"So you killed him." Stratton's thumb was abraded and hurt painfully. He wished he had longer fingernails. Keep him talking. Above all, keep him talking.

"I did not plan to murder him," Wang Bin said. "I had his room searched, and I had him followed because I was afraid he would rush to his embassy like an old woman. In the end I did kill him, but because I had no choice. In his death was the only means of accomplishing my escape and saving my treasure."

Stratton said, "You're a weak old man, Comrade. Even in death your brother intimidates you. Listen to yourself-the lies, the jealousy, the way you pervert his memory."

One of the knots came loose. The pressure on Stratton's right wrist eased; he twisted it back and forth within the growing circle of rope.

"But that's your stock in trade, isn't it, Comrade Deputy Minister? The perversion of history. That's why we're here."

"Ah, yes." Wang Bin smiled a winter's smile. "My artifacts."

"And your coffins!"

"They make excellent shipping crates." Wang Bin folded his hands but looked impatient. "Don't tell me you mourn the tourists, Professor. I did not kill them all. The first, a fat capitalist, died quite naturally. Death by duck, your embassy called it. A clever name for a common occurrence, I learned. And it gave me the idea. His was the first coffin."

The rope rubbed raw against Stratton's wrist. Feeling flooded back into his fingers. Another minute…

"You couldn't have done it all alone."

"Certainly not. I had many trusted associates-a doctor for the lethal poisons, welders for the caskets, diggers, of course. Fortunately they understood that I was directing a secret project for the Party. That lie was necessary, you see, to assure their complete loyalty and their perpetual silence."

"And your buddy, Harold Broom. Was he, too, working for the glory of the Party?"

"Broom was a worm, a drunken cheat. I chose him only because David would not cooperate. Broom cheated me about money, and then he conspired with the Greer woman."

"Poor Harold," Stratton sneered. And poor Linda.

Another twist. Just one more. Make the fist small. Slide the rope over… there!

Stratton's right hand was free. He clawed at the knot on his left wrist, blessing the rain pummeling the house.

"The Greer woman was another worm, wasn't she?" Stratton said harshly. "Well, she was the only one who could have saved you, Comrade."

Wang Bin looked quizzically at Stratton. "It is not my salvation that brings us here, but your death. You must die as Miss Greer had to die. The difference is that you are troublesome and she was dangerous-more dangerous than you because she was smarter. She did not come as you have, thrashing about, making great noise and great threats. She did not care about smuggling or murder. Or morality, Professor. She had only one goal: information. I respected that. She was not like the professor of stupidity who seeks revenge for a pompous friend, or perhaps merely wants to cleanse himself of past sins… "

Wang Bin allowed the phrase to dangle, watching Stratton.

"Did you think that I did not know about the pregnant peasant woman who was slashed from her throat to her belly? It had to be you. You were the only invader who escaped from Man-ling."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh yes, you know. Your face says so. You would have lived longer, Stratton, if you had been less impulsive and more clever. Miss Greer was very clever; she must have been a good spy. The way she dealt with you, for example, quickly and noiselessly, outside the cemetery. Then she rode with us, Broom and I, bought us dinner, talked… and made her proposal. It was very civilized. 'I know everything,' she said, 'about your brother and the soldiers. I know everything and none of it matters. If you come with me and talk to us-tell us what you know-you may keep the money and remain in the United States under our protection.' "

Wang Bin paused for effect, like one of the professional storytellers who nightly enthrall the old men at dank teahouses in provincial China. Stratton was picking up speed; his left hand was nearly free.

When Wang Bin resumed, he had become another person, a canny old grandfather.

"For Harold Broom, who would have sold his mother, it was as though Miss Greer spoke from the heavens. He choked on his chicken dinner. 'Me too?' he asked. 'No prosecution?' "Miss Greer smiled. She had a lovely smile, Stratton. Did you notice that? She smiled at Mr. Broom and said, 'Of course. You, too.' And I said, 'Miss Greer, this is a very fair offer. I can be of great assistance to your government. But please tell me so an old man will know your thoughts: What will happen if I refuse?' Miss Greer looked very sad. 'We would have to arrest you and deport you to China,' she said, 'but I am sure that will not happen… ' "

The rope came free. Stratton bunched it in his left hand so that it didn't fall to the floor. He calculated the distance from chair to desk. It would have been easy, except for his feet, still bound to the chair. If he launched himself pogo-style he might-just might-reach far enough to grab an arm, the shirt, the neck-anything would do.

Wang Bin said, "Of course I gave Miss Greer my consent. 'I realize when I have been defeated,' I said. 'Your terms are very generous and I accept them. Let us leave now.' "Broom could not contain his glee. Miss Greer seemed surprised-it had been so easy. And after that, who could deny a confused and defeated old man the right to sit alone in the back seat with his thoughts? Miss Greer, you see, was not as clever as she thought. She never looked for a gun-and the price of that mistake was death. The world will think she died as Broom's lover, mistress to an international crime."

Wang Bin glowed in self-satisfaction: another victory, among so many.

Now. It had to be now. Stratton tensed to spring.

Too late.

Wang Bin must have had the gun on his lap the whole time. There was no other way he could have leveled it so quickly.

It was a fat, black.45, the kind the United States government issues its agents. Linda Greer's gun.

"Stratton, you have been maneuvering your hands as I spoke," Wang Bin said quietly. "If you move again, I shall shoot. I can do it, believe me. I spent many more years in the army than you did."

Stratton sagged, full of self-disgust.

"It's hard for me to believe you could actually be David's brother, or Kangmei's father," he said. "You have dishonored your country, your ancestors, your family, all in the name of greed."

"Ah, Kangmei, my lovely daughter. She excited you, yes? You were not the first, I assure you. It was probably she who made possible your escape. I should have foreseen such a thing, but it is too late. China's system will deal with her-for that, the system is efficient."

"This country's got a system, too," Stratton said. "You'll get caught, Bin. The spooks-Linda's friends-will snatch you up and turn you inside out. You'll tell them everything, too. You won't be able to help it-drugs, sensory deprivation, shock. When they're finished, you'll be as dead and dusty as your goddamn clay soldiers."

"I don't think so, Professor."

"Believe me." Stratton fought to keep his voice steady. "I'll make you a better offer than Linda Greer did. Go now. Run. Get out of here. I'll give you twenty-four hours before I come looking, and then it'll just be me. Alone. No police."

Wang Bin's response was icy, bemused. "I think not, Stratton. No one is looking for me now, and no one will. I drowned in Peking, you see. Drowned before I could see my ministry dishonored by two thieves-imperialist American running dogs who looted the treasures of the people of China. Harold Broom. And Linda Greer. When she is identified, and the emperor's soldier is found in the car, her superiors will understand where her true loyalties lay: she was a thief. I was very careful, Stratton. I provided all the pieces to the puzzle: the soldier, the suicide note and the list."