SIX.

SHAANXI PROVINCE, CHINA.

10:00 PM.

Karl Tang stared out across the vast enclosed s.p.a.ce. The helicopter ride north, from Chongqing, across the Qin Mountains, had taken nearly two hours. He'd flown from Beijing not only to personally supervise the execution of Jin Zhao but also to deal with two other matters, both of equal importance, the first one here in Shaanxi, China's cultural cradle. An archaeologist in the Ministry of Science had once told him that if you sank a shovel anywhere in this region, something of China's 6,000-year-old history would be unearthed.

Before him was the perfect example.

In 1974 peasants digging a well uncovered a vast complex of underground vaults that, he'd been told, would eventually yield 8,000 life-sized terra-cotta soldiers, 130 chariots, and 670 horses, all arrayed in a tightly knit battle formation-a silent army, facing east, each figure forged and erected more than 2,200 years ago. They guarded a complex of underground palaces, designed specifically for the dead, all centered on the imperial tomb of Qin Shi, the man who ended five centuries of disunity and strife, eventually taking for himself the exalted t.i.tle Shi Huang.

First Emperor.

Where that initial well had been dug now stood the Museum of Qin Dynasty Terra-cotta Warriors and Horses, its centerpiece the exhibition hall spanning more than two hundred meters before him, topped by an impressive gla.s.s-paneled arch. Earthen balks divided the excavated scene into eleven lat.i.tudinal rows, each paved with ancient bricks. Wooden roofs, once supported by stout timbers and crossbeams, had long ago disappeared. But to bar moisture and preserve the warrior figures beneath, the builders had wisely sheathed the area with woven matting and a layer of clay.

Qin Shi's eternal army had survived.

Tang stared at the sea of warriors.

Each wore a coa.r.s.e tunic, belt, puttees, and thonged, square-toed sandals. Eight basic faces had been identified, but no two were exactly alike. Some had tightly closed lips and forward-staring eyes, revealing a character of steadiness and fort.i.tude. Others displayed vigor and confidence. Still others evoked a sense of thoughtfulness, suggesting the wisdom of a veteran. Amazingly, the still poses, repeated innumerable times in a given number of defined postures, actually generated a sense of motion.

Tang had visited before and walked among the archers, soldiers, and horse-drawn chariots, smelling the rich Shaanxi earth, imagining the rhythmic beat of marching feet.

He felt empowered here.

Qin Shi himself had walked this hallowed ground. For 250 years, ending in 221 BCE, seven ruling kingdoms-Qi, Chi, Yar, Zhao, Han, Wei, and Qin-had fought for dominance. Qin Shi ended that conflict, conquering his neighbors and establishing an empire with all authority centered in himself. Eventually, the land itself acquired his name. A perversion of the way Qin would come to be p.r.o.nounced by foreigners.

Chin.

China.

Tang found it hard not to be impressed by such grand accomplishments, and though Qin Shi had lived long ago, the man's impact still resonated. He was the first to divide the land into prefectures, each composed of smaller units he named counties. He abolished the feudal system and eliminated aristocratic warlords. Weights, measures, and currencies became standardized. A uniform code of laws was enacted. He built roads, a wall to protect the northern border, and cities. Even more critical, the various and confusing local scripts were replaced with one written alphabet.

But the First Emperor was not perfect.

He enforced severe laws, imposed heavy taxes, and requisitioned people by the thousands for both military and construction services. Millions died under his reign. To begin an enterprise is not easy, but to keep hold of success is even more difficult. Qin Shi's descendants failed to heed the First Emperor's lesson, allowing peasant revolts to ferment into widespread rebellion. Within three years of the founder's death, the empire crumbled.

A new dynasty succeeded.

The Han.

Whose descendants continued to dominate even today.

Tang was a Han, from Hunan province, another hot, humid place in the south, home to revolutionary thinkers, Mao Zedong its most prominent. He'd attended Hunan's Inst.i.tute of Technology, then transferred to Beijing's School of Geology. After graduating, he'd worked as a technician and political instructor on the Geomechanics Survey Team, then served as head engineer and chief of the political section for the Central Geological Bureau. That's when the Party had first noticed him and he was a.s.signed positions in Gansu province and the Tibet Autonomous Region, gaining a reputation as both a scientist and administrator. Eventually, he returned to Beijing and rose from a.s.sistant to director of the general office of the Central Committee. Three years later he was elevated to the Central Committee itself. Now he was first vice premier of the Party, first vice president of the republic, one step away from the tip of the political triangle.

