Wayward Son (36 page)

Schmidt paused and then, ordering a Perrier and lime, sat down in the seat adjacent to Walker.

“Smooth flight. Very comfortable. And these jets are so quiet,” he observed.

“Yes, they’re the top of the line, I’m told,” agreed Walker. “Now tell me, Mr. Schmidt, what is the outlook for title transfer of the archaeological site from Renard Enterprises to the Getty? We at the museum are eager to get started.”

“Unfortunately, Dr. Walker, the Italian land transfer laws are extremely complex. You might even call them Byzantine. Surveys, indemnities, non-objection certificates, transfer taxes, national heritage depositions—that sort of thing. We might find this taking sixty to ninety days, or even longer.”

For the second time that morning, chagrin overwhelmed Walker. He had been caught off guard when Silvio disclosed on the phone that Amanda had entered the chamber. Now, nervously fingering his purple signet ring, he wondered if Luc Renard was also intending to undercut him. “Mr. Renard led me to believe that everything could be wrapped up by tomorrow. We have already scheduled the press conference,” he reminded Schmidt.

“Yes, I know, I know,” the lawyer replied smoothly. “But you can’t expect Mr. Renard to be bothered with the legal niceties. There will be no harm, at any rate, in announcing the company’s
intention
to donate the site to the Getty.”

“Well, I would very much hope so,” said Walker in a sulky tone. “Otherwise, I might just as well have spent the weekend in the Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel.”

Just then, Luc Renard strolled down the aisle, smiling expansively. “Ready for the big moment, Dr. Walker?”

“It will certainly be an historic occasion for the Getty, Mr. Renard,” Walker answered. “Only Mr. Schmidt here informs me that the transfer—”

Renard broke in, shooting Schimdt a glance. “There, there, dear Doctor. You know from experience that things proceed at their own pace in Italy. After all, it was only under Mussolini that the trains ran on time. Rest assured, we’ll get it done as soon as we can, and you will have top billing for the new discovery. You certainly deserve it.” Walker smiled in acknowledgment as Luc continued down the aisle and Schmidt returned to his seat. Fastening his seat belt, the Getty’s man of the hour finished his cocktail and willed a measure of confidence to return.

***

At the airport, Giovanni Genoa wished the other travelers good-bye, and the painter climbed into a limousine for his ride home to Rome.

Meanwhile, an Italian customs agent on the tarmac accorded the visitors VIP treatment, and the formalities took less than five minutes. Then Luc shepherded Schmidt and Walker to a waiting helicopter for the brief flight to Ercolano. It was eleven forty-five a.m.

Just before takeoff, two Italian bodyguards wearing earpieces slid into the chopper and seated themselves directly behind the pilot.

“Why all the security?” Walker asked Renard over the mounting roar of the rotors, noticing the telltale bulge of shoulder holsters beneath the bodyguards’ jackets.

“Routine procedure, Doctor,” replied Luc reassuringly as he patted Walker’s shoulder. “I always take them with me when I travel abroad.”

Walker glanced across at Luc, but his eyes were unreadable behind his mirrored glasses. The helicopter rose into the air and headed out over the sparkling bay, southeast for Ercolano.

CHAPTER 47

The Silk Road and China, 214–213 BC

“IS THERE ANY SORT of market there?” Cain asked as they were approaching
Kashgar
, the halfway point to the City of Xi’an on the Silk Road.

“In Kashgar?” Kwok-se replied incredulously. “Surely you jest, my friend! It is one of the finest markets in the world. Simply extraordinary what you can find there.”

“Excellent! I am eager to try out my Chinese.”

“Your Chinese, both spoken and written, is almost as good as mine, Philo. I cannot believe you have mastered my own language in a matter of months.”

“You are a patient teacher, Kwok-se.” Cain knew his own facility for languages, but a fluent command of more than six thousand Chinese characters had been a daunting goal, even for him. He had spent many late nights on the way to Xi’an huddled in a tent with a candle and a roll of parchment.

