The Bone Labyrinth (17 page)

Baako slinks back to the rear of the cage, unsure how to do this. He wants to be a good boy. Finally he thinks and turns from everyone. He lifts his hand to his mouth and slips the circle between his lips. He tongues it into his cheek and holds it there.

One of the bad men shoves Mama back around in her seat, but she still nods to Baako, smiling when there can be no words. He understands, knows what she means.

[Good boy]

Even the large man in the opposite seat stares at him. He does not smile, but Baako reads the approval in his face.

Baako settles back, calmer now, certain of one truth.

I am a good boy.

9

April 30, 7:23
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. CST

Beijing, China

“
Qıˇng bú shì . . . qıˇng bú shì . . .”
the man pleaded, on his knees, his head bowed low. “
Shàojiàng
Lau,
qıˇng bú shì
.”

Major General Jiaying Lau kept her back to him, reviewing a clipboard, which held the morning reports from the installation’s various lab divisions. She stood before a window that overlooked the Beijing Zoo, one of the world’s largest zoos. It was also the oldest in China, dating back to 1906, when it was as an experimental farm.

How fitting a start,
she thought,
considering the current project.

Jiaying took a measure of pride, knowing all the hard work and years of painstaking detail it required to bring everything to fruition. She stared out at the park. Her view was through an upper-story window of Changguanlou, a French-inspired baroque manor in the zoo’s northwest corner, built during the nineteenth century to house Empress Dowager Cixi.

She imagined the empress staring through this same window and pictured herself similarly, a queen of all she surveyed.

And in so many important ways that was true.

She might not have full control over the zoo’s many exhibition halls, nor the fifteen thousand animals housed across the two hundred acres of parklands—but she had
full
authority to what lay below it, an excavation worthy of the more recent constructions built for the Beijing Summer Olympics. And her installation had a goal far more important than gaining global recognition and attention.

Jiaying closed her eyes, taking in the breadth of her project.

It had all started from a seed stolen thousands of kilometers away and planted deep underground here, where it had already taken root and promised greater glory for her country. That seed had come from a valley in southwest Tibet, not far from the borders of Nepal and India. It was a spot sacred to Buddhists and Hindus. The source of that holiness was Mount Kailash. It was the highest of the valley’s snowcapped peaks, where supposedly Lord Shiva resided in eternal meditation.

She scowled at such ancient superstitions as she let out a breath, opening her eyes to the skyline of Beijing beyond the zoo’s borders. She had studied at the University of Science and Technology here, where she was eventually recruited by the deputy secretary general to train at the Academy of Military Science. Her back drew straighter, remembering that honor. She had been nineteen at the time, when her future was a book of blank pages, yet to be written upon.

But that was over four decades ago.

She caught her reflection in the window, noting her gray hair, cut short and combed meticulously behind her ears. She read her past history in the lines of her face. She had no children and no husband, was married instead to her career in the military. She stood now dressed in her pine-green uniform, a single star emblazoned on her epaulets, marking her rank as
shàojiàng
, a major general in the People’s Liberation Army. She polished each star every morning, but over the passing years she did so with a measure of bitterness, frustrated with the lack of additional stars to grace her uniform.

She knew her career had stagnated—both because she was a woman and because she worked within the PLA’s scientific division. Still, it didn’t keep her from wishing to earn additional stars, possibly even to be tapped as the PLA’s military science director, a position no woman had ever attained. That was her objective, but to succeed in that next step meant first proving her worth here. She was gambling her entire career and reputation in this venture.

It must not fail.

Below her window, a blue lagoon held a plethora of long-legged cranes, their plumage glowing in shades of white and pink, all overhung by a leafy green bower dappled with flowers. She drew it all in. Beyond the lagoon rose the numerous animal halls and aviaries of the zoo, set amid faux savannahs and wound through by streams and dotted by a score of interconnected ponds. Far on the opposite side of the park stood the zoo’s prized attraction and compound, drawing hundreds of thousands of visitors a year: the panda house.

Still, as magnificent as the park appeared, it was what lay tunneled and excavated
beneath
these grounds that truly housed the marvels of the natural world: over thirty thousand square meters of laboratories, pens, and climate-controlled habitats. Inspiration for this installation had come when a similar research facility was discovered hidden beneath the Baghdad Zoo, exposed during the U.S. invasion in 2003.

But her station dwarfed the feeble effort of the Iraqis, extending beneath the full breadth of the city’s zoo. Initially, her facility’s forays into genetic studies had been rudimentary, but as the refinements in techniques grew exponentially over the past years, so did her hopes for what she had started.

Then came a breakthrough, a discovery that changed everything, found on the sacred slopes of Mount Kailash in Tibet . . .

For more than a decade, a small anthropological research station had been established in that remote valley, studying the genomes of the local people. The site had been chosen because of the flow of pilgrims to the area, drawing people from far and wide. The anthropologists had been building a genetic database of the ancient migration patterns throughout the region. The military had funded this research to support China’s claims during local border disputes, the boundaries of which were still under much disagreement, involving conflicts with India, Tibet, Nepal, and Bhutan.

Along with gathering those genetic samples, the anthropologists had also collected stories, tales of the sightings of rare animals, like the elusive snow leopard or the Tibetan blue bear. Over time, the local shepherds and herdsmen began to bring samples to the scientists: bits of fossilized bone, old ratty hides, chunks of petrified wood.

Then eight years ago, a local Tibetan herder guided one of the researchers to a cave high up the slopes of Mount Kailash, far above the snow line, grounds considered too sacred to tread. The herder claimed to have discovered the lair of a yeti, the infamous monster of the Himalayas. Such tales flourished across the centuries, rising from every country, the creature going by many different names. In Bhutan, the yeti was known as the Migo; among the Chinese mountain tribes, the Alma. But the discovery that day was not the lair of a yeti, but a cavern holding a scientific treasure far greater than any found before.

