The Emperor's Tomb

FORTY-EIGHT

LANZHOU

TANG LEFT THE LABORATORY, SATISFIED THAT THE PROBLEM OF Lev Sokolov had been resolved. He’d instructed the men he’d left to guard the facility that any attempt to escape should be met with deadly force. He now knew enough to know how to begin—with or without Sokolov. The Russian merely offered a more convenient way to confirm the discovery, not the only means.

And its implications were enormous.

China craved more than 300,000,000 tons of crude a year. Its industrial output—which meant its entire economy—was based on oil. Sixty % was currently imported from Africa, Latin America, and Russia, as a way not to be vulnerable to volatile Middle East politics and not be within America’s sphere of influence. Why else, except to monopolize the Middle East oil supply, had America occupied Iraq? No reason he could conceive, and his foreign affairs experts said the same. Those same experts had repeatedly warned that the United States could easily wield Middle Eastern oil as a weapon. Just a minor disruption in supply could send China into a free fall, one that the government would be impotent to halt. He was tired of dealing with rogue nations rich in oil. Just a few weeks back, billions of yuan had been loaned to another African nation that would never repay—all to ensure that China was first on its oil export list. The present regime’s foreign policy—a dizzying blend of appeasement, contradiction, dismissal, and defense—had long bartered away ballistic missiles, nuclear resources, and precious technology just to ensure that oil kept flowing inward.

That demeaned China, and exposed a weakness.

But all that could change if the thousands of wells that now dotted China could provide perpetual energy. He could not reveal the how, but he could exploit the what by keeping the oil flowing and eliminating the tankers that flooded into Chinese ports every day loaded with foreign crude. Results bred success, and success bred pride. Properly packaged and distributed, its effects could certainly bolster any political regime.

According to the fossil fuel theory, he knew China possessed a mere 2.1% of the world’s oil reserves. The United States 2.7%. Russia 7%. The Middle East, 65%. Nothing can be done about Arab dominance, one of his vice ministers had recently warned. He disagreed. It all depended on what you knew.

His phone rang.

He stopped walking toward the waiting car and answered.

“The target is on the lake,” Viktor Tomas said.

The idea had been to attack Pau Wen’s plane with minimal attention. Radio traffic, monitored by countless governmental agencies, including officials in Yunnan province, would verify that an unidentified aircraft had been intercepted by an army fighter. Protocol required that the intruder be brought to the ground.

“Survivors?” he asked.

“Three. In the water. The fighter is making its final pass. He’ll use cannons to make sure they will not be swimming to shore.”

“You know what to do.”

MALONE LAY PRONE, THE WATER SPLASHING IN AND OUT OF HIS ears making it difficult to hear. He was hoping three floating bodies would satisfy the pilot’s curiosity. He risked only a slight angle of his head and determined that the fighter was still south, its afterburners growing in intensity.

Then a new sound invaded. From the east.

The steady thump of whirling blades biting through air.

He rolled over and shook the water from his face.

A helicopter roared in over the treetops. Bulkier than a swift-attack chopper, more an armed transport. The craft assumed a position over the lake, facing south. Cassiopeia and Pau both apparently sensed a change and started treading water, watching, too.

“Malone,” a voice said through external speakers. “I’m contacting the jet and asking the pilot to retreat.”

Viktor.

Malone treaded water and watched as the Annihilator continued its approach.

“He doesn’t seem to want to listen,” Viktor said.

Another few seconds passed, then flames exploded from the chopper’s underwing as two air-to-air missiles erupted from their pods. Each followed a track for the fighter. Less than ten seconds later the jet disintegrated, its burning debris emerging from a dense cloud of black smoke and showering the distant shore with wreckage.

“We have to get out of this water,” Malone called out.

They started swimming toward shore.

“Would you like a lift?” Viktor asked.

The chopper hovered over them.

Two cables with harnesses descended.

“You and Pau take them,” he said. “I’ll swim.”

