The Mongol Objective (20 page)

“Ordinarily, I might say yes. But now that I’ve got the tablet, I have what I need. And you, my dear, ought to keep an eye on our guest.”

“The boy’s not going anywhere. He’s just . . . Oh shit!” She stared out the window, incredulous. “The little brat’s actually making a break for it.”

“For what? We’re in the middle of nowhere. Just go get him.”

Montross knew she was still speaking, but there was no sound in the jeep. It was as if the world had fallen away, dissolving around him into an absence of color, pure white like a blank canvas, one that he longed to fill. He moaned, then opened his eyes and pushed his face forward, through what felt like a thick, gelatinous curtain, to pry this vision free—except it did more than that. Just as once before, down in Caleb’s lighthouse vault, it plucked his very psyche from his body and hurtled it across time and space, until . . .

. . . in a field of stones, weeds and grass. Broken pillars, moss-eaten stones that once ran in some kind of pattern.

Ruins.

Xanadu.

Shimmering, the landscape, the dying sun, the sickly grouping of nearby oak trees, oddly translucent, the bark glistening in the twilight, reflecting the dim glow of approaching headlights.

Headlights brighten, the engine coughs and the lights go out. A Hummer stops near the main archway, the only significant standing feature left of Xanadu. Without making any physical effort, Montross is closer, with just a directed thought.

Doors open. Two women get out. Two men.

One of them . . . Caleb!

In that instant, Caleb looks around, and Montross pulls back, trying to disappear, to reel himself back. The sudden fear of discovery leads to the panic of being non-corporeal, of being unable to make it back. Could he be trapped like this? Far from his body, so distant, slumped in the back seat of a jeep? Vulnerable.

Caleb turns toward him, mouth open.

He knows! He can see!

Frowning, Caleb takes a step toward him, then another, reaching out. Now he is running.

Montross tries to get away as Caleb’s image flutters, breaks into pieces and scatters like a million multicolored leaves blowing all around him, spinning, circling, then reforming into the interior of a jeep.

Nina’s face . . .

. . . bent over his, Alexander thrust into the seat beside him, Nina’s hand still clutching his hair. “You, sit still!” Then to Montross, “You okay? I thought we’d lost you.”

Montross, taking deep gulps of air, wiped the sweat from under his tangled red hair, turned to Nina and smiled at Alexander.

“Just saw your dad. He’s waiting for us at Xanadu.”

#

Hiltmeyer let Private Harris drive while he sat in the front passenger seat and reviewed the site. “Remote, no tourist centers, guards or anything. Sounds like the annual visitors are pretty much nil, a bunch of backpackers maybe, but that’s it.”

“So much for their national treasure,” Nina said.

“Just the way the Darkhad wants it,” Montross added. “They couldn’t have been too happy with Kublai Khan’s decision to build his summer palace right over the secret mausoleum.”

Alexander stirred, squeezing his shoulders free. “But I get why he did it, don’t you?”

“What?” Nina asked.

“A palace and a city, right over the underground caverns. And then another city.” Alexander beamed. “As Above, so Below!”

Montross shrugged, then let a smile form. “Still, the Darkhad didn’t like it and were happy to let the place go to hell after Kublai died. They probably helped to scatter the remnants and encourage the focus to shift to Beijing.”

“So,” said Hiltmeyer, “the top, the ‘Above’ as the kid puts it, is a piece of cake. Assuming Crowe and his team find the entrance for us, what can we expect in the ‘Below’?”

Montross sighed. “To answer that question, I’ll need some peace and quiet.” He looked back to Alexander. “And maybe a little help from our guest.”

He lifted up the satchel with the tablet, feeling it hum, vibrate through the leather. Waiting, impatient. “We’re going to check it out. I can only imagine, though, what old Genghis has in store. But I bet,” he said to Alexander, “it’ll make your dad’s defenses down in your old lighthouse look like a walk in the park.”

“Oh great,” said Alexander, trying to sound confident, but Montross could feel the boy tremble.

Good,
he thought.
Fear will sharpen his senses, attune his visions.

“Help us, kid. And you help your father too. Because this time he doesn’t have years to ponder and study and prepare for this descent, not like the Pharos. This time, he’s only got a few hours. And unless he’s asking the right questions, and seeing the right visions, he and your aunt won’t last a minute down there.”

9.

