The Mongol Objective (13 page)

“But there are many theories, right?” Montross’s voice had lost its naiveté. “And these other camps here—Americans? Come looking for the same thing?”

“They have gone,” Nilak said with a dose of satisfaction. “Last month, and left their tents, some of their supplies. Gone the way of the Japanese archaeologists in the 1990s, who brought their ground-penetrating radar, their satellite survey maps and their tools, and found nothing. Some graves, but only of those more recent burials.”

Xavier turned his face to the mountain, listening to the wind sizzling through the firs. “They were looking in the wrong spot.”

He gazed at the deceptively difficult ascent, to be undertaken only with practiced horses who could navigate the steep rocky hillsides. “The Wall, right? Almsgivers Wall. Discovered by that Japanese team and dating to a much older era. It was the only area the government permitted them to search. They weren’t allowed on the peak or at the southern area called the Threshold, where hundreds of stone piles remain and lingering traces of a temple can be seen. And, what of other requests by similar, well-funded projects? Teams hoping to use satellite magnetometry to search for subsurface disturbances in the soil, a technique that would indicate areas that might have ditches—or tombs carved out of the ground? What about those? Why are the permissions not coming? What are they hiding?”

Nilak’s eyes turned cold, the blue leeching out into black, mirroring the great expanse of cloudless sky overhead. “Who are you, sir?”

Montross spread out his arms, smiling innocently. “Just a man and his son, out for a grand hike into history.”

Nilak stared at Alexander, considered the boy for a moment, then raised a hand, clenching his fingers into fists. At once, two Mongolian men emerged from the nearest tent.

Both had AK-47s slung over their shoulders, weapons which they promptly unhooked and turned toward Montross as they approached.

Montross noted the tattoos on their necks. “Ah,” he said, “the Darkhad come to greet us.”

Nilak held out a restraining hand and his men paused. A dog whined from inside the nearest tent, sounding more like a wolf, and Montross wondered if there were more men inside.

“You’ve come for the Great Khanite, the valley of the Khans,” said Nilak. “It was obvious the moment you landed in Ulaan Baatar. And your son here is no son. Although, he bears some resemblance.”

Alexander frowned. “What?”

“But it does not matter. The grave of my lord will never be found. He will remain undisturbed for all time.”

Montross blinked at him. “Why?”

“It was his wish.”

Shrugging, Montross said, “Wishes usually go unfulfilled. Now tell me, where is it?”

“You think we know?”

“Of course, you do,” Montross said. “You—I also knew you from the moment you volunteered to be our guide. You are of the line of Mubuqoi and Boroochi, Temujin’s favorite generals. The leaders of five hundred families who tended the lands in this area. Your master gave your ancestors special privileges in return for your promise to guard his remains, his relics, and to continue his worship.” Montross lowered his head, his eyes drilling into Nilak’s. “You
know
.”

“That was eight hundred years ago. So many generations. Memories fade.”

“Not
this
memory,” Montross said. “You’ve succeeded in a great game of deception, clouding the minds of your leaders and your people, the people of China and Mongolia alike, as well as the world. From the beginning, the Darkhad created false rumors, inciting historians and explorers, such as Marco Polo himself, into quoting prefabricated fantasy and outright misdirection. Throwing out names of fake mountains and imaginary rivers, providing fodder for future treasure seekers to chase their proverbial tails. Classic misdirection.”

Nilak’s gaze never wavered. “Who are you? How do come by such beliefs?”

Montross merely smiled.

“Very well,” said Nilak, glancing around at the wide expanse of the hills, the steppes where once the Golden Horde, the greatest army in the world, had launched their campaigns, conquering kingdom after kingdom and ruling the largest collection of people that had ever fallen under one leader. Nilak looked over the vast grasslands, hills and bogs; the empty, skeletal forest of pines burned in a great fire decades ago. Desolate but for a few packs of roving sheep and cows.

Nilak sighed and spoke two words.

“Kill them.”

#

Alexander cried out as the men raised the machine guns, looking to Montross for help, for some sort of saving word or plea, but Xavier just stood with his arms outstretched, still smiling.

He’s insane, completely whacko!
Alexander thought, believing it was to be the last thought of his too-short life, before joining his mother, hopefully in Heaven.

