The Emperor's Tomb Part 21

THIRTY-TWO.

Malone rolled out of the shrubbery. G.o.d bless the groundskeeper who'd groomed these hedges thick, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g them into a perfect wall that stood six feet high. Their many branches had broken his fall, though one annoying stalk had bruised his hip.

He rose to his feet.

At forty-eight he was a little old for this, but thoughts of Ca.s.siopeia rushed through his brain. He needed to find her. He recalled noticing on the climb down that the first two levels had yet to burn, but this might no longer be the case. Sirens were approaching, so he a.s.sumed the privacy Stephanie had arranged was gone, as were the lamp and its thief.

All in all, a total bust for the evening.

He turned toward the terrace and the doors through which they'd all first entered.

Three firemen burst out.

They seemed startled by his appearance, and one of them shouted something. Flemish was not a language he knew. But no translation was required. Two policemen appeared and drew their guns.

He knew what they wanted.

So he raised his hands.

Ca.s.siopeia waited for the bullet, but all she felt was a slap of air as the round zoomed past her right ear.

She heard metal sucking into flesh and whirled.

The man she'd beaten had risen to his feet, advancing toward her with a knife. Viktor's shot had caught him in the chest. The body dropped to the marble, trembled as if racked by fever, then went still.

"I told you I wasn't the enemy," Viktor said.

She caught her breath, then hustled down the stairs to the landing. "If you work for Tang, who do these men work for?"

Viktor pointed back to the top of the stairs. "He was mine. But this one." He shrugged. "I have no idea."

"You shot your own man?"

"He's actually Tang's. And would you have preferred to be stabbed?"

She pointed. "He said something before you shot him. In Chinese. I don't speak it."

"I do."

Her ears perked.

"He said, 'Death to the thief who steals from the master.' "

Malone decided to try what he could. "There's a woman inside. On the third level. She needs help."

He wasn't sure if his English was being understood, as the two policemen were intent only on taking him into custody. They didn't seem to care about anybody else.

His arms were twisted behind his back and a nylon strap pulled tight at his wrists.

Too tight, but there was little he could say.

Ca.s.siopeia followed Viktor down the main staircase, away from the fire and a black ceiling of ash above them. Streams of soot-stained sweat stung her eyes. Breathing was easier, as the smoke seemed confined to the top two stories. She heard sirens and spotted flashing emergency lights through the windows. They needed to leave. Far too many questions would be asked, and she had no satisfactory answers.

"I hope you have an exit plan," she said.

"There's a way out through the bas.e.m.e.nt. I checked."

"How did you find me?"

Wood splintered below and something crashed. Voices were raised in urgency. Firemen, most likely, breaking through the main entrance.

She and Viktor stopped at the first-level landing.

Let them pa.s.s, he mouthed.

She agreed.

They abandoned the stairway and retreated into one of the first-floor rooms. No fire was here as yet. She hoped the emergency personnel would be concentrating on the upper stories.

A large billiard table provided cover, its green baize decorated with ivory accessories.

"You didn't answer my question," she whispered. "How did you find me?"

He motioned with the gun he still held. "If you hadn't pounded me on the head, I would have told you that it had a pinger inside. Tang's idea. Chinese intelligence issue. We would have left the gun. As it was, we tracked you straight here."

And she already knew who'd sent the archer. Pau Wen. Death to the thief who steals from the master. She'd sensed more to that old man, but had been in too much of a hurry to care.

Footfalls rang out. Firemen rushed up the staircase and kept ascending, carrying axes and hoses.

It's too risky, Viktor mouthed. Let's find another way down.

"There's a back staircase that way." She pointed to their left. "I used it to go up."

"Lead the way. When they find those bodies, this place is going to be heavy with police."

They scampered through a series of dim rooms to the stairs and crept down to the bas.e.m.e.nt, careful their soles did not slap the risers. A black hallway led into the mansion's center, pa.s.sing several doors clamped tight with hasp locks. Storage rooms, most likely. A high-pitched moan from overhead pipes suggested elevated pressure and temperature. They entered a room stuffed with gardening supplies-but it had an exit door.

