The Mongol Objective (33 page)

Some, like Renée, might call what he was about to do vengeance.

Robert called it destiny.

#

And as the other Keepers returned to their menial but crucial work, Robert used his terminal to set up a live conference call with the station in Gacona, Alaska.

The screen flickered and the view of a laboratory-like interior filled three quarters of his screen. Out the window behind an empty desk could be seen a snowy expanse, broken up by a series of giant antennae-like structures.

A face suddenly appeared: bald, paunchy, with pale grey eyes that Robert imagined hadn’t seen the light of day for months.

“Is it ready?” he asked.

The scientist nodded, and as he did so he rubbed the ring on his index finger—a black gem inscribed with a familiar dragon impaled on a lance. “I have everything in hand, just awaiting your specifications.”

Robert smiled. “You won’t have long to wait.”

16.

“Everyone!” yelled Caleb. “On top of the crypt.”

“Why the rush?” Phoebe asked. “The water’s not rising that fast, let’s think this through. There’s got to be another way out.”

“There is,” Xavier Montross said quietly. “But the rising water isn’t our only problem.”

“Eels,” Alexander said, already climbing. “With sharp teeth. Come on.”

Phoebe looked back, and shined her flashlight down, then at the nearest opening in the wall, where something even now wriggled through. Something with slick skin and golden eyes on stalks. “Ok, I’m convinced.”

“I’m not,” Caleb said, picking up an AK-47 from one of the fallen soldiers. He shook it, then leveled it at Montross. “You obviously know more than you’re saying. And it’s clear you’ve seen it all along. Now spill it!”

Montross smiled, his gaze lowering to the red dot darting across Caleb’s chest.

“Oh shit,” Orlando said, and flashed his light to the origin of the red beam. A shot rang out and the flashlight was torn out of his hand.

“Drop the gun,” came a familiar voice from the shadows.

“Better do as she says,” Montross told him, grinning. “You know how she likes it. With you at her mercy.”

Caleb dropped the gun into the water.

“Hello, Nina.”

#

She strode through the water, discarding the sniper rifle and pulling out her Beretta. Stopping abruptly, she kicked at something under the water, then aimed and fired. She booted free a dead eel, then aimed at Caleb again. “So, you really did miss me, didn’t you?”

Caleb said nothing, just trying to process everything at once.

“Dad, get up here now!”

“Sorry,” he said, “but I’ve kind of got a gun pointed at me.”

“Listen to the boy,” Montross said. “Get up to the higher ground.”

Phoebe climbed the rest of the way up and stepped around the body. “Are you sure about this? We can’t all fit.”

“Toss the corpse,” Montross said, following Caleb up just as something nicked his leg.

“No,” Caleb snapped. “We’re not desecrating the body. I promised that much.”

Dead soldiers floated past, bumping against each other, their blood drawing the eels.

“Well, I’m not touching him,” Orlando said. “Apart from the disturbing aspects of moving an eight hundred-year-old Mongol warlord off his funeral perch, who knows what traps are still waiting if we try something that stupid?”

“He’s right,” Phoebe said.

Montross climbed up last, after the others had pulled themselves up and arranged themselves around the body. “Well, isn’t this cozy?” He hung onto one side while Nina clambered up and perched by the corpse’s feet, arms resting on her knees, keeping her Beretta visible.

Caleb fixed her with a stare as he tiptoed over to Alexander and put his arm around his shoulder. “You all right?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry Dad. I blew it down in the lighthouse. Couldn’t protect the tablet. Couldn’t save mom.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” he whispered, finding difficulty forming the words. “It’s my fault she’s gone.”

“Ours,” said Phoebe, glaring at Nina. “We didn’t ask the right questions, ones that could have made sure we had it protected from the likes of this one. And whoever’s pulling Renée’s strings.”

Montross chuckled. “Won’t you be surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Caleb asked.

“It means he already knows,” Nina said. “But hasn’t told us.”

“Later,” Montross said, eying the rising water level. “No distractions. All of you should quickly put your considerable talents to use to find us a way out of here.”

Caleb gave him a dark look. “And you, brother, what is it you’re going to do?”

