Chapter 41 #2
And there, in the distance, a palace rose out of the earth, like Oz. Like Disneyland. It was majestic. Magnificent. Mesmerizing. Its turrets of gold dazzled in the sun.
This was the mythical seat of power of the great emperor. Qin Shi Huang’s actual palace had never been built. He’d spent so many resources on his afterlife that the palace he wanted on earth had only lived in his mind. No records exist of what it was supposed to look like.
And now, in front of them, in all its splendor, it stood. Here it was, built underground by Qin Shi Huang’s architects so he could enjoy it for eternity. And for their efforts, he’d walled them in with him.
Even if it had been described by historians, few would have believed it.
Not just the towers and turrets and balconies.
The roofs, almost joyous, playful, as they reached for the stars and sun and the moon.
Not just the scale of it. What made it astonishing was that it was so cohesive, so harmonious in its proportions.
Unified. As though the very structure was a physical reflection of the emperor’s goals.
To unify China. To bring together heaven and earth.
It was a reflection of the man himself. The embodiment of the Tao. Yin and yang.
Dark and light.
Great feats, and the greater cruelty it took to achieve them.
It was a monument to hubris and genius, to vision and madness.
And there, beside it, was a Taoist temple. Graceful, its lines strong and yet flowing and fluid. The Taoist priests knew that there was nothing stronger, more powerful than water. And their temples reflected that.
But there was a problem. Between them and their goal was a flowing river that gleamed silvery bright.
“Mercury,” said Vivien.
It wound its way through the fields and toward the palace and temple. But there was no bridge. No way to cross. And no way they were going to try to swim to the other side.
“Look.” Kai-wen was tugging at Ming-na’s shirt and pointing. A boat had run aground on the far shore. Not all that far away really, but too great a distance to reach.
“It’s not a sampan,” said Ming-na. “What is it?”
Though not large itself, the boat had a huge bow that curved up in the shape of a ferocious dragon. It was lacquered bright red with intricate symbols etched into it.
Like everything else in this tomb, it was beautiful and somehow terrifying.
They looked up and down the river. There were no other vessels. Just that one.
“Come on, think. How are we going to get it?”
They scoured the shore for something they could use.
“Your belts and scarves, quickly,” said Alice.
They took them off, and she knotted them together, then gathered up the makeshift rope.
“Quick, quick,” urged Ming-na. As though that would help.
“No, it won’t work. Even if it makes it to the boat, it won’t catch.”
“Here.” Ming-na grabbed the rope and pushed one end through the hole in the handle of her pickaxe, tying it off. “Try that.”
Up until that moment, Alice had been getting annoyed with her aunt’s questions, thinking ahead when the rest of them had not been. But now, she was more grateful than annoyed with this one stroke of genius.
Swinging the pickaxe a few times, she let it go.
They watched as it sailed over the mercury and … landed in the boat.
A cheer went up; then they grew quiet. It hadn’t hooked on. Yet. Like a fly-fisher, delicately trying to keep a huge salmon on the line, Alice carefully drew the rope back.
Please, please catch …
She felt a tug.
It was hooked.
The mighty dragon slowly turned to their shore until its gleaming eyes were staring right at them.
More yin and yang. A terrifying blessing.
It approached, as Alice gently pulled, until Kai-wen, the tallest of them, could reach it with his hand. He grabbed hold of the bow and brought it to shore. Only then did they see what was inside.
President Pardington looked at the time. Then his phone. Joanne Clavelle, his Secretary of Defense, was calling.
The bank of televisions was on in the Situation Room, including a live feed from Beijing of the parade to open the People’s Congress.
As much as he disagreed with Chen’s politics, with his merciless crushing of any dissent, Pardington did have to admire the man’s courage. He could have sent his regrets. Come up with some excuse to leave Beijing.
Instead, Pardington watched as Chen appeared on the platform to thunderous applause.
Kathleen, his Chief of Staff, stood beside the President, her face grim.
Until he knew who in the White House was the murderous traitor, he would allow no one else into the room with him.
He and Kathleen had discussed it, and both concluded that it came down to his inner circle. His inner cabinet. His Secretary of State? His Chairman of the Joint Chiefs? Maybe even Joanne Clavelle, his Secretary of Defense, who always seemed to be around.
“I don’t believe it, sir. The other two, maybe, but Secretary Clavelle has been loyal to you for decades. If it looks like her, then someone is setting her up.”
But Pardington knew the two women were friends. And that kind of relationship clouded a person’s judgment.
“Have you isolated the intruder in our weapons system?” he demanded as he answered the call.
Clavelle was on the other side of the reinforced door into the Situation Room.
“Not yet—”
“Then we have nothing to talk about. You have one job. Stop the attack. Do it. It’s ten past eight. Those missiles will fire any time.” He could not bring himself to be more precise. To call them what they were. Nuclear warheads.
And once they were in the air, it would take twenty-two minutes to hit Beijing. And there would be no way to stop or destroy them.
He also didn’t know what other systems had been compromised. How many intercontinental missiles would take off. Aimed at other cities. Including American cities. And if Pangu’s missiles didn’t strike them, others would.
Whoever survived the attacks would have to unleash their own missiles on the United States in retaliation for what would be seen as unprovoked, unjustified American aggression. Sadly, there was a history of that, so it was a foregone conclusion.