“He supposedly lies upon a black stone from Tai Shan as a reminder of what Sima Qian wrote in
MALONE KEPT THE PLANE’S ALTITUDE AT AROUND 5,000 FEET. Never had he thought that he’d be leisurely cruising across Vietnamese airspace. Below stretched a panorama of jagged mountains and sloping hills, many striated by terraced rice farms, towering over lush green valleys shrouded in mist.
“We’re approaching the border,” Cassiopeia said to him. She’d been studying the chart Ivan had provided.
“The local officials in Yunnan province,” Pau said, “have good relations with their neighbors. They front not only Vietnam, but also Laos and Myanmar. Beijing is a long way away, so their allegiance has always been more local.”
“I hope that’s still true,” Malone said. “We’re not carrying much in the way of armament.”
“During Mao’s purges, many fled to Yunnan. Its remoteness offered refuge. The terrain north of here, in China, is similar to what is below us now.”
Ivan had told them to follow the Kunming–Hekou railway, a line the French built in the early part of the 20th century through Vietnam, into China, past the heavily populated cities of Gejiu and Kaiyuan.
“You work with the Russians often?” Pau asked him.
“Not usually.”
“What is their interest here?”
“Like we’re going to tell you,” Cassiopeia said, turning around and facing Pau. “How about this? You tell us why you’ve come home and we’ll tell you why the Russians are here.”
“I’m returning to stop a revolution.”
“More likely to start one,” she said.
“Are you always so aggressive?”
“Are you always so deceitful?”
“You apparently have no knowledge of
“Enlighten me.”
“Throughout our history, to weather tough times, the Chinese have relied on friends and family. People who may be in a position to help. It is called
“And what keeps you from leading us straight into a disaster,” she asked.
“I am not the enemy. Karl Tang has that distinction.”
“I see the border,” Malone said.
Cassiopeia returned her attention out the windows.
The railway line snaked northward, crossing a highway that Ivan had said now connected China and Vietnam. The roadway veered west, the rail line north. A bridge spanned the Red River, clogged with cars stopped at a checkpoint.
Malone dropped to just above 1,000 feet.
“Here we go.”
FORTY-SIX
NI STORMED INTO THE OFFICES OF THE CENTRAL COMMISSION for Discipline Inspection, located purposefully away from the walled Zhongnanhai, Beijing’s complex of palaces, pavilions, and lakes that served as headquarters for both the Party and the government. His visit with the premier had been troubling. Nothing made sense. Everything seemed inverted. He was torn with doubt, engulfed by a roiling cloud of unfamiliar emotions, and haunted by the premier’s inquiry.
What would be the measure of his life?
Strength or weakness?
He’d called from the car and ordered his entire staff to assemble in the conference room. He required allies, not traitors, and it was time to find out where each one of them stood.
Fourteen people waited. Nine men, five women. He calmed the flurry of excitement with a raised hand and immediately excused the women. Then he said to the men, “Drop your trousers.”
They all stared at him in disbelief.
He removed his gun and pointed it straight at them. “I won’t say it again.”
CASSIOPEIA STARED OUT THE WINDOW AT THE MOUNTAINOUS landscape. Sunshine warmed the thin air. They’d been flying inside Chinese airspace for more than an hour with no problems. Glancing over, she was glad she was flying with Malone. Though Viktor Tomas had twice saved her life, she trusted Cotton.
Implicitly.
He’d come to Belgium when she needed him, and that meant something.
She’d allowed only a few men close. Keeping emotions to herself had always proven the best course. She’d read once that women with strong fathers gravitated to strong men, and Malone definitely reminded her of her father. He’d been a giant in business, a self-made billionaire who’d commanded the attention of Europe and Africa. A lot like Henrik Thorvaldsen, whom she’d admired more than she’d ever realized until he was gone. Death seemed to claim everyone she loved. The thought of her own demise, which the experiences in the museum had so vividly illustrated, remained fresh in her mind. Such a confusion of feelings. What a defining moment. Soon enough she’d be forty years old. She had no husband, no children, no one with whom to share herself. She lived alone in an ancient French manor, her life devoted to helping others.
And ignoring her own needs?
Maybe it was time to change all that.