It was fortuitous that the researcher on hand was a fellow member of the Academy of Military Science. He kept his discovery secret and contacted the deputy director of the academy, who sent Jiaying Lau to investigate. Upon realizing the full implication—and the possibilities—she confiscated what was found there and brought it to Beijing, where she secretly gathered the best and brightest of the Chinese scientific community: zoologists, archaeologists, molecular biologists, genetic engineers, even experts in reproductive and developmental studies.

The zoo and her installation were the perfect place to investigate an enigma that could change mankind forever. But for this mission to succeed, especially under the timetable given her, no lapses in security could be tolerated.

“
Qıˇng bú shì . . .
” the man pleaded once again.

The petitioner—a twenty-eight-year-old computer tech named Quon Zheng—had used the military’s satellite communication to place an unauthorized call last night. He had been attempting to reach a girlfriend in Shanghai. While there was no nefarious intent behind the young man’s action, such contact with the larger world was strictly forbidden by those employed here.

Jiaying closed her eyes, remembering that hard climb up the sacred mountain of Kailash, the supposed seat of Lord Shiva, the destroyer of illusions.

Her own family name of Lau meant to destroy.

She took strength from that.

“Take him,” she ordered the two soldiers at the door. “Cast him into the Ark.”

A cry rose from Quon, one of horror and fright. He did not have the clearance to fully comprehend where he was being taken, but rumors abounded in such a close-knit community, of people vanishing, never to be heard from again.

She stiffened her back as he was dragged away. She stared out at the blue lagoon at the cranes stalking slowly through the water.

A new voice rose behind her, catching her off guard. “
Chéngmahn
,
Shàojiàng
Lau.”

The apology for the interruption was in Cantonese. Though the manner of speech was respectful, she still bristled at the veiled insult. She had been raised in an impoverished village in the Guangdong province of southern China, where Cantonese was spoken. She knew the speaker was reminding her of her humble origins, knowing Mandarin, the official dialect of China, was a second language for her.

Jiaying turned and answered crisply in Mandarin. “You are not interrupting,
Zhōngxiào
Sun.” She kept her voice polite but stressed his rank—lieutenant colonel—reminding the officer of his inferior status. “What is it?”

Chang Sun gave a bow of his head before speaking. He stood as tall as she and was dressed as crisply in a khaki uniform, but he was two decades younger than her and carried all the hallmarks of youth: firm muscle, dark black hair, and an unlined face; also raw ambition shone from his eyes.

Chang was the same officer whom that Tibetan herder had guided up to the cave on the snowy slopes of Mount Kailash. His discovery there and his expanded role here earned him a promotion in rank—but like her, he wanted this venture to push him higher, even if it meant climbing over her.

“I thought you should know that my team has arrived with the package from Croatia,” he said. “They are being brought over as we speak.”

“Very good. And what of the other package, the one from the United States?”

“Still en route, but they should be landing within the next few hours.”

She nodded her acknowledgment, giving the man grudging respect. While she commanded this installation, Chang Sun coordinated the military and intelligence facets of the operation. His role was to be her strong arm abroad—but she also recognized how much he would like to turn that upon her someday.

Knowing that, she sought to knock him down a peg. “I heard we lost our contact within the White House’s scientific establishment, that she was shot during the operation in Atlanta.”

Chang lowered his gaze. “A regrettable loss, but one we must now prove was worth it.”

She knew this last was directed at her. As the scientific head of this project, it would be up to her and her team here to justify such a loss.

“And what of those loose ends in Croatia?” she pressed. “Have they been cleaned up?”

She kept her voice steady, but frustration still burned. Chang’s intelligence sources had learned too late that the American geneticist’s twin sister had been on site in those mountains. The woman had arrived a day earlier than expected. The plan had been to kidnap her from Leipzig before she left Germany. With both sisters in hand, she could have leveraged the one against the other to gain their respective cooperation. Furthermore, that lapse in intelligence required accelerating their plans to raid the U.S. primate lab. Such a rushed timetable likely contributed to the loss of their operative in the White House.

“We believe Dr. Lena Crandall is dead,” Chang said, “but the search continues to corroborate this.”

“And the ten men you lost out there?”

Chang sighed, showing rare irritation. “Their bodies are clean. No one will be able to trace them back to us. We’ve already prepared a statement of denial if any accusations are made.”

“Do you have any thoughts about
who
took out your men?”

Chang shook his head, his eyes tightening with anger—not at the deaths of his comrades, but at this black mark upon his record. “Still unknown.”

“Perhaps that is something you should concentrate on,” she suggested, happy to direct his attentions elsewhere. She motioned to the door. “I should prepare to greet our guests.”

“Yes, Major General Lau.” He bowed his way out.

She returned her attention to the window, staring out at the blue lagoon as the sun rose on this new day. Still, she pictured another lake, one that lay within the shadow of Mount Kailash in Tibet: Lake Rakshastal, the Devil’s Lake, named for its bitter waters and the ten-headed demon said to lurk in its depths.

She frowned at her reflection, knowing there were things worse than demons in this world.

Especially as I had a hand in creating them
.

6:44
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With his wrists cuffed behind him, Quon Zheng stumbled along the hall. Two soldiers flanked him. One held his elbow; the other wielded an electric prod that encouraged him to keep moving. They moved down a long wide hall that cut through the heart of the facility, heading toward its far end, where few were allowed to trespass. Some faces stared at him as he was marched along, but those gazes quickly dropped in fear. Bodies hurriedly shuffled out of his way.