David Gibbins - The Gods of Atlantis

Shang Yong smiled, and held his arms wide. ‘Perhaps Dr Saumerre feels that as he is a god in Brussels, he has some kind of divine power in the Taklamakan too. Are you here to arrest me?’

‘I have come alone. At the moment, nobody else knows I am here.’

‘Yet I think you are trying to threaten me, Dr Saumerre.’

‘We are all being held to ransom. That is the balance of power in our world, is it not? That is why I am here. If you help me to remove one who is threatening me, then the file on you is shut. It will never be reopened, because from then on we will be business partners, to huge mutual advantage.’

‘You say our world. What do you mean? I think you and I live in different worlds.’

‘Not so different. Did you not wonder how I discovered this place? Satellite surveillance shows only a bustling little town, one of many being built by the Chinese in an attempt to colonize the desert and quash local Uighar resistance. Nothing out of the ordinary here, not even the ancient Silk Road fortress, one of many ruins half swallowed and forgotten in the desert. You have to go underground to see what’s really here, and to get there you have to pass through a security perimeter that the First Emperor himself would have admired.’ Saumerre leaned forward. ‘When I say underground, I don’t mean this hideaway. I mean deep underground, the oil-bearing shales beneath us. I have known about the Brotherhood of the Tiger for years, and admired your handiwork. The best assassins for hire anywhere, if one can afford them. But then two years ago you took an enormous hit when your key underworld links in the US and Hong Kong were exposed, after you became involved in an operation that stepped over your usual careful boundaries. I know this because you have been putting out feelers. Your plan had been to develop the Taklamakan as your own private fiefdom, to channel all of your income into boring and pumping the oil reserves in secret, then to present the Chinese government with an offer of partnership they could not refuse. After all, the Peking politburo contains two members of the Brotherhood, does it not? Names you would not wish exposed, as that partnership is central to your plan. But you have no capital reserves any more. You have no money to make the oil flow. So your dwindling band of agents in Europe and America and the Far East have been desperately seeking investors.’

Shang Yong stared at him. ‘How do you know this?’

‘I will let you in on a little secret. In the 1930s, my grandfather was a small-time gangster in Marseille. He was arrested and did time in a French penal colony in the Caribbean, which hardened him. By 1940 he was back in Marseille, but he was arrested again, this time by the Vichy police and the Gestapo for attempting to steal a vault-load of gold and precious stones confiscated from wealthy French Jews. It was an audacious scheme that demonstrated his potential, and his gaolers at a succession of concentration camps in France and Germany showed him grudging respect. He escaped from his final camp near Belsen just before the Allies arrived, returning to his old Marseille haunts penniless but with plenty of secrets, including the location of works of art stolen by the Nazis. He decided he needed a legitimate front for his business. He called it Arancho, after a tattoo of a spider he had acquired at the penal colony in Antigua.’ Saumerre lifted his left forearm and un-buttoned the cuff, pulling it up to reveal a smudged dark spider on his arm. ‘I bear it too.’

Shang Yong pulled up the sleeve of his loose-fitting robe and revealed his own tattoo, the grimacing face of a tiger. He let the sleeve drop, and beamed at Saumerre. ‘So. We really do inhabit the same world. And your political career in Brussels is, shall I say, part of the family business?’

A flicker of a smile passed Saumerre’s lips. ‘I leave that to your imagination.’

‘You wish to invest in our prospecting scheme? That is why you are here?’

Saumerre shook his head. ‘I have no interest in your oil. I wish to employ your organization to follow a man, to get from him what I want and then to kill him. The fee I will pay you will be greater than any investment money you will find in the underworld.’

‘And who is this man?’

‘An archaeologist by trade, but he meddles in a world far bigger than he realizes. His name is Jack Howard.’

Shang Yong went pale. He bunched his fists, then tapped the keyboard and swung the monitor round so that Saumerre could see. It showed the home page of the International Maritime University website, with an anchor logo in the top left corner and a photograph of two men in diving suits holding an ancient amphora, one of them tall with a tousle of dark hair and the other smaller and swarthier, both of them smiling at the camera. Shang Yong pointed at the taller man, then bunched his fists again, his voice contorted with rage. ‘Two years ago, in Afghanistan, this man shot and killed one of my best operatives, my own nephew. We were on the trail of a treasure he too was seeking, a jewel from the tomb of the First Emperor that would have given me what I crave, the jewel that made the First Emperor a god. It was Howard who was responsible for shutting down my operations in Hong Kong. Because of Howard I am trapped in this place. Ever since then I have been plotting revenge.’ He held his breath, his fists still clenched, then exhaled slowly, relaxing his hands and flexing them. He was still for a moment, then looked at Saumerre shrewdly. ‘You knew this name would enrage me. You have tried to find my weakness. I do not need you to exact my vengeance on Howard.’

Saumerre stared stonily at him. ‘You have been plotting revenge, but with each passing day your empire shrivels, my friend. You have fewer than a dozen skilled operatives left, men and women who can operate internationally, who can kill and get away with it. Ever since Howard exposed the Brotherhood, they have been hunted down, and when one is killed or arrested there is no longer anyone trained as a replacement. Your face is known to every security service in the world. Even here you are safe only as long as the Brotherhood retains influence in Peking, but that is only two men, two elderly uncles of yours, two names I could give to Interpol right now. Everything hangs in the balance. Turn away from me, and the Brotherhood will fall. Come with me, and the Brotherhood will rise again, and you will truly have the wealth and power of the First Emperor.’

Shang Yong tapped a finger on the table, and continued to look at Saumerre through narrowed eyes. ‘Give me more. Prove yourself.’

Saumerre paused. ‘For years I have been on the trail of something my grandfather knew about, a lost ancient treasure excavated by Heinrich Schliemann in Greece in the nineteenth century, hidden by him and then rediscovered and hidden away again by the Nazis. It is called the palladion, and my grandfather knew it would unlock untold Nazi secrets. Six months ago, Jack Howard and his team began excavations at the site of Troy, scene of another of Schliemann’s triumphs, and got wind of my quest. I found it expedient to have Howard’s daughter detained to try to force him to give me the palladion when I thought he had found it. I used a Russian organization my family has employed before, but they let me down. They did not have the quality of the Brotherhood of the Tiger.’

Shang Yong slammed his fist on the table. ‘We are the best.’

‘That is why I am here.’

‘The Russians failed, where my men would have succeeded.’

‘Howard’s security people uncovered what I have told you about my family past. If he had exposed me, I would not be here now. But he suspected that I knew more, that through my grandfather I could have knowledge of secret Nazi weapons that might fall into the wrong hands, that to expose me might persuade me to trigger a course of events that could lead to a terrorist attack or start a war. Howard and I have a stand-off. Any hint of my taking retribution against him or his people would lead to instant exposure of my criminal activities. So you see, this is personal for me too.’