The Emperor's Tomb

NINETEEN

GANSU PROVINCE, CHINA

WEDNESDAY, MAY 16

2:10 AM

TANG STEPPED FROM THE CAR AND STUDIED THE WELL-LIT SITE. The portable rig supported a red-and-white derrick that towered forty meters. When he’d requisitioned the equipment from the oil ministry, he’d known that at least a 600hp mechanically driven plant, equipped with an inner circulation and water-cooling system, rated to at least 3,000 meters of drilling, would be required. Quietly, he’d dispatched the proper rig overland to Gansu, where he’d once served in the provincial government. According to legend, this region had been the birthplace of Fú Xi, the mythical patriarch of all Chinese, and some recent excavations had confirmed that people had in fact lived here as far back as 10,000 years ago.

He’d slept during the ninety-minute flight, preparing himself for what lay ahead. The next forty-eight hours would be critical. Every move had to be made with no miscalculations, every opportunity maximized with no mistakes.

He listened to the grind of diesel turbines, electrical generators, and circulation pumps. Gansu was a treasure trove of natural resources, brimming with coal, iron, copper, and phosphorous. His ancestors had known that, too. Their records, some of which survived, some of which he’d stumbled onto in the newly opened chamber at Pit 3, noted extensive inventories of precious metals and minerals. He’d ordered this particular exploration in search of one of those resources—oil.

The ground upon which he stood had once supported one of China’s main sources. Unfortunately, Gansu’s wells had run dry more than 200 years ago.

The site superintendent approached, a man with a thin face, a high forehead, and strands of stringy black hair swept back. He worked directly for the Ministry of Science, sent here by Tang, along with a trusted crew. Gansu’s governor had questioned the unauthorized activity but was told simply that the ministry was exploring, and if all went well the results might prove economically beneficial.

Which was the truth.

Just more so for him than the governor.

“I’m glad you were nearby,” the superintendent yelled over the noise. “I don’t think I could have contained it much longer.” A smile came to the man’s thin lips. “We’ve done it.”

He realized what that declaration meant.

This site had been specifically selected eleven months ago, not by geologists but by historians. An area had been cleared and leveled, then an access road cut through the nearby forest. A 2,200-year-old map, discovered in northwest Gansu, had been the source. The map, drawn on four identical pine plates, depicted the administrative division, geography, and economics of this region during the time of Qin Shi. Eighty-two locales were denoted by name, along with rivers, mountains, and forests. One of those rivers still flowed five hundred meters away. Even the distances of the imperial roadways were clearly specified. Lacking longitude and latitude coordinates, transposing those locales to reality had proven difficult, but it had been done.

By Jin Zhao.

Before he was arrested, before his hemorrhage, before his trial, conviction, and execution, Zhao had found this site.

“We hit the depth three days ago,” his superintendent reported. “I waited to call you until I was sure.” He saw the smile on the man’s face. “You were right.”

“Show me.”

He was led to the drilling platform, where workers were busy. He’d intentionally kept this crew to a minimum.

“We hit oil sand five days ago,” the superintendent told him above the intense noise.

He knew what that meant. When cuttings from the mud being drawn up revealed oily sand, oil was not much farther.

“We lowered sensors into the hole. Checked the pressures and extracted core samples. It all looked good. So we started to seal off.”

Tang knew what had been done next. Small explosive charges would have been lowered down to blast holes in the newly installed plug. Then tubing would have been snaked through the holes and any leaks sealed. At the top of the tubing, multivalves would have been cemented into place. Oil gushing from a well, in a massive blowout, was the last thing anyone wanted. “Taming the crude” with a measured flow, was far better.

“We’ve been pumping acid,” the superintendent said, “since yesterday. I stopped a few hours ago to wait for your arrival.”

Acid was used to dissolve the last remaining centimeters of limestone between the capped well and the oil. Once that was gone, the pressurized oil would flow upward, controlled by the valves.

“Unfortunately, I stopped the acid a little too late. An hour ago this happened.”

He watched as the superintendent twisted a valve and black crude drained out into a barrel.

He immediately noticed the pressure. “That’s strong.”

The man nodded. “There’s a lot of oil down there. Especially for a field that went dry two hundred years ago.”

He stepped back from the drill hole, remaining beneath the red-and-white derrick. He started thinking more like a scientist and less like a politician, considering the implications.

Incredible.

Jin Zhao had been right.