The Lives of Tao

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DISCOVERY



Through Zhu, I followed my orders better than any on the Council could hope for. They called me the Empire Builder. Under my direction, Zhu led a rebellion against the Yuan and pushed them back north to the steppes. It was to my shame that I turned Zhu from a peaceful man to one who would claim the Mandate of Heaven, and who became the dictatorial Hongwu, Emperor of the Ming Dynasty.

I had sold him the dream that with this power, we could peacefully enforce the enlightenment we had always dreamed about. And there, I repeated the same mistake I made a century earlier. Enlightenment and peace can never be achieved by force.



Sean tapped his temple with his fingers, his eyes moving between the assorted pieces laid out before him. He glanced up at his opponent and then at the clock. Four minutes on his side, six on the other; plenty of time. Then his frown broke into a sly grin as he moved one of the pieces and tapped the chess clock. It would be checkmate in six. Sean studied his grandson’s face, which fell into a grimace as Jacob realized that the trap he had so painstakingly set up had just been broken.

Still, Sean’s chest swelled with pride at the cleverness of young Jacob’s strategy. It was elegant and subtle and would have perhaps worked on a lesser opponent, but not someone who had played the game since he was the Shah of Persia two thousand years ago. Still, he had great hopes for the boy. Jacob would make a fine vessel one day.

“You overextended your bishop,” was all Sean said, as he leaned back to take a sip of his tea. He waited in anticipation for Jacob to make the only logical move, if he was clever enough to see it. Sean was disappointed when the boy moved another piece, trying to salvage the game. If he had the foresight, he would have conceded on the spot. Instead, he would waste time fighting a lost cause. Still, Sean resisted the temptation to correct Jacob’s mistake. Let him learn.

Suddenly, his cell phone vibrated toward the edge of the table. Sean’s eyes flashed in anger. Meredith knew better than to bother him at this time of the day. Even those on the Council would be put on hold until his time with Jacob was done. He considered not picking it up and letting the fool thing fall off the table. However, with each successive buzz, his eyes wandered more and more to the errant phone. What if it was important? Obviously it must be if Meredith allowed it through. Well, curiosity killed the cat and Stonewall Jackson, and it was killing Sean right now. With a harrumph of resignation, he moved another piece, hit the chess clock again, and picked up the phone.

He said, “This had better be good.”

Meredith’s words came tumbling out as she apologized. “I’m sorry, Sean. I know this time is off limits, but Mr Kenton was very insistent and said it was absolutely critical that he get a hold of you no matter what and...”

Sean bristled, but kept his voice deadpan. Meredith’s stark terror was punishment enough. “Patch him through,” he said.

“Right away.”

There was a click as Marc’s voice, oblivious to the pain he just put Meredith through, came on. “We got a hit, Father.”

Sean perked up and leaned forward. “Where?”

“We received a hit last night from a speeding ticket on a brown Fiat. The image was a close enough match to our target to trigger an alert on one Hamilton Lee. Lee’s information was a dead end, obviously washed. Tonight, that same Fiat was spotted by a camera at an intersection pulling into a parking lot of a local nightclub. We believe he might be there.”

A nightclub? Limited exits. Multiple civilians. It violated the agreement they had with the Prophus, but Sean never put much stock in collateral damage anyway. If a public relations nightmare ensued, that was what the mayor was for. “When can you get your team there?” Sean asked.

“A team of ten has been assembled, Father. Waiting for your go-ahead.”

Sean’s mind raced as he formulated a plan. After a couple of deaths on the team, this was their first lead in months. The bills from Homeland were astronomical. They might not get a better chance. “Capture Tao alive.”

“As you wish, Father.”

Sean put down the phone and studied the board again. Strange, the boy only moved a pawn forward, an unexpected and useless move. Why had Jacob done that? The boy smirked as he leaned back, looking as if he just made a masterful play. Sean looked at the chess clock and realized he just ran out of time. The boy had made the move with the sole purpose of burning out Sean’s time. Conniving. Manipulative. Brilliant. “The day is yours,” said Sean beaming, and standing to shake Jacob’s hand.

Jacob blushed, the faint words of praise a rarity from his grandfather’s lips. “Was that Genjix business, Grandfather?” he asked.

Sean nodded. “We have a Prophus quarry that we’ve been tracking for quite some time now. We have a strong lead.”

“Really? Was he anyone famous?”

Sean shrugged. “Genghis and some Chinese emperor were his crowning achievement. Other than that, a string of inconsequentials and several mishaps. I believe he shot President McKinley. Otherwise, a minor player, but one I would love to talk to in person.”

Jacob shook his head. “Those Prophus are such bad people. I can’t wait until I can help you root them out. Dad says they’re all made up and that you’re just a crazy old man.”

Sean smiled. “Did he now? Remember, Jacob, your father is a fool, but even fools can be dangerous. Your mother is the one you should be listening to. Our blood runs deep with the Holy Ones. One day, you’ll have one of your own; perhaps even Chiyva if you’re so blessed.”

The boy looked at Sean with adoring eyes. Chiyva often said that the boy reminded him of Francisco Cisneros’s protégé. Young Paneese died far too soon.

Between Sean’s rapid rise and Jacob’s potential as a vessel, Chiyva had a real chance to reclaim his rightful spot back on the Council. But for now, the boy needed training. The Adonis program did not usually accept twelve year-olds, but older youths had been sent to the Hatchery before. Chiyva had enough authority to make it so if he chose the boy to be his. The boy’s parents would object sending the boy away, the weak father most of all; but it wouldn’t be their choice if Sean and Jacob wished it to happen. His mother would grieve, but she would understand the great opportunity presented her son.

“Tell me a story about Chiyva, Grandfather, please?” Jacob pressed.

“Why don’t we play another game, Jacob?” Sean patted his grandson’s hair. “And I’ll tell you a story from a long time ago, about the evils of those Prophus...”