“I saw him!” Caleb yelled, spinning around, waving his arms through the dimming light. “Montross. He was here.”

Twenty yards from the main archway and the jeep, he had run chasing the phantom. Around him the stones and broken pillars of once-mighty Xanadu lay in their eight hundred-year-old positions, fodder for weeds and moss, dismissed by the centuries.

“I might have seen something,” Orlando said, his voice uncertain. He still trained the gun on Qara, who seemed to be edging a little too close. He waved it at her. “Back away, I’m watching you.”

Phoebe scanned the area, looking into the distance, over the hills, the wide spaces. The only cover being a few trees in the distance. “I don’t know, I don’t see anything. It’s been a long drive. A long trip, no sleep.”

“I saw him,” Caleb countered. “But it was different. It was like when I saw Dad.”

“What?”

“Years ago, in Alexandria, and back in Sodus at Mom’s deathbed. Like he was there, but he wasn’t.”

“I wonder,” Orlando said, moving closer to Caleb, who still carried the AK-47.

“What?” he asked.

“Being in possession of that tablet now, if it really can grant the owner the secrets of the universe. Well, Montross may have picked up an ability or two.”

“Like what?” Phoebe asked.

“I was thinking,” Orlando said, “of
Star Wars
. The whole Obi-Wan ‘Strike me down and I’ll only become stronger’ deal. He was able to send out his spirit, separate it from his body so it could appear all ghost-like and stuff.”

“Astral Projection? But that was after Obi-Wan died,” Caleb argued. “Like what I believe my father managed to do. He could appear, but only for a brief moments, to convey something, to lead me to the truth.”

“Maybe,” Phoebe said, “Montross figured out how to do it while still alive.”

“Or maybe he
is
dead,” said Qara hopefully. “There were other Darkhad I left behind, guarding the Sacred Mountain. They would not have hesitated taking his life.”

Caleb thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, he’s alive. I feel it. In fact, I think he was searching for us, and I fear we may have given ourselves—and this position—away.”

“Damn,” Qara said, then flashed an annoyed look to Orlando. “Please, take that gun off me and let me use my phone. I need to fortify this site.”

“No time,” Caleb told her. “We have the edge here, for a few hours anyway. We can uncover the entrance, get inside and secure the keys before he even arrives.”

“And then what?” Qara asked. “Use them to barter for your son? I won’t let that happen.”

Caleb stared at her, and his fingers holding the gun began to sweat. Phoebe and Orlando were in a triangular position around Qara, silently waiting for Caleb.

“Please,” Qara said. “Do not go any farther with this. Leave my Khan alone. Nothing good will come of his discovery.”

“We could wait,” Phoebe said. “Maybe hide out. We know Montross is coming. We can surprise him.”

“Unless he looks for us again,” Orlando said. “And then he’d be able to get the jump on us. And he’s got Nina. Nope, I say we go in. Wait for him down there.”

“No,” Qara pleaded.

Caleb let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, but all I can do is promise you I will do everything I can to ensure Montross never gets those keys, that Temujin is not disturbed. We will never speak of this location, never betray his secret.”

“Not good enough,” Qara said, dropping her arms to her side. Her legs tensed, fingers unclenched and clenched into fists. “No one gets inside.”

“Wait,” Orlando said, looking around, turning in a big circle. “Where is it anyway?” “What?” asked Phoebe.

“The river. I don’t see any damn river.”

Qara’s face relaxed. She opened her fists, then folded her fingers together, bowing her head. “You don’t know.”

Caleb came closer, raising the tip of his weapon. “We’ll find out. Orlando, what did we use two years ago in Cambodia to locate the lost temple of Anuk-Beng?”

“Satellite radar imaging from NASA combined with public databases provided by National Geographic Atlases. Thermal imaging. Hang on, I’ll start it.” He took off his backpack and pulled out the iPad.

“The maps are very detailed,” Phoebe said, “highlighting things we’d never see from this vantage point. Like ruins in the middle of a jungle or old dried-up riverbeds.”

Qara hung her head. She glanced back to the arch.

“Come on,” said Caleb. “We can do it the hard way, or you can help us.”

She turned to him slowly. “And if I show you the door, what’s to stop you from killing me?”

“Hey!” said Phoebe. “We’re not the thugs here, honey. But if we don’t get in there and find those keys first, we’re all as good as dead. Come on. Please help us.”

