The Spirit Banner (10 page)

Despite the fact that Ransom didn't have a translation of the journal in hand by midafternoon of the next day, he knew that he had to get out in front if he wanted to ultimately beat Davenport to the prize. Time was of the essence and in a case like this just a few hours could make all the difference.
With that in mind, he ordered Santiago to go on ahead to their facility in Russia and begin the preparations they would need to carry out their own search for the tomb. Santiago was authorized to hire a team and to equip them as he saw fit. Transportation would have to be arranged, as well. In keeping with their usual way of doing things, disposable assets were to be used wherever possible, including the personnel. If they ended up having to cut and run, Ransom wanted no links back to his commercial operations.
A hastily contrived accident would take care of all their problems, should it come to that.
Confident that his man would handle things appropriately, Ransom went about making his own preparations for the journey. He called his executive assistant and had her cancel all of his appointments for the next two weeks, letting her know that he would be out of the country and unavailable. He then had her book a first-class seat on the next flight to Moscow. She had been trained well; she didn't ask questions, she simply agreed to do what he asked. And he knew that it would get done, right to the letter of his instructions. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone was so efficient? Ransom thought as he hung up the phone.

* * *

T
HE FLIGHT WAS A BIT BUMPY
but otherwise uneventful. Santiago met Ransom upon landing and whisked him away to a private facility they had on the outskirts of the city. As they entered the grounds, Ransom reflected how convenient it had been in the past several years to have a place like this so close to all the turmoil, first in the Soviet Union itself, then in places like Chechnya, Afghanistan and the Middle East. There was money to be made in turmoil, if you were willing and daring enough to go after it.
Ransom had more than enough of both qualities.
Santiago brought him to the central hangar, where the men selected to be a part of the assault force were gearing up. Ransom ignored them; they were just tools, like any other, and he didn't need to get acquainted with any of them in order for the job to be carried out properly.
He was, however, interested in the transportation Santiago had arranged. The Mil-8 Hip was a medium twin-turbine transport helicopter that could double as a gunship, one of the reasons he'd been attracted to it. The fact that it was currently used by more than fifty countries was the other. A quick paint scheme, a change of identification, and the aircraft, like any of the rest of his fleet, could disappear into the woodwork with a minimum of fuss. It was a useful trait, considering the kind of work he did in countries such as Somalia and Iraq.
The Mil-8 had a long, buslike body with a rounded nose and a glassed-in cockpit. This particular model had two fuel pods offset and mounted low on the body at the point just before it swept upward and tapered toward the rear. Santiago also had a Yakushev-Borzov Yak-B 12.7 mm remote-controlled Gatling gun mounted on the nose.
The aircraft stood eighteen feet off the deck and was more than six feet wide, with five rotors on the main shaft and three on the tail. The tricycle landing gear seemed almost too small to support the aircraft's massive weight, but Ransom knew from experience that it would do just fine.
The helicopter could climb at a rate of thirty feet per second and had a ceiling of just below fifteen thousand feet. The gunship's maximum range was just over two hundred miles; hence, the additional fuel pods. Santiago had already informed him that he was confident they could find additional fuel once in country, but Ransom believed in being prepared.
The plan was a simple one. Wait until they knew just where Davenport's group was headed, then swoop in before the other team could get under way and grab the prize right out from under their noses.
Oh, the revenge would be sweet, Ransom thought.
Satisfied with all he'd seen, he headed into the office to await the satellite call he was expecting.

They arrived in Moscow around 7:30 a.m. local time. Concerned with drawing too much attention by arriving in Ulaanbaatar in Davenport's private plane, and thereby tipping off Ransom's people that they were in country, Mason had arranged for them to enter the country like any other set of tourists aboard a commercial flight run by MIAT Mongolian Airlines. From there, they would meet up with the rest of their team, who were arriving separately, and continue overland by truck.