Two gunshots snapped the night air. Crisp, loud, echoing off the hills of the Burkhan Khaldun. Alexander clenched his eyes shut, but not before first seeing something out of the corner of his eye: a dark form slipping out from the back of the jeep, from under the tarps and equipment they had packed in the cargo hold at Ulaan Baatar.

His eyes popped back open just as Nilak’s head whipped around to see his companions drop silently, guns unfired.

“Thank you, Nina,” said Montross, lowering his arms. His gaze never left Nilak’s. And his smile never wavered, not until Nina walked right up to their guide and placed the muzzle of her still-warm Beretta against the back of his head.

“Now,” Montross said, “where were we?”

#

“Check the tents,” he said after he had disarmed Nilak, taking away the guide’s sleek stainless steel Ruger SR9c. “Make sure we’re alone.”

Nina’s head cocked, eyes narrowing. She nodded and approached the first yurt, one with an orange glow inside.

“I will never betray the Khan,” said Nilak, still locked in a stare with Montross. “Never.”

Montross shrugged. He kept the Ruger pointed at the Darkhad while he reached into the pack slung over his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. We could torture you. Nina is an expert at such things. And out here, no one will hear your pitiful cries. But such tactics are uncomfortable for me, and unnecessary. Especially when I have this.”

He pulled out the object, glowing with a shimmering emerald aura, and for the first time, Nilak gave a reaction, as if a jolt ripped through his body. “Impossible.”

Montross cocked his head. “I see you know what this is. Why do you say impossible?”

“No one could penetrate the seal.”

“Why not? Because your Temujin failed?”

The Darkhad seethed. “Only because he had other demands on his time.”

Montross nodded. “Provinces to keep in line, adversaries to crush, I understand. So much to do, and all of it so much more important than the Truth.”

Nina came out of the first tent, then headed to the next.

Nilak said, “Nothing was more important than the truth, not to Temujin. It was why he called for the great philosopher-mage Chi-Chan from China to study the seven symbols his men discovered under the tower in Alexandria.”

“Lot of good that did,” Montross said, hefting the tablet. “Let me guess, you lost a few battalions there, eh? Before giving up? But regardless, we’ve got it. We did what your great leader could not.”

Nilak stared, then slowly nodded. But after a moment, he let his lips curl back into a smile. “But it is not enough, yes? You cannot read what you hold, cannot gain its secrets. Not without—”

“Without the keys.” Montross sighed. “Keys your master spent a lifetime trying to find. A search which your sacred book, the
Secret History of the Mongols
, fails to mention.”

“Then how do you know of it?”

“I”—he pulled Alexander closer to him—“
we
have our ways.”

Nina came out of a tent and headed for the next.

“I have seen,” Montross continued, “how your master subjugated the peoples of Persia, the world of Babylon, and took from there some of the greatest artifacts. Pieces he used to bargain for the lives of their princes. I’ve seen how the great Khan learned of the keys, and once the truth took hold, he would not let it rest. Having found one key, he sought the others. One of which was located in Bodrum, Turkey.”

“The Mausoleum,” Nilak whispered. “You killed him, my cousin.” It wasn’t a question.

Montross fingered the charm around his neck. “Not personally, but I had a feeling he might not make it.”

“Nevertheless, you will pay.”

“Oh? I didn’t think vengeance was your thing. Single-minded and all.”

Nilak glared at him. “Vengeance is most assuredly permitted, as long as it doesn’t interfere with our mission.”

Montross held up the tablet. “Oh yes it will. I am close. I have seen many burials, many elaborately staged ceremonies with white tents, rituals and the Khan’s standard. But thanks to your infernal exercises, where I know you’ve spread out his relics, buried some here, some there, and the true treasure only in one place, I don’t know exactly where it is, where the two keys have been kept. Except that they are on his body. That much I’m certain of. But I want you to know this one thing whether or not it helps in making your decision. I don’t want or care for the rest of your hero’s treasure. I just want those keys.”

Nilak said nothing.

“Tell me,” Montross said, “and you live. You can continue to preserve the secret. Go on playing your little mind-trick games with a billion people. I want the keys, and you’re going to—”

Nina screamed.