“And betray my sacred duty?”

Caleb lowered his gun, switched it to his left hand, and approached. “All right, I’ll leave it up to you. Here’s my gun. Orlando, put yours away. Now it’s your choice, Qara. But if you really mean to protect your Khan, you had better think about letting us in.”

He held out the gun, and Qara’s dark eyes flickered with uncertainty. They flashed to Phoebe, and then Orlando.

“From what my sister saw,” Caleb continued, “there’s still a lot of ground to cover beneath here, in ‘caverns measureless to man.’ So showing us the door isn’t the end of this. We may still stop Montross and Renée before they can get to Temujin’s crypt, but we can’t do it from up here. Not out in the open, not like this. And even if we run, Montross, with my son’s help, will find the way in if doesn’t already know.”

Qara reached for the gun, touched it. And for a moment both Caleb and Qara held it, then he let go, bowed his head and took a step back.

Qara shouldered the weapon and took aim.

She wavered, then lowered the tip, pointing it at the ground. She sighed. “Dig under the arch, directly in the center. About five feet down you’ll find the door.”

Caleb nodded. “Thank you.”

“I’ll help you dig,” she said, “until we reach the door. But then you go in alone.”

“No way!” said Orlando. “You’ll seal us in.”

“No. I’ll stay out here,” she said, hefting the gun, “and wait for your friends. Kill as many of them as I can. And if I fail, I must trust you to finish them off and leave my Lord intact. Can you promise me that?”

“We can,” Caleb said.

“And re-bury the door? And tell no one?”

“Cross our hearts,” said Phoebe.

Suddenly the wind picked up, swirling, kicking up leaves and twigs. And a rumbling sound rattled the earth. Qara turned, switched her aim, and fired into the sky—

—just as the sleek black helicopter descended, pinning them in a spotlight. A helmeted woman, perched in the open door, fired back.

#

Qara felt the sting of the bullet in her side, then screamed as another ripped past her head. She dropped the gun and watched helplessly as the helicopter landed and the shooter jumped out, followed by six commandos in camouflage.

“Don’t raise your gun,” Caleb yelled to Orlando. “Just drop it.”

“Listen to him,” said Renée Wagner, as she ripped off her helmet and let her hair whip in the winds of the dying helicopter blades. “I’ve also got six jeeps on their way, another forty men.” She advanced on Qara, who had fallen to her knees, her good hand trying to stop the flow of blood from her side.

Qara grimaced as a tsunami of pain swept through her side. She glared at Renée, now lording over her. In the corner of her eye, she saw Orlando, surrounded by three commandos, guns pointed at his face. He raised his hands.

“All right,” Renée said. “Nice try, luring me to Qin Shi’s mausoleum instead, but you failed. You killed four of my best men, bitch.” She pressed the barrel of her Walther to Qara’s forehead.

“No!” Caleb yelled, trying to push free of two other commandos who had him restrained. “If you kill her, we’ll never find him.”

Renée paused, tilting her head. “Really? Doubting your abilities now, are we?”

“I’m just being practical,” Caleb said. “Remote viewing is just a tool. We may know where the entrance is, but beyond that there’s a lot of real estate to cover before Temujin’s body.”

Renée smiled, a smile meant for Caleb, but delivered right to Qara. “And you honestly think this Darkhad will help us? I’d rather pull the trigger and trust in you and your friends.”

“I promise you,” Caleb insisted, “we won’t be enough.”

Qara tensed for one last lunge, more than confident she could take Agent Wagner, but what then? Dimly, as the blood oozed from her arm and flowed through her fingers, she heard Caleb lobbying Renée to spare her life, and for a moment she regretted doubting him. Because of her blind adherence to tradition and loyalty to a man dead for eight centuries, she had placed them all in danger, and may have unleashed something far worse upon the world. If Wagner or Montross succeeded . . .

She had to make up for it. Had to give Caleb and his team a chance. But not like this, she needed time.

“Please,” Caleb urged. “Don’t be stupid.”

Renée sighed, lifted the weapon and stepped back. She pointed to one of the commandos. “Cuff her. Bandage her up, but no drugs. And keep her awake.” She glared at Qara. “And for your sake, I hope Caleb’s impression of your usefulness is not overrated. The moment I believe you’re no longer helping, you’re dead.”