Montross grinned. “I am going to get my stuff back.”

He found some room away from the others, kneeling beside Nina. “I just hope I can still do this without the tablet.”

“Do what?” Phoebe asked.

Caleb’s eyes widened.

Montross folded his arms and closed his eyes. “Just don’t disturb me.”

#

Renée Wagner ascended the ladder, climbing with her left hand while hefting the suitcase in her right. After jogging back through the long access tunnel, now mostly empty of water, she made it to the ladder. But partway up, she paused. From her training, and from the paranoia of the past hours, she paused. Something was wrong. Different now.

She took out her light, shined it up. She ascended another rung so she could get a better look, then aimed the beam around.

Her eyes widened, mouth opened in a gasp. Only an hour ago, this entrance point had been isolated, not far from the shore, with nothing around it. But now, from what she could tell, there were at least four terra cotta warriors remaining.

Guarding the exit were two archers, one swordsman, and one brandishing a spear. The weapons were all pointed at the entrance. Renée inclined her neck, stretching to get a look at the ground. She wasn’t sure what would set off the statue’s attack mechanisms, but was fairly certain these didn’t possess motion sensors. More likely there was a trigger on the top rung of the ladder that would unleash a barrage of death upon hapless exiting tomb raiders.

She directed her light at the feet of the warriors and saw disturbed earth: straight lines back into the general army’s ranks. They were on a track system of sorts, likely shifted into their new positions by the mausoleum’s desecration.

Fine, then. Let’s play. No lifeless hunks of rock are going to beat me.

She wedged the suitcase between two rungs, then stepped down. Holding the light with one hand, she sighted down the barrel of the Walther held in the other. With eight shots, fired with precision, she was able to blast apart the archers’ bows and shatter the third warrior’s spear.

Reload.

Then, moving around to the other side of the ladder, she knelt and sighted through the rungs to blast off the swordsman’s right hand, letting the sword clang to the ground. Satisfied, she lowered her weapon and put it back in its holster.

She retrieved the suitcase and climbed. Near the top, just to be sure, she yanked down on the top rung, while standing on one foot on the edge of the ladder, leaning out into space away from the direct path into the hole.

All the statues moved. The archers merely jolted in their positions, but only the fingers opened, launching non-existent arrows. The one that had held the spear moved its right arm forward and down, tossing nothing, and the swordsman cleaved forward, then sideways with an empty stub of a wrist.

Smiling, she ascended and pulled herself out the hole. Staying in a crouch, she aimed her light back, sweeping over the motionless army. No others had come forward. Carefully, she stood.

The swordsman wobbled. Swung again with no weapon. Missed.

She smiled and patted the briefcase. “Sorry boys. You failed your master.”

#

“What’s he doing?” Phoebe whispered to Alexander. The boy opened his mouth, but it was Nina who responded.

“He said he’s going to get back our artifacts, so I’d imagine he’s doing that.”

Caleb said, “He’s done it? Astral projection?”

Nina nodded. “Guess your father learned it too. Lot of good it did him.”

Alexander tugged on Caleb’s sleeve. “I think Mom’s done it too. I saw her.”

Caleb looked away from Nina, met his son’s eyes. “Me too, Alexander. But I don’t know if it’s really her, or if you and I are just projecting her image, calling her back. What does she show you?”

“I think it’s important, but I don’t understand. She said I’m not alone.” He shrugged. “And there’s something else I keep dreaming about. A door. And behind it, a box.”

“Enough,” Nina snapped. “The water’s rising, or this mausoleum is sinking. Either way, theorize about the departed another time. If you don’t focus on getting us out of here, we’ll be joining the Genghis in his watery afterlife.”

“I’m on it,” Phoebe said, making a face as she looked into the corpse’s eyes. Orlando was at the other side, holding on to the edges and wobbling, trying not to look down.

“You too,” Nina said to Caleb, waving the gun at him.

He slowly shook his head. Raised his arms. “Can’t. I’ve lost it.”

Nina narrowed her eyes. “Again?”

“Since Lydia died, I can’t see anything but her . . . accusing me.”

“Bullshit. Get past it. Do it for your son.”