“A little foolish, isn’t it?” Cassiopeia said, as she and Pau strapped themselves in.

“Not to me.”

He watched as they were lifted from the lake and ferried toward shore, about two hundred yards away.

True, the lake’s pollution worried him, but owing Viktor Tomas anything more seemed worse.

NI STARED AT THE DRAGON LAMP. WHILE HE’D MET WITH THE premier at Mao’s tomb, he’d had it brought from the airport and deposited on his desk.

Karl Tang had gone to a lot of trouble to retrieve it. Why? He noticed etchings on its side and wondered what they meant. He should have some experts examine it. The buzzer from the phone on his desk irritated him. He’d told his staff that he did not want to be disturbed.

He stabbed the blinking button.

“The premier’s office is on the line.”

His anger vanished. “Connect me.”

A few seconds later the same raspy whisper from Mao’s tomb said, “Just a few minutes ago one of our J-10 fighters forced an unidentified amphibious aircraft onto Lake Dian. Then the fighter was shot down by one of our helicopters, piloted by a foreigner authorized to fly by Minister Tang.”

He listened in shock.

“That helicopter was protecting three people who’d escaped into the lake.” The premier paused. “One of those was Pau Wen.”

He stood from his chair.

“It seems, Minister, Pau has come home. He has tried for many years to maneuver me into allowing him to return. What he told you is true. He and I have spoken many times since I assumed this post. We did, indeed, also speak of you. Those conversations were innocent. Two old men lamenting about lost opportunities. Pau has long wanted to return, but it is better he stay far away. Unfortunately, he seems to have found a way back without my consent.”

A chill gripped him. “What is happening here?”

“An excellent question, one for you to discover. I truly do not know. But I would like to know why we lost both a man’s life and a five-million-yuan aircraft.”

As would he.

“I learned long ago that those who excel at defense bury themselves away below the deepest depths of the earth,” the premier said. “Those who excel at offense move from above the greatest heights of Heaven. Pau Wen never acts from a defensive position. He stays on a constant offense.”

He was jet-lagged and limp as a rag with fatigue. Riddles were no comfort. “What is it I am to do?”

“I know what Karl Tang is after, and I also know why Pau Wen has returned.”

“Then involve internal security and the military? They can handle this situation.”

“No, Minister. The last thing China can endure is an open civil war for political control. The chaos would be insurmountable. The world would take advantage of our turmoil. This must be a private affair. Between you and Tang. I will not involve anyone else, or allow you to do so.”

“It seems Tang has involved the army.”

“And I have taken measures to prevent that from happening again.”

“So what am I to do?”

“You can start by listening. I have to tell you what happened, in 1977, just after Mao died.”

CASSIOPEIA RELEASED THE HARNESS AND DROPPED THE REMAINING few feet to the ground. She was soaking wet, but thankfully the morning air carried warmth. Pau Wen dropped beside her. She was impressed with the older man’s agility.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Quite fine.” He smoothed out his soaked shirt and trousers.

They stood at the edge of a broad field that stretched eastward from the lake a kilometer or more. The chopper moved off a few hundred meters and touched down, spanking up a cloud of dust. She trotted back toward the shore, arriving as Malone emerged.

“There’s no telling how many parasites and bacteria I now have inside me,” he said, water cascading from him.

She smiled. “Can’t be all that bad.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not going have six toes and three arms in a few days.”

Pau Wen stepped beside her. “Actually, this part of the lake is relatively clean. The northern portions are another matter.”

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Malone asked.

She didn’t like his tone but understood the resentment. Viktor had known their destination because Ivan had known, which meant one or both had sold them out.

But that made no sense.

The Russians were intent on finding Sokolov. Why end the mission before it started?

She heard footsteps cracking across the dry earth behind them and turned to see Viktor, dressed in a green flight suit, walking their way.

Malone rushed past her and planted a fist in Viktor’s face.