The sand-blown faces of the camel drivers brightened as the travelers’ caravan approached Kashgar. An oasis city poised between the rugged mountains of the Tian Shan range and one of the most arid deserts in the world, the town would be their home for the next fifteen days, as they paused their journey to enjoy the festive celebrations of the New Year.

As they rode into town, Kwok-se recounted to his companion the legendary origins of the New Year’s festival.

“Many of our New Year’s customs are rooted in the story of Nian, a cruel and ferocious monster. The reason we paste red paper signs on doorways, for example, is to keep Nian away on New Year’s Eve. We light torches and make loud noises for the same purpose.”

“And why is Nian so much to be feared?” Cain wanted to know.

“Very simple,” Kwok-se laughed. “He eats people!”

They stayed at an inn operated by an old friend of Kwok-se. After all the camels were unpacked and the horses stabled, the two men set out to visit the marketplace. Cain soon realized that his friend had not exaggerated. Kashgar was a bustling mercantile crossroads of the Silk Road, the five-thousand-mile artery that linked eastern China with the West. The faces and headgear of the merchants and shoppers told of their origins in India, Persia, Egypt, and Arabia as well as China. Cain even thought he could recognize a Roman or two. In the dusty alleyways, seemingly everything was available: sandalwood, lacquer, porcelain, woolen carpets, aloes, frankincense, and silk brocade. Donkey carts jostled for space with horses and herds of sheep, their drivers shouting commands and warnings in a babel of tongues.

While Kwok-se examined a jeweler’s topaz collection with a view toward securing a gift for his daughter in Xi’an, Cain amused himself by bargaining with a Chinese trader for a small sandalwood image of the Buddha. In addition to serving as a fulcrum for worldly goods, Kashgar was a Buddhist refuge, with dozens of monasteries dotted around the town. Bantering in Chinese, Cain offered to barter with the man, producing one of the small pocket compasses he had brought along for the journey. The trader had never seen such a device before and stared in amazement. After Cain briefly explained the uses of the magnetic pointer, the Chinese merchant readily agreed to the deal. “Kung-hsi Fa-ts’ai!” he exclaimed. “Happy New Year!”

During their layover in Kashgar, they spent many hours discussing the ways in which Emperor Qin Shihuangdi had forged a unified China. The emperor’s father had reigned over the Qin state for only three years, with his son inheriting the succession at the tender age of thirteen. By the time he was twenty-five, the new ruler had foiled several coups and assassination attempts. He then subjugated seven warring states, achieving by the age of forty an accomplishment that few had thought possible. Now he was engaged in building a great wall to secure his northern frontier against invading nomads.

“Where does the labor come from for such a formidable undertaking?” Cain asked.

Kwok-se stared at Cain incredulously. “Surely you jest, Philo. He
is
the emperor!”

Inferring that the manpower was supplied by peasants, slaves, or conquered enemies, Cain changed the subject.

“Tell me more about the elixir of immortality. How has the emperor discovered such a wonder drug?”

Kwok-se’s face was impassive. “When the time is right, you will be able to pose that question to His Majesty yourself,” he replied.

“And what have been the results of unification?”

On this topic, Kwok-se was more forthcoming. “Unification of the states has been an epochal achievement. Weights, measures, and coinage have been standardized, permitting vast new commercial growth. Law and administration are applied uniformly and consistently. Most important of all, everyone now speaks the same language, by order of the emperor.”

“The emperor’s writ certainly runs wide.”

“He has surely been sent to us from heaven,” Kwok-se remarked gravely.

“When do you think we will arrive in Xi’an?”

“That is in the hands of fate. But we must be in the capital before next winter sets in. I have a wedding to attend.”

“Who is getting married?” inquired Cain.

“You will see, my friend! Your honored self is on the invitation list.”

