He started to leave.

She grabbed his arm and felt him shudder. "What are you going to do?"

"Why do you care?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

He gestured with his head toward Cotton.

"Why didn't you just tell me in Belgium that you were working for Stephanie?"

"It's not my way."

"Torturing me is?"

"Don't think I enjoyed that. I had no choice."

She saw the pain in his eyes and wanted to know, "Are you loyal to anything?"

"Myself."

But she wasn't fooled. "There's more to you than you want anyone to know."

He gestured again. "A lot like him."

Then she realized. "You wanted a fight here, didn't you?"

"I had to delay your departure. Tell him I regret the cheap shot, but it seemed the only way to slow you down."

"Are you here to kill Tang?"

"There are a lot of people who would be pleased with that. I had the chance, just a short while ago, to shoot him down."

"Why didn't you?"

"Too soon. I need to know what's up there in those mountains. Ni is up there. I have to get him out."

"What are you going to do with Sokolov?"

He did not answer her.

"You going to kill him?"

More silence.

"Tell me," she said, her voice rising.

"You're just going to have to trust me."

"I do."

"Then we'll be fine."

And he left.

SEVENTY-THREE.

Ni admired his prison. The bedchamber was spectacular. Marble columns sprouted upward toward a coffered ceiling, bas-relief dragons twisting from bottom to top. Frescoes on the walls depicted an emperor's journey, one wall showing him leaving his palace, the procession unfolding through the mountains along two more, and ending on the fourth at a cl.u.s.ter of buildings streaked with purple, gray, and shades of ocher, rising from the shoulder of the mountain.

Here. This exact place.

As depicted by the artist, and as Ni had seen flying in on the helicopter, glaciers brooding above a barren valley.

He and Sokolov had been flown straight from Yecheng. They'd been treated well, escorted from a landing pad outside the walls by two younger men adorned in woolen robes, their hair wound on top, secured with red ta.s.sels, red woven sashes wrapping their waists.

A b.u.t.ter lamp the size of a washbasin and fashioned of beaten copper burned in one corner, scenting the room. Windows hung open, cool air seeping inside, mellowing the flame's hypnotic influence. Occasionally, the distant bellow of a yak could be heard. He realized there was no danger of him escaping since the windows opened into a courtyard within the outer walls.

Sokolov sat in one of several lacquered chairs, the furniture exquisite in both detail and design. Expensive rugs cushioned the marble floor. Apparently, the Ba believed in living comfortably.

The door opened.

He turned to see Pau Wen.

"I was told that you had returned to China," Ni said to the older man.

Pau wore a golden-yellow robe, an interesting choice in color since Ni knew it symbolized the throne. Two more younger men stood behind Pau, each carrying a loaded crossbow, held ready.

"Minister Tang is on his way," Pau said.

"For me?" Sokolov asked.

Pau nodded. "Your revolutionary discovery is vital to what he has planned."

"How do you know of my discovery?"

"Because Karl Tang is a brother of the Ba."

He recalled the phone conversation and the split between Pau and Tang. "You lie well."

Pau seemed to absorb the insult. "I have been of the brotherhood nearly my entire adult life. I was subject to the knife at age twenty-eight. I rose to Hegemon by age forty. Never doubt, though, that I love China. Its culture. Its heritage. I have done all I can to preserve it."

"You are a eunuch, as deceitful as all of them who came before you."

"But there were many of us who did great things, who performed our duties with skill and honor. In fact, Minister, history shows that there were far more of those than of the other."

"And which one are you?" Ni asked.

"I am no monster," Pau said. "I have willingly returned home."

He was not impressed. "And why is that?"

"To see who will lead China."

"That seems already decided."

"Your cynicism is self-defeating. I tried to warn you of that in Belgium."

"Where's my son?" Sokolov asked. "I was told he was here."

Pau motioned and the two brothers standing behind him parted. Another brother strode forward holding the hand of a small boy, perhaps four or five, the same hair and face as Sokolov. The boy spotted his father and rushed forward. They embraced and Sokolov began to rattle off words in Russian, both of them sobbing.

"You see," Pau said. "He is fine. He has been here all along, well cared for."

Sokolov was not listening, smothering the boy with kisses. Ni, unmarried, could only imagine the agony the father had endured.

"I have gone to a great deal of trouble to lure everyone here," Pau said.

That he did believe. "And what will that decide?"

"The fate of China, as has happened many times through the centuries. That's what has made our culture so special. It is what set us apart from all others. No emperor ever ruled solely because of his bloodline. Instead it was the emperor's responsibility to set a moral example for both his government and his people. If he grew corrupt, or incompetent, rebellion has always been regarded as a legitimate recourse. Any peasant who could gather an army could found a new dynasty. And that happened many times. If prosperity came from his rule, then he was deemed to have gained the 'mandate of Heaven.' His male heirs were expected to succeed him, but they, too, could be overthrown if judged unfit. The mandate of Heaven not only must be maintained, but must be earned."

"And the Communist Party earned theirs'?"

"Hardly. They manufactured it. But that illusion has become all too obvious. They forgot both their Legalist roots and Confucian morals. The people long ago judged them unfit to rule."

"And you now have raised the army to overthrow them?"

"Not me, Minister."

Out the window he heard a helicopter approaching.

"That is Tang," Pau said. "Finally, he arrives."

Malone sat propped against the Range Rover's tire, rubbing his back. He recalled clearly what had happened last year in Central Asia, when he and Viktor had first squared off, and what Stephanie had said.

Viktor, if you ever get tired of freelancing and want a job, let me know.

Apparently, Viktor had taken the offer to heart.

He resented what Stephanie had not told him, but liked the fact that Ivan certainly didn't know Viktor was working every side.

Served the smug SOB right.

The street had returned to normal, the locals resuming their routines.

"That hurt," he muttered. "How long has he been gone?"

Ca.s.siopeia knelt beside him. "Nearly an hour."

Malone's head had cleared from the dizziness, and though his spine was sore he was otherwise okay.

He stood in a half crouch.

"He said to wait an hour before we followed."

He glared at her. "He say anything else?"

"He was sorry for the cheap shot."

He glared at her.

"And for us to trust him."

"Yeah, right."

"I think he's trying to help."

"Ca.s.siopeia, I don't know what the man is trying to do. We know the Russians want Sokolov back, but you have to realize that, if necessary, they'll kill him to keep him from the Chinese, or the Americans."

"If Stephanie is yanking Viktor's chain, she wouldn't want Sokolov dead."

"Don't sell her short. She wants him alive, but she doesn't want the Chinese to have him, either."

"You realize that Stephanie probably knew I was being tortured," she said. "Viktor was hers."

"No, she didn't. She told me she only knew Viktor nabbed you after he made contact with me. I told her about the torture."

He saw the frustration in her eyes. He felt it, too.

She told him about the Pakistanis whom Tang had involved, waiting for them in the highlands.

He forced himself to his feet. "I'll take my chances." He glanced around. "We need to find the route up."

"Not a problem."

"Let me guess. Viktor told you that, too."