of adventure and ruggedness. The flagstones beneath his feet had been laid centuries before, many engraved with poems, which gave the glazed structure at the courtyard’s center its name—Huan yong ting, Pavilion Encircled by Songs. Water flowed in a carefully mapped course along a man-made stream, spanned by several rounded wooden bridges.

  Above each of the multistoried buildings enclosing the space, an upturned eave reached out. At the corners, slender wooden pillars polished with layers of red paint and lacquer shone like glass. For centuries brothers had resided here, divided by a hierarchy defined by age and status. A place once innocent of electricity, far more suitable for birds than people, it had been transformed by the Ba into a sanctuary.

  The helicopter was gone.

  Only his footsteps, the trickle of the water, and a metallic din of chimes disturbed the serenity.

  Two brothers waited at the end of the courtyard, up a terraced stairway, each dressed in a wool gown with a red waistband. Their hair was shaved short in front but plaited in back. Olive-black eyes barely blinked. He strode straight toward a veranda supported by more pillars painted blood red and decorated in silver and gold. He climbed three-quarters of the way up, stopping at the base of the third terrace. Behind the brothers opened double doors, flanked on either side by two massive elephant tusks.

  Pau Wen stepped from the portal.

  Finally, they were face-to-face. After so many years.

  Pau descended the steps.

  Tang waited, then bowed. “Everything went according to your plan.”

  “You have done well. The end is now in sight.”

  He enjoyed the feeling of pride. He handed Pau the watch from the imperial library chamber. “I thought you would like this back.”

  Pau accepted the gift with a bow. “My thanks.”

  “Where is Ni Yong?”

  “Waiting. Inside.”

  “Then let us finish this and begin a new day for China.”

  “It’s awful quiet up here,” Malone said.