The Emperor's Tomb

SEVENTY-SIX

NI FOLLOWED TANG THROUGH THE COMPLEX OF BUILDINGS. Galleries of red and yellow connected the various wings. Ornate pillars, their golden decoration uneffaced by time, held the high ceilings aloft. Incense burners and braziers warmed the halls. Finally, they entered a cavernous three-storied chamber.

“This is the Hall for the Preservation of Harmony,” Tang said. “The most sacred site for the Ba.”

It was different from the other buildings, even more elaborate, with alternating red and yellow galleries up three levels. A forest of pillars spanned its perimeter on three sides, with graceful arches in between. An arsenal of swords, knives, lances, bows, and shields decorated the ground level along the edges, and half a dozen copper braziers blazed with glowing charcoals.

Sunlight seeped from windows in the upper galleries. At the far end, on a raised terrace, the wall, reaching up thirty meters, comprised hundreds of diagonal bins brimming with scrolls. Silver lamps dotted the remaining three walls between the levels, but remained unlit. Light came from electric lanterns dangling from the ceiling.

“Inside those shelves is the accumulation of our knowledge, written on silk, preserved for the Hegemon to consult,” Tang said. “Not translations or secondhand accounts. The actual words.”

“Apparently, the Ba is well financed,” he said.

“Though we are ancient in origin, we are recent in reincarnation. The eunuchs from the time of the last emperor, in the early part of the 20th century, ensured that we were properly endowed. Mao tried to appease them, but many brought their wealth here.”

“Mao hated eunuchs.”

“That he did. But they hated him more.”

“It’s a shame I won’t live to see you fail.”

“I don’t plan to fail.”

“No fanatic ever does.”

Tang stepped close. “You lost the battle, Minister. That’s what history will record. Just as the Gang of Four lost their battle. Several of them died from the effort, as well.”

Behind Tang, on the far side, a section of the towering wall hung open, the panel cleverly concealed among the shelves.

Pau Wen emerged from the doorway that the panel revealed.

“Ministers,” Pau called out. “Please, come.”

Ni saw that Tang did not appreciate the interruption, so he decided to twist the knife. “Your master calls.”

Tang glared at him. “That is precisely what is wrong with China. It has forgotten fear and respect. I plan to reacquaint the nation with both.”

“You may find it difficult, keeping a billion and a half people afraid.”

“It has been done before. It can be done again.”

“Qin Shi? Our glorious First Emperor? He barely ruled twelve years, and his empire disintegrated at his death.” He paused. “Thanks to a scheming eunuch.”

Tang seemed unfazed. “I will not make the same mistakes.”

They walked in silence across the long hall, perhaps fifty meters in length and half that wide. Short steps led up to a raised floor.

“I was unaware that there existed a door in the wall,” Tang said.

Ni caught the irritation in the words.

“Only the Hegemon and a select few brothers know of this chamber,” Pau said. “You were not one of those. But I thought now a good time to show you both the Ba’s most precious possession.”

MALONE STARED DOWN AT THE WATER, SPEWING BETWEEN ROCKS as it bounded down from the mountains.

He waited for her to surface.

But she never did.

He focused on the roaring gush, which surely carried in its formidable current silt and more rock along with a swish of foam. He wanted to leap after her, but realized that was impossible.

He would not survive the fall, either.

He watched, disbelieving.

After all they’d been through the past three days.

She was gone.

On the opposite side of the gorge movement caught his eye. Viktor emerged from the rocks and approached the cliff edge.

Malone’s anger boiled to rage. “You sorry bastard,” he yelled. “You set us up. You killed her.”

Viktor did not reply. Instead he was hauling up the remnants of the bridge, tying the rope he’d brought to its tattered end.

“Go,” Viktor yelled. “Get up there. I’ll go after her.”

Like hell, he thought.

He found his gun.

Viktor tossed the bridge back over the edge. The rope found the water, its end dipped into the churning river. His enemy stared across, as if to say, Are you going to shoot me or let met try to find her?

The helicopter was swooping around for another pass.

Malone leveled the gun.

Cannon fire roared through the gorge. A deadly hail of heavy-caliber rounds pinged off stone just yards away, approaching in an ever-widening storm.

He dove for cover as the chopper zipped past.

“Get up there,” Viktor yelled. “Ni and Sokolov need you.”

And Viktor started climbing down.

