The Emperor's Tomb.

by Steve Berry.

Study the past if you would define the future.

-Confucius.

History is a maiden, and you can dress her however you wish.

-Chinese proverb.

All countries large and small suffer one defect in common: the surrounding of the ruler with unworthy personnel. Those who would control rulers, first discover their secret fears and wishes.

-Han Fei Tzu, 3rd century BCE.

TIMELINE OF RELEVANT.

EVENTS OF CHINESE HISTORY.

17651027 BCE Shang Dynasty (earliest known).

770481 BCE Spring and Autumn Period.

551479 BCE Confucius lives 535 BCE Origin of the eunuch system.

481221 BCE Warring States Period and emergence of Legalism 200 BCE Chinese first drill for oil.

221 BCE Qin Shi unifies the warring states into China and becomes First Emperor 210 BCE Qin Shi dies; terra-cotta army is completed and interred with First Emperor in Imperial tomb mound 146 BCE67 CE Eunuch system expands into a political force.

89 BCE Sima Qian completes Records of the Historian (Shiji) 202 CE1912 CE Dynastic rule of China flourishes.

1912 CE Last emperor is forced from throne; dynastic rule ends; eunuch system is abolished; Republic of China is formed 1949 CE Communist Revolution; People's Republic of China is formed.

1974 CE Terracotta army is rediscovered.

1976 CE Mao Zedong dies.

PROLOGUE.

NORTHERN AREAS, PAKISTAN.

FRIDAY, MAY 18.

8:10 AM.

A bullet zipped past Cotton Malone. He dove to the rocky ground and sought what cover the spa.r.s.e poplars offered. Ca.s.siopeia Vitt did the same and they belly-crawled across sharp gravel, finding a boulder large enough to provide the two of them protection.

More shots came their way.

"This is getting serious," Ca.s.siopeia said.

"You think?"

Their trek had, so far, been uneventful. The greatest congregation of towering peaks on the planet surrounded them. The roof of the world, two thousand miles from Beijing, in the extreme southwestern corner of China's Xinjiang Autonomous Region-or the Northern Areas of Pakistan, depending on whom you asked-smack up against a hotly disputed border.

Which explained the soldiers.

"They're not Chinese," she said. "I caught a glimpse. Definitely Pakistanis."

Jagged, snowy summits as high as twenty thousand feet shielded glaciers, patches of green-black forest, and lush valleys. The Himalaya, Karakoum, Hindu Kush, and Pamir ranges all merged here. This was the land of black wolves and blue poppies, ibex and snow leopards. Where fairies congregated, Malone recalled one ancient observer noting. Possibly even the inspiration behind James Hilton's Shangri-la. A paradise for trekkers, climbers, rafters, and skiers. Unfortunately, India and Pakistan both claimed sovereignty, China retained possession, and all three governments had fought over the desolate region for decades.

"They seem to know where we're headed," she said.

"That thought occurred to me, too." So he had to add, "I told you he was trouble."

They were dressed in leather jackets, jeans, and boots. Though they were more than eight thousand feet above sea level, the air was surprisingly mild. Maybe sixty degrees, he estimated. Luckily, both of them carried Chinese semi-automatic weapons and a few spare magazines.

"We have to go that way." He pointed behind them. "And those soldiers are close enough to do some damage."

He searched his eidetic brain for what they needed. Yesterday, he'd studied the local geography and noted that this slice of earth, which wasn't much larger than New Jersey, was once called Hunza, a princely state for over nine hundred years, whose independence finally evaporated in the 1970s. The fair-skinned and light-eyed locals claimed to be descendants of soldiers in Alexander the Great's army, from when Greeks invaded two millennia ago. Who knew? The land had remained isolated for centuries, until the 1980s, when the Karakoram Highway pa.s.sed through and connected China to Pakistan.

"We have to trust that 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. Not a bad weapon. Fifteen rounds, fairly accurate. Ca.s.siopeia prepared herself, too. He liked that about her-ready for any situation. They made a good team, and this striking Spanish Arab definitely intrigued him.

She scampered off toward a stand of junipers.

He aimed the pistol across the boulder and readied himself to react at the slightest movement. To his right, in the tomb-like illumination that filtered through the spring foliage, he caught the glimmer of a rifle barrel being aimed around a tree trunk.

He fired.

The barrel disappeared.

He decided to use the moment and followed Ca.s.siopeia, keeping the boulder between himself and their pursuers.

He reached her and they both raced forward, using more trees as cover.