Their connecting flight into Mongolia, however, didn't leave until 11:00 a.m., so Mason let Annja and Davenport sleep in while he made certain their cargo was loaded aboard the proper flight. He roused them with plenty of time for them to get cleaned up and then they headed to the terminal to find their gate.
They made it with plenty of time to spare and ended up sitting around the waiting area with the rest of the passengers. Annja noted that Davenport actually seemed to be enjoying himself, and it took her a few minutes to realize that it was the sudden absence of attention that had put him in such a good mood. In just about every major industrial nation, Davenport was a recognized public figure and, more than likely, couldn't simply sit in an airport lounge without being noticed and possibly harassed. Here, in the small departure lounge devoted to Mongolia's national airline, he'd finally found some small sense of anonymity and was enjoying it.
The flight was uneventful and the flight attendants began their landing preparations for an on-time arrival. Annja had been assigned a window seat and she used the opportunity to get a look at their destination from the air.
It was the first time she'd seen Mongolia and she wasn't certain what to expect.
What she got was an industrial city of gray concrete-box buildings mixed with brightly colored shops and multistory modern commercial buildings. Factories belched smoke into the air while tent settlements filled with the traditional round tents known as
gers
lined the city all the way to the foot of the mountains in whose valley Ulaanbaatar rested.
The city was home to some 850,000 people, which wasn't many when one considered the population of New York or Chicago, but was frankly astounding when you found out it had somewhere in the neighborhood of 60,000 inhabitants less than eighty years ago. Its current population was, she knew, about a quarter of the country's total.
The plane banked, lining itself up with the runway, and Annja was treated to a surprising sight. There on the side of a nearby hill was a huge portrait of Genghis Khan himself, staring up at them, welcoming them to the capital city of the country that he had, for all effective purposes, brought into being.
Annja took his presence as a good omen and felt some of the tension she'd been experiencing since the attack on Davenport's estate ease. She knew that if anyone could find the Khan's tomb it was her and, as the plane finished its turn, hiding the Khan from her view, she told him silently that they would be seeing each other soon.
The pilot did a nice job of putting the plane down on the runway with little more than a slight bump, and when the team disembarked they found Jeffries, Mason's second in command, waiting for them at the gate. He led them through the terminal, out a side door and onto a section of the runway itself.
The air was cold but not unbearable. Annja knew it would be far worse once they got up into the mountains, and she was suddenly glad for the cold-weather gear that Mason had obtained for her before they left. Jeffries led them on foot about three hundred yards east, almost to the edge of the airport, where the rest of their team was waiting with all the gear in a private hangar Jeffries had rented upon his earlier arrival. Just beyond, Annja could see the edge of an outdoor bazaar perched right next to the airport, and she was wondering idly if she'd have time to wander through it before they got under way when Mason called the group together for a discussion inside the hangar.
The team consisted of eleven individuals divided into three vehicles. The lead vehicle would carry one of the local guides, Nambai, and three members of Mason's security team: Jeffries, D'Angelo and Kent. Annja, Mason and Davenport were assigned to the middle vehicle. The third truck would hold Cukhbaatar, their other local guide, and the final three security team members: Harris, Williams and Vale.
Annja was introduced to each of them one at a time by Mason. Some, like Jeffries and Kent, she'd met at the Davenport estate. The others passed in a blur of faces and names. She did her best to lock each of them in her memory—D'Angelo, the dark-skinned Italian with the quick smile; Williams and Harris, the near-identical Brits with the thick accents and stoic demeanor; the fun-loving Vale. She was most interested in Nambai and Cukhbaatar, their guides. Nambai was a grizzled man in his late sixties who Mason claimed had explored more of Mongolia than anyone else. He'd made multiple journeys into the Restricted Zone, even when it had been under Soviet control, and Annja knew he was going to be an invaluable member of the group. Cukhbaatar, whom everyone almost instantly started calling Chuck due to their difficulty in pronouncing his name properly, turned out to be Nambai's grandson, a strong young man in his early twenties.