What he wouldn’t give for some rope of his own. He wanted to kill Viktor Tomas, but the bastard was right.

Ni Yong and Sokolov.

Find them.

TANG ENTERED THE WINDOWLESS CHAMBER, ITS SPACE DIVIDED into four rooms. Pau Wen had stepped inside first, followed by Ni Yong. Two brothers waited outside, each carrying a crossbow.

Soft lights illuminated rose-red walls, the ceiling a deep blue and dotted with golden stars. The center chamber was dominated by a bronze plinth upon which lay a jade burial suit.

He was stunned by the sight, and now understood why the First Emperor’s tomb had been bare.

“I rescued Qin Shi,” Pau said. “Unfortunately, the jade altar upon which he lay was too large to transport. It obviously had been constructed within the mound. But this I could retrieve.” Pau pointed to the artifact. “The head and face masks, jacket, sleeves, gloves, pants, and foot coverings were tailored for the occupant. Which meant Qin Shi was no more than a hundred seventy-five centimeters tall and quite thin. So different from the image of a towering, portly man history has created.” Pau hesitated, as if to allow his words to sink in. “Two thousand and seven pieces of jade, sewn together with golden thread.”

“You counted them?” Ni asked.

“This is the most important archaeological find in all Chinese history. The body of our First Emperor, encased in jade. It deserves careful study. We estimate about a kilogram of golden thread was utilized to bind the stone. This suit would have taken artisans about a decade to produce.”

Tang wanted to know, “You plundered the entire site?”

“Every object. Here it all rests, in safety, inside a makeshift dixia gongdian. Not quite a traditional underground palace, but sufficient.”

The remaining three chambers brimmed with funerary objects. Bronze sculptures, copper vessels, lacquered wood, and bamboo ware. Objects of gold, silver, and jade. Musical instruments, pottery, and porcelain. Swords, spearheads, and arrows.

“Two thousand one hundred and sixty-five items,” Pau said. “Even the bones of the builders and the concubines. I made a complete photographic record of the tomb. The exact location of everything is precisely documented.”

“How gracious of you,” Ni said. “I’m sure historians will one day appreciate your diligence.”

“Does sarcasm make you feel superior?”

“What am I supposed to be? Impressed? You are a liar and a thief, just like I said the first time we met. Along with being a murderer.”

“Do you realize what Mao would have done with this?” Pau asked, motioning to the jade suit. “And the incompetents who ruled after him. None of it would have survived.”

“The terra-cotta warriors have,” Ni said.

“True. But for how long? The site is deteriorating by the day. And what is being done? Nothing. The communists care nothing for our past.”

“And you do?”

“Minister, my methods may have been unconventional, but the results are clear.”

Ni stepped close to the plinth.

Tang kept back, himself drawn to the surreal image—like a robot lying there, stiff, unbending. But he was growing impatient. He wanted to know why Pau had killed the four men in Belgium and allowed Ni to survive. Why had the master lied to him about the oil lamps in Qin Shi’s tomb?

“Did you open the suit?” Ni asked.

Pau shook his head. “That did not seem right. Qin deserves our respect, even in death.”

“How many hundreds of thousands died so he could rule?” Ni asked.

“That was necessary in his time,” Pau said.

“And it still is,” Tang felt compelled to add.

“No,” Ni said. “Fear and oppression are no longer viable mechanisms. Surely, you can see that we have progressed beyond that. Two-thirds of the world practices democracy, yet we cannot embrace even a few of its qualities?”

“Not while I am in charge,” Tang declared.

Ni shook his head. “You will find, as our communist forefathers learned, that force is only a short-term solution. For a government to survive, it must have the willing support of the people.” Ni’s face tightened. “Has either of you ever visited the petition office in Beijing?”

“Never,” Tang said.

“Every day hundreds of people from all over the country are there, waiting in line, to register complaints. Nearly all of them have been victimized. Their son was beaten by a local official. Their land was taken by a developer, with the local government’s help. Their child was stolen.”

Ni hesitated, and Tang knew he was allowing that charge to hang in the air.

“They are angry at local officials and are convinced that if only someone in the capital hears their case, then their wrongs will be addressed. You and I know they are sadly mistaken. Nothing will ever be done. But those people understand basic democracy. They want the ability to address their government directly. How long do you think we can continue to ignore them?”

Tang knew the answer.

“Forever.”