***

The travelers departed from Kashgar at the close of the New Year celebrations. They still had twenty-five hundred miles to go to Xi’an, the Emperor’s capital, and it was bitterly cold in the desert. Slowly, however, spring crept across the face of China. When they arrived in Dunhuang, where the northern arm of the Silk Road rejoined the southern route, temperatures were positively balmy. Here they glimpsed the stone and earth fortifications of the emperor’s great wall, as well as the delicate, colorful murals in the local Buddhist grottoes.

“Buddhism seems extremely widespread in your land, Kwok-se,” ventured Cain. “I have heard tell, however, that the most influential social and ethical philosophy in China is the legacy of the teacher
Confucius
.”

In a rare display of impatience, Kwok-se abruptly shook his head. “No, Philo, Confucius is not to the emperor’s liking. Or I should say, he is not to the emperor’s prime minister’s liking.
Li Si
cannot tolerate Confucius. In fact, he has persuaded the emperor to outlaw Confucian books and scholarship. Whole libraries have been burned…and worse.”

Recalling Alexandria a bit wistfully now, Cain decided not to inquire what “worse” might refer to.

They were halfway between Dunhuang and Lanzhou when bandits accosted them. “Don’t worry,” Kwok-se smilingly reassured his fellow traveler as their caravan was rapidly surrounded by several hundred horsemen. “I have something to show them.”

Cain watched closely as his friend, mounted on his favorite black Arabian stallion, calmly approached the bandit chieftain. Kwok-se withdrew several articles from his saddlebag, and within minutes the chieftain lowered his head in submission, murmuring a few words. With a jaunty salute to the chieftain’s followers, Kwok-se rejoined Cain.

“What did you show him?”

“Oh, I simply displayed to him my golden passports from His Sovereign Majesty. Remember, I am a diplomat by profession,” Kwok-se replied nonchalantly. “We shouldn’t have any trouble from here on. In fact, they have offered to escort us the rest of the way to the capital. Since that is nearly eight hundred miles, the bandits are making a meaningful gesture.” Kwok-se threw Cain a wink. “I told their chief I would be sure to inform His Majesty.”

And so the caravan gradually neared Xi’an, the capital city of the First Sovereign Emperor, traveling on a system of excellent roads and canals that His Majesty had caused to be built. About fifty miles from their destination, a strange sight puzzled Cain. The broad highway was partitioned into three compartments, with walls constructed to seal off a center lane.

“What is the reason for the walls along this highway?” he inquired.

“Ever since an assassination attempt several years ago,” Kwok-se replied, “the emperor has devised unusual safety precautions on his travels. He has ordered a network of walled roads for the imperial outings he undertakes from time to time. He also uses a suite of identical carriages.”

A visionary, Cain thought. But also a man who was both hated and feared.

***

The following morning, Cain and Kwok-se enjoyed breakfast on the veranda of Kwok-se’s picturesque estate on the banks of the River Wei in Xi’an. Cain wondered how a midlevel diplomat could afford such palatial surroundings of this magnitude. But then he recalled that Kwok-se and the ruler had grown up together as children—a fact that his friend had revealed during a late-night drinking session on the Silk Road.

After their meal, they were escorted to the imperial palace by a detachment of ramrod-straight bodyguards, clad in sleek body armor and black pheasant-tailed caps. The emperor’s palace, located in the northwest quadrant of the city with splendid river views and lavish gardens festooned in riotous colors, was built on an astonishing scale. Above the dozen wings of the principal structure, a kaleidoscopic series of pagodas formed a veritable skyline. It dwarfed anything Cain had ever seen, including his palace in Enoch.

The great bronze doors were adorned with pale green porcelain and lavender jade inlays depicting dragons, foo dogs, and demons in combat. As they slowly swung open, the imperial master of ceremonies bowed low to the visitors. “Please take your seats in the throne room, gentlemen,” he intoned.

“Remember the motto,” murmured Kwok-se. Cain had it on the tip of his tongue.

He estimated the throne room was two hundred yards by one hundred and fifty. On such a scale, thousands of people could be accommodated at imperial audiences. This morning, however, it appeared that the enormous hall had been reserved especially for them, with but one exception.