The Emperor's Tomb

TWENTY-FIVE

ANTWERP

CASSIOPEIA APPROACHED THE MUSEUM, HEADING FOR THE same rear entrance she’d scouted two days ago. She’d stumbled across the Dries Van Egmond in a hotel brochure while trying to decide where best to hide the lamp. Its rooms held a collection of Dutch, French, and Flemish objets d’art. But its Chinese boudoir, on the third level, was what really caught her attention.

She hoped the lamp had gone unnoticed.

She’d passed couples homeward-bound and walkers self-absorbed, but no one dodging into a doorway or dogging her footsteps. Advertisements plastered on plate-glass windows shouted from closed shops. But she’d ignored all distractions. She needed to retrieve the lamp, then make contact with Sokolov, that connection facilitated through a couple who shared Sokolov’s agony of losing a child—who’d agreed to forward any coded e-mail messages sent from Belgium.

She wondered what had happened with Malone. Viktor had told her that he hadn’t heard anything from Copenhagen, but that meant nothing coming from him. Perhaps she’d head for Denmark once this errand was completed. Cotton could help her decide what to do next.

A train would be best.

No security checks.

And she could sleep.

MALONE SPOTTED THE MUSEUM, SQUEEZED INTO A ROW OF buildings that alternated old and new. Its façade revealed details that suggested an Italian motif. Little traffic filled Antwerp’s streets, only lights over empty sidewalks, the city dozing off for the night. He studied the building’s sculpted window frames, stacked one atop the other in varying squares, circles, and rectangles. None glowed with life.

He’d parked two blocks away and approached with slow steps. He wasn’t sure what was about to happen. How was Cassiopeia planning on entering? Breaking in? Certainly not from here. The main entrance was protected by a locked iron gate, the windows barred. Stephanie had called and said that she’d arranged for the alarm system to be disabled, as Europol and the police were working with her. Local cooperation usually meant folks many pay grades higher than Stephanie were calling the shots. Which only reemphasized that this involved far more than a missing four-year-old boy.

He hugged the side of a building and kept to the shadows, avoiding the burst of a nearby streetlight. He peered around the corner, hoping he might spot Cassiopeia.

But all he saw were three men emerging from a parked car.

No light came on when the doors opened, which caught his interest.

They were beyond the museum entrance, a good fifty yards away from where he stood, hidden by the night.

The tight cluster of dark figures stepped onto the sidewalk, walked without a sound to the museum entrance, and tested the iron gate.

“Around back,” he heard one of them say in English. “She’s definitely here. Get the stuff, just in case.”

Two of the men retreated to the car, where each removed an oversized canister. Together the three headed to the nearest corner and turned right. Malone figured there must be another way into the building—from the rear, the next block over. So he crossed the street and decided to approach from the opposite direction.

NI STOOD IN THE DARKNESS, BEYOND THE GARDEN OF THE DRIES Van Egmond Museum, Pau Wen beside him. They’d made the journey from the countryside to Antwerp, parking several blocks away and assessing the building from the rear. Pau had brought one of his men, who’d just reconnoitered the darkness.

The man reappeared and whispered his report. “A woman is near the building, about to break inside. Three men are approaching from the far end of the street.”

Pau considered the information, then mouthed, Watch the men.

The shadow hustled off.

Their position was adjacent to a drive that ran behind the museum, between the buildings on the next block over. A small graveled parking lot stretched the length of a row of tall hedges that separated the garden from the drive. An open gateway, framed by ivy, led into a courtyard, surrounded on three sides by the museum. Ni tried to focus, but other images floated through his mind. None good. Men speared with arrows. The bound man being shot in the head. He told himself that, at least for the moment, he was again on the offensive. Pau appeared to be helping, though Ni remained highly suspicious.

Three forms appeared, two of them carrying containers. They disappeared through the portal into the rear yard.

“Vitt has returned for the lamp,” Pau whispered. “But Tang has come, too.”

“How do you know that?”

“There is no other explanation. Those men work for him.”

Another form appeared, this from the opposite direction. A solitary man. Tall, broad-shouldered, hands empty. He entered the garden, too. Ni wished for more light, but the moon was gone and all that stretched before them was a dense band of darkness.

“And who is that?” he asked Pau.

“An excellent question.”

MALONE HAD ADDED UP HIS SUSPICIONS AND NOW HE KNEW. The three men were tracking Cassiopeia. Two of them wore ski masks over their heads and black clothing, tight over lean bodies, gloves and dark shoes on their hands and feet. The third man was dressed in dark clothing as well, but a jacket and trousers. He was shorter, a bit stouter, and seemed in charge. He carried a small device in one hand, which he kept at his waist, following its lead.

Cassiopeia had been electronically tagged.

He wondered if she knew.

The leader motioned and they picked their way through the dark, hurrying toward a set of glass doors that opened onto a terrace. Ivy veined the building’s rear façade. Malone imagined that when this was once a residence, the terrace had been a gathering spot to enjoy the garden. Interestingly, unlike the front entrance, these rear doors were not barred. Perhaps that was more of Stephanie’s intervention. Amazing what a few Russians coming around could do.

The leader reached through a shattered pane in the door and opened the latch from the inside, apparently just as Cassiopeia had done.

The three disappeared inside.

Malone walked between the soft fragrances and muted colors of the flower beds, toward the doors.

He found his Beretta.