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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.
Their trek, so far, had been uneventful.
An ocean of jagged, snowy summits engulfed them. What had he once read? A land of black wolves and blue poppies—ibex and snow leopards. Where fairies congregated, he recalled another observer noting. Possibly even the inspiration behind James Hilton’s Shangri-la.
No sign of Viktor yet, or of soldiers.
Little sound besides the scuffle of their feet on the rocky trail.
In the distance rose hardscrabble hills, washed with green and streaked in red. Herds of livestock and nomad tents flying yellow flags dotted the slopes. Down in one of the gorges he spied the decaying carcass of a donkey that had slipped to its death.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, ahead and above them.
He kept walking, as if unaware, and whispered to her, “Did you—”
“I saw it,” she muttered.
Four men.
The trail ahead led into a stretch of poplars. Cassiopeia led the way.
“Get ready to move,” he breathed, his hand reaching for the gun beneath his jacket.
He heard the crack of a weapon, then a bullet zipped by.
TANG ENTERED THE ROOM AND STARED AT NI YONG. PAU WEN had already removed Sokolov and the boy. Hopefully, a father-and-son reunion would calm the Russian and ensure his cooperation.
“Our battle is over,” he said to Ni.
“And how will my death be explained?”
“A tragic helicopter crash. You were in Xinjiang province investigating more corruption. Isn’t that what you do?”
“My staff knows where I was going and why.”
“Your staff will either cooperate or be silenced.”
“And what of the police in Yecheng? The two pilots on the plane I commandeered in Xi’an? They know things.”
He shrugged. “All easily eliminated. Did you think me so stupid? I knew you were monitoring my satellite calls. We used that as a way to send messages. Did you enjoy the debate between Pau and myself?”
Ni shrugged. “Hardly a dramatic feat for two such accomplished liars.”
“I was kept informed of everything you did. That is how I knew you were headed for Belgium.”
“And the attempt on my life there?”
“That was real. I was hoping to end the problem. But you apparently were able to avoid the men I sent.”
“Actually, Pau Wen saved my life.”
Had he heard correctly? Pau? Viktor had been unable to learn what had happened at Pau’s residence since he’d been in Antwerp, dealing with Cassiopeia Vitt. None of the men he’d sent had ever reported back, and Pau had, characteristically, offered nothing. He would have to speak with the master about the matter. For now he made clear, “The Hegemon is not afraid to shed blood. If he intervened, then there was good reason.”
“Spoken like a true Legalist. Congratulations, Minister, on your victory. History will note you as the man who finally destroyed China.”
MALONE DOVE TO ROCKY GROUND AND SOUGHT WHAT COVER the sparse poplars offered. Cassiopeia did the same and they belly-crawled across sharp gravel, finding a boulder large enough to provide them both protection.
More shots came their way.
“This is getting serious,” Cassiopeia said.
“You think?”
“They’re not Chinese,” she said. “I caught a glimpse. Definitely Pakistanis. They seem to know where we’re headed.”
“That thought occurred to me, too.” So he had to add, “I told you he was trouble.”
She ignored him.
“We have to go that way.” He pointed behind them. “And those soldiers are close enough to do some damage.”
“We have to trust he’ll handle it,” she finally said.
“That was your call, not mine. You go first. I’ll cover.”
He gripped the Chinese double-action pistol.
Cassiopeia prepared herself, too.
Then she scampered off toward a stand of junipers.
NI GLARED AT KARL TANG.
Though Tang had tried hard to conceal it, he’d caught the surprise when he’d explained that Pau Wen had been the one to stop the gunmen. Perhaps there had been more to their debate than staged drama?
“We have led you like a bear on a leash,” Tang said. “You listened in on our calls, and we fed you exactly the information we wanted you to know. You traveled to Belgium, then to Xi’an, and finally here, all at our invitation.”
“Does that we include the premier?”
“He is of no importance. An old man who will soon be dead.”
That prospect saddened him. He’d come to admire the premier, a moderate who’d done much to temper communist fanaticism. Not a hint of scandal had ever touched him.
“Pau Wen is our master,” Tang said. “The brothers, myself included, have all pledged our allegiance. We thought a perceived war between Pau and me would lull you into a false sense of security. I do have to say that this was to have played out differently. You were to die in Belgium.”
“And Pau never mentioned that he killed all four men?”
Tang’s face was like stone. “Whatever he did was correct.”
“Surely Cassiopeia Vitt and Cotton Malone were not part of your plan.”
He shrugged. “The master required the use of her and Malone to return to China.”
A distant crack echoed out the windows.
Then more.
“Gunfire,” Tang said. “For your allies.”
“Vitt and Malone?” He kept his tone casual, though he was deeply concerned.
“They escaped Yecheng, but now they will die here, in the mountains, like you.”
SEVENTY-FIVE
CASSIOPEIA WAITED FOR COTTON TO REACH HER. HE’D COVERED her retreat with some well-placed shots.
He arrived and they both raced forward, using more trees as protection. Sharp bursts of rifle fire accompanied them, and bullets pinged around them. Their cover vanished as the trail twisted out of the trees. To her right she saw more sheer canyons lined with shadows. They paralleled the trail’s loose edge, careful with each step. A brilliant sun blazed on the far side of the gorge, dulled only by black mountain slate. Thirty meters below, water the color of road dust rushed and tumbled, tossing foamy spray high into air. They clambered up a steep embankment, past scree slopes of collapsed moraines.
She spotted the bridge Viktor had mentioned.
Ropes ran from crossbeams anchored into stone piles on either side of the gorge. The piles weren’t much, just rocks, one atop the other, brushwood in between acting as mortar. A footwalk of boards held aloft by hemp stretched thirty meters across the river.
Intermittent gunfire echoed in the distance.
She glanced back.
No soldiers.
More shots chattered.
“Maybe he’s l
eading them away,” she said.
No comment, though she could see he was skeptical. He stuffed his gun into a pocket.
She did the same, then stepped onto the bridge.
NI HEARD MORE FARAWAY SHOTS.
“You will have a grand state funeral,” Tang said. “It will be quite the spectacle. You are, after all, a respected man.”
