Forbidden City. Alex Archer

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      F ORTY MINUTES LATER , Huangfu found a body. “Here,” he said. Excitement tightened his voice.

      Tossing her shovel onto the dirt hill beside the hole she’d dug, Annja joined him. Enough light remained that they didn’t need flashlights, but they would soon. The air was turning colder and their breath showed constantly.

      Dropping to her knees, Annja looked at the rib cage Huangfu had uncovered. Carrion beetles had stripped the bones of flesh before the earth had claimed the body. Soot still stained the ivory.

      Removing her digital camera from her backpack, Annja took several pictures. Huangfu stood by impatiently.

      “We’ll take pictures as we go,” Annja explained as she replaced the camera in the backpack. “We can search through them later. They might help us discover if we missed anything.”

      Annja slipped her gloved hands around the bones and gently began disinterring them. She placed them carefully beside the hole, keeping them together as she found them.

      Huangfu watched her. “Do these bones belong only to one man?”

      “So far.” Finding the pelvis, Annja headed in the other direction, searching for the skull. More bones created a skeleton on the ground.

      “I can help.”

      “Keep the bones in order as we find them.” Annja handed over the collarbone.

      “Why?”

      “We’ll learn more if we do. How many people were in here. Maybe who they were. If we post this on the Internet, we might find others who are looking for lost family members. Information works best if it’s keep neat and arranged.”

      Annja found the skull and lifted it free of the earth. “Your ancestor might have escaped that night.”

      “According to the journal that came into my possession that did not happen. Ban Zexu died here.”

      “Judging from the roundness of this skull, and the arched profile, and widely spaced round eye sockets, this person was of Mongoloid decent.”

      “Chinese?”

      “That’s one possibility. Pathology isn’t an exact science when it comes to race. We can identify the three different racial characteristics of Caucasian, Mongoloid, and Negroid.”

      Annja handed Huangfu the skull, noting that the man took it without hesitation. That wasn’t a normal reaction for most people when they were confronted with such a situation. She knew beginner archaeologists who took years to get over the queasiness of handling dead bones fresh from a dig.

      Huangfu placed the skull at the top of the skeleton they were building.

      Annja continued digging, going back toward the pelvis now. Noting the narrowness of the pelvis and the sciatic notch that allowed the sciatic nerve and others to go on through to the leg, she also knew the remains were male. Pathology was more exact about sex and age.

      Below the pelvis there was a leather bag that hadn’t yet rotted away. But her attention was riveted on the rectangular shape she’d spotted. Even with the gloves and though the rectangular shape looked more like a clod or a rock, she knew what it was.

      Excitement filled her as always. Every discovery she’d made affected her the same way. She hoped that would never change.

      “Is that the plaque?” Huangfu asked.

      “I think so.” Annja breathed out and started brushing dirt from the piece. With the shadows in the hole they’d dug, she couldn’t clearly see the piece, but she saw enough of it to note the stylized tiger poised with its ears flattened to its head and one clawed paw raised to strike. Scythian art stylings, picked up by some of the people they traded with—including the Chinese, often showed fierce animals.

      “Let me see,” her client said.

      Annja was loath to let go of the prize. The memory of the tattoo hidden on Huangfu’s arm disturbed her thoughts and took away some of the joy of discovery.

      The unmistakable ratcheting of a rifle bolt seating a round in the chamber caused Annja and Huangfu to freeze. Glancing up toward the sound, Annja saw three armed men emerge from the gathering darkness.

       2

      All three of the men looked scruffy. Patched jeans, hoodies, dirty boots and coats clothed them and lent them the sameness of a predatory pack. They were young, barely into their twenties.

      But old enough to point a gun at you, Annja thought as she remained frozen. Looking into their eyes, she noticed how red and glassy they were. It wasn’t a huge leap of logic to guess that they were under the influence of something. In the thin cold air, she smelled the acrid odor of marijuana and the cloying stink of horse sweat.

      Beside her, Huangfu shifted slightly, just enough to get his footing and redistribute his weight. The three young men didn’t notice.

      “I told you I saw somebody out here, Dylan.” The speaker was the thickest of the three. He carried the extra weight around his middle, looking like a football player gone to seed.

      Dylan was bearded and had kinky black hair that looked like he hadn’t brushed it since he was a teenager. He aimed the rifle in his arms with grim authority, pointing it at Huangfu.

      “Shut up, Beef,” Dylan said. “I can see them. I got eyes.”

      “Do you think they’ve been out to the patch?” the third young man asked.

      “Shut up, Neville,” Dylan ordered, then spat foul curses. “I swear, neither one of you has any sense.”

      Annja looked at the semiautomatic Beef carried and the revolver Neville held. She’d been in similar situations of late. She was afraid she was starting to get used to life-threatening situations.

      “What’re you doing out here?” Dylan demanded.

      “We’re archaeologists.” Annja gestured to the bones gathered at the side of the hole. “We were sent here to find these bodies.”

      Beef walked away from the other two, closing in on the bones. He kicked the skull with the toe of his boot and sent it rolling a few feet away.

      “Cool.” Beef grinned and went after the skull. “Think I’ll put this in my room. Get some black light action going on this. Candles for the eyes. It’ll look awesome.”

      “Why are you out here looking for skeletons?” Dylan asked.

      Beef picked up the skull, hooking his fingers through the eye sockets and his thumb through the mouth. He mimed swinging it like a bowling ball, then laughed uproariously.

      Annja kept her voice calm and soft. “These people were Chinese. Their families found out they were murdered here and want them back.” She felt another slight shift in Huangfu’s stance, aware of it only because she’d been involved in martial arts for years.

      “That’s all you’re doing out here?” Dylan asked.

      “Yes.”

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