Something punched through the last tent, a small hole made by an arrow launched from a composite bow, taking her in the shoulder. She dropped her weapon, grunting, the arrow lodged in her flesh. And as Montross swung his gun around, the tent flaps burst open and a bright white stallion erupted from inside, bearing a cloaked rider, a dark-haired woman slinging a bow over her shoulder as she gripped the reins and galloped ahead.

Nina dodged, then picked up her gun with her other hand, turned and aimed. But the horse leapt, darting in front of Montross, then around so the rider could reach down and scoop up Nilak before turning and racing in a white flash to the woods.

Shots rang out, both Nina and Montross emptying their magazines after the fleeing horse. Bullets exploded into tree trunks and branches, kicked up sparks on the rocks as the horse wove in and out of the trees. With her last shot, Nina gave a smile of satisfaction.

A cry followed the dying echoes of gunfire as Nilak tumbled off the back of the horse, hit the ground and rolled. The horse turned and Montross had a glimpse of a face below the hood—a feminine, chiseled jaw line with sharp cheekbones and haunting eyes. Then, as Nina reloaded, the horse turned and fled into the safety of the trees.

For a moment, she had a clear shot at the rider’s retreating figure, and was about to fire when Alexander threw himself at her knees, bringing her down and then avoiding a backward slap at his face.

“Damn it!” Nina pushed him away, sprang up, holstered her gun, and then reached for the arrow in her shoulder. She grimaced, and then yanked it out with a muffled scream.

Barely showing a reaction, she scowled as she applied pressure to the wound. “Xavier, I’m sorry. I missed her.”

“Forget it,” Montross said, listening to the sounds of clawing hooves, the horse racing up the hill, where the jeep couldn’t follow. “Check on Nilak. And get on the sat-phone and call in the others.” In addition to Colonel Hiltmeyer and his squad of five soldiers, they had secured ten hand-picked mercenaries, ex-Chinese soldiers, dissidents whose loyalty to the highest bidder far outweighed their loyalty to an eight hundred-year-old dead man.

“They’re waiting beyond the ridge, as ordered,” Nina said, after making the call. “And should be able to get here in twenty minutes.”

They approached the fallen Darkhad, Montross dragging Alexander along with him. Nilak groaned and squirmed, his legs twitching. The bullet had caught him between the shoulder blades.

“I’m looking forward to this,” Nina said, standing over the man, who looked up at them now, biting back his pain.

“I die as my Lord,” he said. “Fallen from a horse.”

“Nonsense,” said Nina. “You’ll die when I say you die. When you beg.”

Something whistled through the air and Montross lunged, caught Nina and drove her to the ground just as an arrow
thunked
into the hard grassland at Alexander’s feet. He stood there alone, unprotected, and saw up the mountainside the flash of a white horse and the cloaked rider fitting another arrow.

“She’s aiming again,” Alexander said, still unafraid. For a moment, he thought their eyes met, his and the Darkhad’s, but then she looked away, a little to his right. And she let loose another arrow—one that struck home.

Nilak grunted and wheezed a satisfying gasp of air. Smiling, his hand settled on the shaft of the arrow stuck in his heart, and he met Alexander’s horrified stare. “Please, leave the dead to their rest.”

Another flash of white, and the horse was bounding away, even as Nina let loose with her Beretta.

“Damn,” she hissed. “Gone. And this one dead.” She nudged Nilak’s body with her foot. “So much for the easy way.”

Montross sighed, thinking for a moment. “It doesn’t matter. Our visions were clear. I saw the coffin buried inside this mountain. The funeral procession was led up these very hills. We’re on the right track. It’s at one of two probable locations up near the southern side of the summit. Once the rest of the team joins us with all our gear, we’ll proceed and narrow down the search.”

Nina kept her eyes on the hill, on the shadows within the forest. “I’ll go on ahead with the night-vision goggles.” She tapped her gun, caressing the newly installed LaserMax sighting device attached to the barrel. “I’ll find her.”

“Ah yes, your precious Beretta. Sometimes I think you love that weapon more than me.”

“It’s never let me down. And besides,” she said with a cold stare, “I know your heart belongs to another.”

Montross was silent for a moment and his eyes lost focus before snapping back to her. “Yes, well then. You take care of our Darkhad antagonist up there, but capture her if possible. And while you’re busy, Alexander and I will try again to remote view our long-buried friend.”