"That has to lead up to ground level," Viktor said.

"More likely the side of the building," she noted. "We could be okay there."

The door unlocked from the inside. Viktor eased the metal door inward and peered out. Emergency lights brought the darkness to life in a rhythmic beat. But she heard no sounds from where a short set of stone steps ended up at ground level.

"After you," Viktor said.

She slipped out and savored the cool air. They crouched and climbed, using the stairway for cover.

At the top they darted to the right, where the street that ran before the museum stretched. She realized that they needed to emerge, unnoticed, from the narrow alley that separated the museum from the building next door.

Two meters from the end the path was suddenly blocked.

A woman stood in the way.

Stephanie Nelle.

Malone was brought to the front of the museum by way of a police car that waited just beyond the garden, in the rear drive. A bruise on his right hip emitted a steady ache that caused him to limp.

He was pulled from the car and saw three fire trucks occupying the street that had been deserted when he first arrived. Hoses spit water into the air from ladders that extended upward off two trucks. As close as everything stood, on both sides of the block, confining the fire to one building could prove challenging. Luckily, the weather was calm.

One of the uniformed officers led him through the maze of trucks where cars were parked, maybe a hundred feet from the inferno.

He spotted Stephanie.

She didn't look happy.

"They found three bodies in there," she said as he was brought close. "All shot."

"What about Ca.s.siopeia?"

Stephanie pointed to her right. Ca.s.siopeia appeared from behind one of the police vans, her face blackened with smoke, wet with sweat, eyes bloodshot, but otherwise she appeared okay.

"I found her slipping out of the building."

Behind her walked a man. At first, Malone was so pleased to see Ca.s.siopeia that he did not notice. But now, as his fears alleviated and calm returned, he focused on the face.

Viktor Tomas.

"What the h.e.l.l is he doing here?" Malone asked.

"Long time, no see, Malone," Viktor said. "I love the handcuffs. They suit you." Viktor pointed a finger. "I haven't forgotten that I still owe you one."

He knew what that meant. From the last time they were together. In Asia.

"And here we are," Viktor said. "Together again."

Malone faced Stephanie. "Cut these cuffs off."

"Are you going to behave?"

Ca.s.siopeia stepped close and said to him, "Thanks for coming."

He saw that she appeared unscathed. "I had little choice."

"That I doubt. But thanks."

He motioned with his head toward Viktor. "You and him working together?"

"He saved my life in there. Twice."

He glanced over at Viktor and asked, "What's your involvement this time?"

"I answer that, Malone," Ivan said, waddling out from behind another of the parked vehicles.

The Russian pointed at Viktor.

"He works for me."

THIRTY-THREE.

He lay on the cushioned bench and steadied himself. His legs spread, his genitals exposed. Centuries ago there was a place, a ch'ang tzu, located outside the palace gates, where specialists performed the service for a modest six taels. They also taught apprentices the technique, thus transforming a profession into a tradition. The specialist he now faced was as skilled as those artisans, though he worked only for the brothers.

The final cleaning ended.

The hot water laced with pepper stung.

He'd remained rigid as the two attendants tightly wrapped his abdomen and thighs with white bandages. He could hardly breathe, but he understood their purpose.

Would it hurt?

He forced the thought from his brain.

Pain did not matter. Only his oath mattered. The bond. The brothers. They meant everything to him. His teacher had introduced him to the Ba and now, after several years of study, he would become a part. What would his mother and father say? They'd be mortified. But they were visionless nothings. Tools to be used as a shovel or a rake, discarded when either broken or no longer needed. He did not want to be one of those.

He wanted to command.

The specialist nodded and he adjusted his posture on the chair, spreading his legs wider. Two brothers clamped both limbs in place. To speak, to acknowledge the coming pain, would be a show of weakness, and no brother could be weak.

Only the strong were allowed.

He saw the knife, small and curved.

"Hou huei pu hou huei?" he was asked.