Given what had happened at the Davenport estate, Annja wasn't surprised by the presence of the security-team members. Nor the fact that they would be traveling armed. What did surprise her was that she was the only one on the expedition, if you could call it that, with any formal archaeological training. She brought the issue up with Davenport.
"Think of this as a reconnaissance mission," he told her. "We're here to see if we can find the site in the first place. If we do, we'll bring in a full team and go over the place with a fine-tooth comb. But we have to find it first."
And we have to do it before Ransom does, Annja thought, but didn't say it aloud. There was no sense starting the obvious.
To that end, they had planned for quick movement and light travel. Helicopters were considered but ultimately rejected because their movements could be tracked too easily and there was a chance they couldn't get the proper flight permits in time. Davenport wanted everything on the up-and-up. As a result, they went with four-wheel-drive vehicles instead.
The trucks were Russian UAZ-469s, four-wheel-drive vehicles that looked like shorter versions of the Jeep Cherokee. They each held four passengers, with racks on the roof to carry the gear. Annja hadn't been overwhelmed when she'd seen them, but Mason had assured her the simple design and lack of computerized parts made them the best vehicles for the steppes. Each of the trucks carried two spare tires and several cans of extra gasoline as added protection against their getting stranded far from civilization. They had enough food and water to keep them going for a week, if need be, though they fully expected to be able to trade with several of the nomadic communities they would pass through during their search. Each vehicle had a satellite phone so they could communicate with one another without stopping.
A large metal trunk had also been bolted to the inside of each of the vehicles and when Annja peeked inside one she found an assortment of weapons: several handguns, a few assault rifles that she recognized as being HK MP-5 submachine guns and the like. In the wake of Ransom's attack at the estate, Mason wasn't taking any chances.
Considering how quickly this had come together, Annja was impressed with the attention to detail. She was even more impressed with the way Mason made certain each and every member of their small team knew where they were headed and what the rendezvous points were should they become separated at any time en route to their initial destination at Shankh. It was clear Mason had led small-group operations before; all that military training and attitude were hard to hide, even after a number of years in the private sector. Mason led the team the way an officer would lead a squad of special-operations men on a mission in enemy territory and it showed.
"Where'd you serve?" she asked him,
He flicked a glance in her direction, then went back to watching as the extra gas was being strapped to the rear doors of the trucks. "Is it that obvious?" he asked.
Annja saw no reason to lie. "Yes."
Mason shrugged. "I was 22nd SAS Regiment." And then, in case she didn't know what that was, he added, "British Special Forces."
Annja was fully aware the SAS were some of the best trained and experienced Special Forces soldiers in the world. It made sense that if Davenport was going to hire someone to protect him, he would hire the best. Annja guessed that there had been more than one problem in the past; otherwise, he probably would have been content with any of the half dozen or so security agencies that were typically used by the rich and powerful. Going out and hiring a freelance former SAS soldier wasn't something that you did every day—or lightly.
She watched him for another few seconds, wondering where he had been and what he had done while in the service. Wondered what it was that had made him leave it for civilian life. She'd come to enjoy his company over the past few days and knew in other circumstances she might consider going beyond the working relationship they currently had between them.
Growing up in an orphanage, she'd never been very close with anyone. She'd had her share of romantic encounters, but they were always of the ships-passing-in-the-night kind; fun while they lasted, but then she was on to some new dig or assignments and there wasn't room in her life for both a relationship and her career.
Later, once she'd become the heir apparent to Joan's mystical sword, she hadn't felt it was fair to drag anyone into a long-term relationship. Not when trouble seemed to find her at the drop of a hat.
Still, Mason might be an interesting diversion for a while.
First things first, Annja
, her conscience said and her brain agreed. Maybe there would be time for something else later. Right now, they had a tomb to find.
She turned away to tend to her own gear.