She always looked forward to seeing Cotton, and regretted when they parted. Was she trying to find a replacement for her father, the one man in her life whom she’d never defied? No. That was too simple an explanation. Her mother would have said that men were like fields—they required careful cultivation and daily attention, all in the hope that one day they might prove productive. A somewhat cynical approach.
Not one that worked for her.
Here she was, flying across southern China, headed for who-knew-what. Was it worth it? If she found Lev Sokolov’s son, then yes.
If not?
She didn’t want to think about failure.
So she comforted her anxiety with thoughts of Cotton and that perhaps she may have actually found something for herself.
Something she wanted.
Finally.
NI WAS SATISFIED THAT NONE OF HIS CLOSE STAFF WERE TRAITORS. He recalled what Pau Wen had told him about modern pharmaceuticals and their masking effects on castration, so he’d pursued the only investigative course that guaranteed results. He also ordered his chief aide to conduct an immediate physical inspection of every male in the building. While that was occurring, he reviewed what information his staff had accumulated since yesterday.
There was absolutely no reference to any organization called the
Nothing indicated that the organization still existed.
He’d also ordered a vetting of Pau Wen, but no official record revealed any connections among Pau, the premier, and Karl Tang.
Yet these clearly existed, by their own admissions.
A tap on his office door disturbed his thoughts.
His chief aide entered. “Everyone has been examined. No eunuchs, Minister.”
“You think I’m insane, don’t you?”
“I would never presume to judge you.”
He liked this man, honorable and above reproach, which was why he’d selected him as first assistant.
“I was unable to tell you before,” his aide said, “while the others were here. But we found something last night.”
His attention piqued.
“An overseas call came to Minister Tang’s satellite phone. I ordered his lines monitored weeks ago. He utilizes several phones, with numbers that change weekly. It has been a challenge to stay ahead of him. We don’t tap every conversation, but we find enough.” His aide handed him a flash drive. “A recording.”
Ni inserted the drive into his computer and listened, immediately recognizing the voices of Tang and Pau. He heard the tension and conflict. Sensed the challenge these two men presented to the other. Tang’s betrayal, then his pronouncement to Pau,
“Is this the proof we seek?” his aide said.
He shook his head. “Not enough.”
But at least he knew the whole thing wasn’t fiction.
FORTY-SEVEN
MALONE SPIED THE GREEN EXPANSE OF A HIGHLAND LAKE, ITS surface shining with ripples and dotted with junks.
Lake Dian.
Mountains bordered the west shore, the lush slopes sheathed in trees, the eastern side mostly plains of ocher-colored farmland. Smoke belched from chimneys in a fishing hamlet a few miles away.
He dropped the plane’s altitude to 500 feet.
Cassiopeia released her harness and moved forward, gazing down through the forward windows. He’d noticed on the chart that the mountains to the west were called Xi Shan. Carved into the cliff faces he spotted paths and stairways linking a succession of temples, their towering pagodas, with curved tile roofs and painted eaves, reminding him of Tivoli and home.
“The undulating contours of the hills,” Pau Wen said, “resemble a reclining woman with tresses of hair flowing to the water. So they are called Sleeping Beauty.”
He noticed that the label seemed apt.
“The temples are from the Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties. There, where the chairlift stretches to the summit, in the 18th century a Daoist monk chipped a long corridor up the face of the mountain. Legend says the tip of his chisel broke as he neared the end. In despair, he threw himself into the lake. Fifty years later his followers reached the goal, which is now called Dragon Gate.”
“Sounds like something for the tourists,” Cassiopeia said.
“Actually, the tale is reasonably close to the truth.”