"Minister Tang."

He turned at the sound of his name.

The museum's curator approached. He could tell from the man's clipped stride and polite expression that something was amiss.

Tang stood on the railed walk that encircled Pit 1, fifteen meters above the terra-cotta figures. The 16,000-square-meter exhibit hall was closed for the night, but the overhead lighting in the hangar-like s.p.a.ce had been left on, per his earlier instruction.

"I was told you had arrived," the curator said. Eyegla.s.ses dangled like a pendant from a chain around the man's neck.

"Before going to Pit 3, I wanted a few moments here," Tang said. "The sight of these warriors never disappoints me."

Outside, six more halls stood in the darkness, along with a theater, book counters, and a menagerie of shops and stalls that tomorrow would hawk souvenirs to just a few of the two million who flocked here every year to see what many called the eighth wonder of the world.

He spat at such a designation.

As far as he was concerned, this was the only wonder of the world.

"We must speak, Minister."

The curator was a conservative intellectual, part of a Zhuang minority, which meant he would never rise any higher. The entire Qin Shi site came under Tang's Ministry of Science, so the curator clearly understood where his allegiance lay.

"I'm having trouble containing things," the curator told him.

He waited for more explanation.

"The discovery was made two days ago. I called you immediately. I ordered no one to speak of it, but I'm afraid that instruction was not taken seriously. There is ... talk among the archaeologists. Several know that we broke through to another chamber."

He did not want to hear that.

"I realize you wanted the discovery kept secret. But it's proven difficult."

This was not the place, so he laid a rea.s.suring hand on the man's shoulder and said, "Take me to Pit 3."

They left the building and walked across a darkened plaza toward another broad structure lit from the inside.

Pit 3 had been discovered 20 meters north of Pit 1 and 120 meters east of Pit 2. The smallest of the three excavations, U-shaped, and barely five hundred square meters made up its s.p.a.ce. Only sixty-eight terra-cotta figures and one chariot drawn by four horses had been found there, none in battle formation.

Then they'd realized.

The dress, gestures, and formation of the warriors suggested Pit 3 to be the underground army's command center, reserved for generals and other senior officials. The warriors here had been found arrayed with their backs to the wall, wielding bronze poles with no blades, a unique weapon utilized only by imperial guards of honor. In addition, its location, in the far northwest corner, ensured that it was well protected by the armies of the other two pits. In life Qin Shi had led a million armored soldiers, a thousand chariots, and ten thousand horses to conquer and "gloat over the world." In death, he'd clearly intended something similar.

Tang descended the earthen ramp to the bottom of Pit 3.

Bright overhead lights illuminated the surreal scene. A stable and a chariot filled the first recess. Two short corridors, one on the left and one on the right of the stable, connected with two deeper chambers.

He waited until they were both below ground level before addressing the problem with the administrator.

"I counted on you," he said, "to make sure the discovery was contained. If you can't handle the matter, perhaps we need someone else in charge."

"I a.s.sure you, Minister, it is now contained. I just wanted you to know that its existence has leaked beyond the three who broke through."

"Tell me again what was found."

"We noticed a weakness." The director pointed to his right. "There. We thought that was where the pit ended, but we were wrong."

He saw a gaping hole in the earthen wall, dirt piled to the side.

"We have not had time to clear the debris," the director said. "After the initial inspection, I halted excavations and called you."

A jungle of flat cables sprouted from metal boxes and a transformer resting on the ground nearby. He stared at the opening, the bright lights burning on the other side.

"It's a new chamber, Minister," the curator said. "Not known before."

"And the anomaly?"

"It's inside, waiting for you."

A shadow danced along the interior walls.

"He's been there all day," the director said. "Per your order. Working."

"Undisturbed?"

"As you requested."

SEVEN.

ANTWERP.

Ni studied Pau Wen, irritated with himself for having underestimated this cagey man.