Sharp bursts of rifle fire echoed. Bullets pinged around them.

The trail twisted out of the trees and rose in a steep but climbable slope, held to a rocky bluff by retaining walls of loose boulders. Not much cover here, but they had no choice. Beyond the trail, he spied canyons so deep and sheer that light could enter only at high noon. A gorge dropped away to their right, and they ran along its edge. Bright sun blazed on the far side, dulled by black mountain slate. A hundred feet below water rushed and tumbled, gray with sand, tossing foamy spray high into the air.

They clambered up the steep embankment.

He spotted the bridge.

Exactly where they'd been told.

Not much of a span, just shaky poles wedged upright between boulders on each end, horizontal timbers fastened on top, connected by thick hemp. A footwalk of boards dangled over the river.

Ca.s.siopeia reached the top of the trail. "We have to cross."

He didn't like that prospect, but she was right. Their destination was on the far side.

Gunfire echoed in the distance and he glanced behind them.

No soldiers.

Which bothered him.

"Maybe he's leading them away," she said.

His distrust made him defensive, but there was no time to a.n.a.lyze the situation. He stuffed the gun into his pocket. Ca.s.siopeia did the same, then stepped onto the bridge.

He followed.

The boards vibrated from the rush of water below. He estimated less than a hundred feet to the other side, but they'd be suspended in open air with zero cover, moving from shadows to sunlight. Another trail could be seen on the far side, leading across loose gravel into more trees. He spotted a figure, maybe fifteen feet high, carved in the rock face beyond the trail-a Buddhist image, just as they'd been told.

Ca.s.siopeia turned back toward him, Eastern eyes peering from her Western face. "This bridge has seen better days."

"I hope it has at least one more left."

She gripped the twisted ropes that held the span aloft.

He tightened his fingers around the coa.r.s.e strands, too, then decided, "I'll go first."

"And the reason for that?"

"I'm heavier. If they hold me, they'll hold you."

"Since I can't argue with that logic"-she stepped aside-"be my guest."

He a.s.sumed the lead, his feet attuned to the steady vibrations.

No sign of any pursuers.

He decided a brisk pace would be better, not giving the boards time to react. Ca.s.siopeia followed.

A new sound rose over the rushing water.

Deep ba.s.s tones. Far off, but growing louder.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He whipped his head to the right and caught the first glimpse of a shadow on a rock wall, maybe a mile away, where the gorge they were negotiating met another running perpendicular.

At the halfway point it seemed the bridge was holding, though the moldy boards gave like a sponge. His palms loosely gripped the rough hemp, ready to apply a death lock if the bottom fell out beneath him.

The distant shadow grew in size, then was replaced with the distinct shape of an AH-1 Cobra attack helicopter.

American-made, but this was no salvation.

Pakistan operated them, too, provided by Washington to help a supposed ally with the war on terrorism.

The Cobra powered straight toward them. Twin-bladed, dual-engined, it carried 20mm guns, anti-tank missiles, and aerial rockets. Fast as a b.u.mblebee, and equally maneuverable.

"That's not here to help," he heard Ca.s.siopeia say.

He agreed, but there was no need to voice that he'd been right all along. They'd been herded to this spot, for this precise purpose.

d.a.m.n that son of a b.i.t.c.h- The Cobra started firing.

A steady procession of pops sent 20mm rounds their way.

He dove belly-first to the bridge boards and rolled, staring past his feet as Ca.s.siopeia did the same. The Cobra roared toward them, its turboshafts sucking through the dry, limpid air. Rounds found the bridge, ripping wood and rope with a savage fury.

Another burst arrived.

Concentrated on the ten feet between him and Ca.s.siopeia.

He spied fury in her eyes and watched as she found her gun, came to her knees and fired at the copter's canopy. But he knew that armor plating and an aircraft moving at more than 170 miles an hour reduced the chances of causing damage to zero.

"Get the h.e.l.l down," he yelled.

Another burst of cannon fire annihilated the bridge between him and Ca.s.siopeia. One moment the wood-and-rope construction existed, the next it was gone in a cloud of debris.

He sprang to his feet and realized the entire span was about to collapse. He could not go back, so he ran ahead, the final twenty feet, clinging to the ropes as the bridge dropped away.

The Cobra flew past, toward the opposite end of the gorge.

He held tight to the ropes and, as the bridge divided, each half swinging back toward opposite sides of the gorge, he flew through the air.

He slammed into rock, rebounded, then settled.