The crowd’s attention zeroed in on the disturbance, as did security. All six uniforms rushed toward the rapidly escalating situation.
Malone waited for the cameras to angle toward the excitement, then whispered, “Go.”
Cassiopeia hopped the short length of chain and climbed down.
Pau Wen followed.
Malone kept watch. No one seemed to pay them any attention. As Pau found the ground, he slid down the ladder behind him. Together they hugged the earthen wall and avoided the half-restored terra-cotta figures lining the way.
Cassiopeia entered the portal.
Before Pau disappeared inside, the older man grabbed one of the shovels. Apparently tools were needed, so Malone grabbed another and entered the dark space.
TANG WATCHED VIKTOR TOMAS ON ONE MONITOR AND PAU Wen and his two companions on the other. He’d inspected the library chamber thoroughly, prior to ordering its torching, and discovered that nothing of interest, besides the manuscripts, lay inside. Pau knew the manuscripts were gone, burned away—they’d discussed it on the phone—yet the first thing Pau had done on reentering China was head straight there.
Why?
“Order the building evacuated,” he said. “Station a man at all exits and several on the catwalks. Keep this camera focused on that opening. If anyone emerges, have them immediately arrested. If they become a problem, shoot them.”
He tightened his grip on the pistol.
“I’m headed there now. I want that building empty by the time I arrive, except for the foreigner who started the disturbance. Keep him inside.”
MALONE SURVEYED THE TIGHT SPACE, MAYBE TEN FEET SQUARE, the floor and walls rough bricks, the ceiling stout timbers, one section long ago collapsed.
“I first came in through the break in the top,” Pau said.
Three pedestal-like tables fashioned from stone stood empty, the floor littered with ash, the air thick with the smell of soot.
Something had definitely burned here.
“These tables were once covered with bamboo strips and silks, all with writings from the time of Qin Shi. His imperial library. Karl Tang ordered it destroyed two days ago.”
“Why would he do such a thing?” Cassiopeia asked. “How could they be a threat to him?”
“Anything he cannot control is a threat to him.”
Malone heard the din of noise from outside begin to recede. He stepped to the exit and peered upward. “People are leaving.”
“I imagine Tang ordered that. Which means we have little time.”
“For what?” he asked.
“To leave.”
FIFTY-FOUR
NI WADED THROUGH A TANGLED MESS OF WET GRASS AND APPROACHED the second of the three low-slung structures. Rain continued to fall. Vegetation had long ago consumed the outer walls, leafy vines thick from ground to roof. Most of the windows remained intact, the panes smeared with a layer of wet grime. He spotted beetles and mosquitoes smashed thick into torn screens.
He approached the wooden door. No lock prevented access, as he’d been told, so he shoved it open. Rusted hinges fought back, then gave way. The door jogged enough for him to slip inside.
He forced it closed once more.
Light from the filthy windows was filtered a gray-brown. Shadows consumed the room, which measured perhaps five meters square, one wall collapsed onto itself, exposing the weather and what lay behind the building. Plows dotted the blackened earth floor, everything dusted with a wet layer of rust and soil. A mass of clay pots and jars, piled in pieces, rose against one wall. Cobwebs consumed the corners.
He eased himself through the break in the outer wall, back out into the rain. For what he sought lay outside.
He heard the voice on the phone, from earlier.