“I’m trying.”

Nina sighed. “You really need to unmoor yourself from this bottomless pit of guilt. Last time you punished yourself for little Phoebe’s carelessness, and now it’s for your wife’s bad luck? Well, this time I’m not bailing you out.” She gave a smirking grin. “Besides, there’s not enough room up here for me to help you out. And the dead guy’s got the only bed.”

“Shut up,” Caleb said through clenched teeth.

Nina aimed at his face, then shifted her sights lower, to Alexander. “How about this? A little immediacy to get you over your inner roadblocks? Get past your guilt, access your visions, or I shoot your kid.”

Caleb pulled Alexander closer, trying to get in front of him. The water rose and things splashed and snapped below his feet. “I’ll try,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Good boy,” Nina said, still keeping her finger on the trigger. “I’d say we’ve got about five minutes before we’re lunch, so make them count.”

#

Renée headed for the closest boat. She played her light over it, then its neighbor. Seeing nothing unusual, she nudged it ahead into the silvery water, then placed the briefcase in the boat. After another bout of coughing, she picked up a gas mask, fitted it over her head. But before she could slide it down, she heard something.

A splash? Minor, but just out of place enough to notice. Her senses tuned to the absolute silence down here, she listened again.

She felt a ripple against her shins. Then she heard it:
a breath.

She froze. Shined her light back in the boat, seeking every corner. Nothing.

Another breath, weak and pained. Raspy. Like the sound her grandmother had made on her deathbed.

She swung the light back around to the shore, suddenly certain that someone had followed her, crept up behind her, ready to strike. But the beach was empty.

Another low breath, its very weakness defying placement.

She swept the light back. Over the water on the left, then to the walls. Even onto the ceiling.

Another wheezing breath, and Renée swung the beam down to the right, where an almost imperceptible ripple was spreading out backwards. Heart jack-hammering in her chest, she moved the light in. Closer. Left and right, methodically sweeping the river’s width.

Closer.

Stop. Back.
What was that?

She lost it, then went past it, then came back and found it. What looked at first like a pale rock, flat. Except—

—in a rush of mercury-tinted water, gleaming in silver, a body roared up from below as if spring-loaded and launched like a catapult.

Qara!

She stormed ahead like a demon possessed. In the jarring flashlight radiance, Renée noticed two bullet holes: one through her sternum and another in her stomach, wounds that barely slowed her down. But worse was her face and the skin on her neck and her hands—blistered, oozing pus, cracked open like a plaster-of-paris mold hit with a tennis racquet. Her eyes were blood-red, seeping crimson tears. Her hair all but gone, slid out in patches, the skin underneath almost black with toxic scarring.

Renée’s training kicked in, overcoming the sudden shock and disbelief. She reached for her gun as she stepped back, lined it up. But Qara was faster, lunging the final distance and connecting under Renée’s aim, catching her around the throat with both hands.

Renée had a second to see the flesh hanging in strips from the fingers, the blood clotted in the mercury water, gleaming silver, and in a few places where the bones had protruded, white. And then the pressure around her throat was like nothing she had ever imagined. All at once, the air was gone and her head felt like it had swelled to the size of a basketball.

Her spine was bent back and she fell to her knees in the water, arms waving. Reflexively she pulled the trigger and fired into the ceiling. But finally, she had the presence of mind to pull her aim back, slide the .45 under Qara’s arms and press it against the woman’s heart—and fire.

Qara lurched backward but held fast to Renée’s throat. Fetid water and blood gushed out of her mouth, spitting onto Renée’s mask. Another shot weakened her grip. Qara shook her head, tried to speak but only made a gurgled sound, and slid back into the water.

Renée gasped, massaging her throat, shaking her head. She couldn’t see.
Where was the flashlight?
There, by her feet, the light dimming.

No!

More splashing. The impression of movement, then wood creaking.

The briefcase!
She raised the .45 again, reaching down for the light at the same time. Pulled it up, even as it dimmed to just a dull orange glow, just enough to see Qara turning back again, this time with something silver in her hand.

Impossible . . .

Qara had enough strength to do one last thing for her master. She hefted the case, turned sideways and then—