"Look around," Pau said. "Here is evidence of Chinese greatness dating back 6,000 years. While Western civilization had barely begun, China was casting iron, fighting wars with crossbows, and mapping its land."

His patience had drained. "What is the point of this discussion?"

"Do you realize that China was more advanced agriculturally in the 4th century BCE than Europe was in the 18th century? Our ancestors understood row cultivation, why hoeing of weeds was necessary, the seed drill, the iron plow, and the efficient use of the harness centuries before any other culture on the planet. We were so far ahead that no comparison can even be made. Tell me, Minister. What happened? Why are we not still in that superior position?"

The answer was obvious-which Pau obviously realized-but Ni would not speak seditious words, wondering if the room, or his host, could be wired.

"A British scholar studied this phenomenon decades ago," Pau said, "and concluded that more than half of the basic inventions and discoveries upon which the modern world is based came from China. But who knew this? The Chinese themselves are ignorant. There's a story, recorded in history, that when the Chinese were first shown a mechanical clock by Jesuit missionaries in the 17th century they were awestruck, not knowing that it was their own ancestors who had invented it a thousand years before."

"All of this is irrelevant," he made clear, playing to any audience that might be listening.

Pau pointed to a redwood desk against a far wall. Items needed for calligraphy-ink, stone, brushes, and paper-were neatly arranged around a laptop computer.

They walked over.

Pau tapped the keyboard and the screen sprang to life.

The man stood straight. He appeared to be in his thirties, his features more Mongolian than Chinese, black hair wrapped in a loose coiffure. He wore a broad-sleeved white jacket trimmed at the collar with pale green. Three other men, dressed in black trousers and long gray garments under short indigo jackets, surrounded him.

The man shed his robe.

He was naked, his pale body muscular. Two of the attendants began to tightly wrap his abdomen and upper thighs with white bandages. With their binding complete, the man stood as a third attendant washed his exposed p.e.n.i.s and s.c.r.o.t.u.m.

The cleansing was repeated three times.

The man sat in a semi-reclining position on a chair, his legs spread wide and held firmly in place by the two attendants. The third partic.i.p.ant stepped to a lacquered table and lifted from a tray a curved knife with a cracked bone handle.

He approached the man on the chair and asked in a clear, commanding voice, "Hou huei pu hou huei?"

The man remained poised as he considered the question-will you regret it or not?-and shook his head no, without the slightest show of fear or uncertainty.

The attendant nodded. Then, with two quick swipes of the knife, he removed the man's s.c.r.o.t.u.m and p.e.n.i.s, cutting close to the body, leaving nothing exposed.

Not a sound was made.

The two attendants held the man's shaking legs steady.

Blood poured out, but the third man worked the wound, causing obvious pain to the seated man. Still not a sound was uttered. Agony gripped the face, but the recipient seemed to gain control and steadied himself.

Something that appeared to be paper soaked in water was slapped across the wound, several layers thick, until no more blood oozed through.

The man was helped from the couch, visibly trembling, his face half excited, half afraid.

"He was walked around the room for the next two hours, before being allowed to lie down," Pau said.

"What ... what was that?" Ni asked, making no effort to disguise the shock in his voice at the video.

"A ceremony that has occurred in our history hundreds of thousands of times." Pau hesitated. "The creation of a eunuch."

Ni knew about eunuchs and the intricate role they played in China for 2,500 years. Emperors were deemed recipients of a mystical "mandate of Heaven," a concept that officially sanctified their right to rule. To preserve an aura of sacredness, the personal life of the imperial family was shielded, lest anyone be in a position to observe their human failings. Only effeminate eunuchs, dependent on the emperor for their lives, were deemed humble enough to bear such witness. The system was so successful that it became ingrained, but such frequent and intimate a.s.sociation allowed eunuchs an easy opportunity. Childless, they should not have coveted political power to pa.s.s on to sons, nor should they have had any need for riches.

But that proved not to be the case.

Emperors eventually became playthings for these pariahs and they became more powerful than any government minister. Many emperors never even met with government administrators. Instead, decisions were shuttled in and out of the palace by eunuchs, no one knowing who actually received or issued the decrees. Only the most diligent and conscientious rulers avoided their influence, but they were few and far between. Finally, during the early 20th century, as the last emperor was forced from the imperial palace, the system was abolished.