The Spirit Banner (15 page)

* * *

A
BOARD THE CHOPPER
five hundred feet above, Santiago keyed the mike and informed Ransom that the vehicle below them was, indeed, from Davenport's group.
"Good. Try to take them alive," Ransom replied. "They might know where Davenport is headed."
Santiago gave directions to the pilot and the chopper swung about, angling downward and headed for a position to the side of the moving vehicle.

* * *

H
ARRIS WAS WATCHING
the helicopter through the rear window and as it swung back in their direction, he said, "They're turning about!"
In the front of the truck, Kent swore loudly.
There was no doubt about it now. Whoever was in that chopper wanted something from them and it didn't take a genius for them to guess what it might be.
Kent's hands tightened on the wheel and his foot pushed down harder on the accelerator as he gave in to the instinct to run. But his mind kept returning to the same essential question.
Where, exactly, were they going to go?

* * *

T
HE CHOPPER TOOK UP POSITION
to one side of the fleeing vehicle. Santiago reached for the minigun controls, a grin a mile wide splashed across his face.
"Let's see what they think about this," he said happily and triggered the weapon.
The minigun on the front end of the Mil-8 threw a line of 12 mm slugs across the truck's path.

* * *

"L
OOK OUT
!"
The machine-gun fire cut across the road in front of them, forcing Kent to spin the wheel to the left to avoid it, bouncing off the narrow track they had been following and striking out overland, heading for the rocky outcroppings he'd spotted earlier.
There was no way they were going to outrun the helicopter. That much was obvious. Nor did he think that the truck could withstand repeat attacks, not with that chain gun mounted on the front of the chopper.
That left them only one option.
They were going to have to fight it out.

* * *

S
ANTIAGO LAUGHED ALOUD
as the truck carrying Davenport's men abruptly left the road and headed overland. Go on and run, he thought. You won't get far, that's for sure.
"Well?" Ransom asked.
Santiago shook his head. "They aren't stopping, sir."
"Then make them stop."
"Roger that."
Santiago turned to the gun controls once more.

* * *

T
HE HELICOPTER MOVED AROUND
in front of the truck and hovered a short ways off, the chain gun sending another stream of slugs ripping through the air toward them.
Kent spun the wheel to the right this time, avoiding the majority of the gunfire. Still, more than a few slugs impacted against the side of the vehicle and stitched a line along the roof, shattering the window and sending small bits of glass flying through the interior. Sunlight streamed in through the new holes and the smell of cordite filled the car.
"Everyone all right?" Kent shouted over the sound of the wind now whistling through the frame.
"I'm good, I'm good." Harris had a few small cuts on his arms and face from the flying glass, but that was nothing given what could have happened. He checked D'Angelo and breathed easier when he saw that their companion had escaped unscathed. A long stream of Mongolian came from the floor of the front seat, which both Kent and Harris took to mean Cukhbaatar was all right, as well.
"Where are they?" Kent asked, his eyes on the uneven terrain ahead of them, not daring to look away as he fought to keep them from inadvertently driving into a ditch or other obstacle.
"Left side," Harris replied.
Kent saw Harris's form suddenly fill his rearview mirror as the big man crossed to the other side of the vehicle, leaning over their wounded comrade.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Teaching them a lesson in predator-prey dynamics."
As the helicopter came back into view, Harris stuck the muzzle of his automatic rifle out the remains of the window and held the trigger down.
The stuttering roar of his weapon filled the car, drowning out his battle cry.

* * *

B
ULLETS BOUNCED OFF
the armored cockpit of the helicopter, causing the pilot to swerve up and out of the line of fire before they could do any damage. The Mil-8 had been built to withstand much more firepower than what was currently being thrown at it, but when they had the sky to themselves, why take chances?
Santiago told the pilot to get behind the moving vehicle and keep moving from side to side as he sent stream after stream of 12 mm slugs in their direction.
He was enjoying this.

* * *

A
ND SO IT WENT
.
The chopper would make an attack run, Kent would do his best to avoid it and a little more of their vehicle would be obliterated as a result. By the fourth or fifth pass—Kent wasn't certain which it was as he'd already lost count—things were going from bad to worse inside the truck. Both he and Harris had minor gunshot wounds; he from a ricochet that carved a furrow past his left ear and Harris from a round that had gone straight through his foot. D' Angelo, on the other hand, was dead. A line of slugs had stitched their way along that side of the vehicle and his body had jittered with the impacts while his blood had splashed over the other two men and the boy indiscriminately.
Kent estimated that they'd lost about fifteen percent of their engine power and a loud clanking noise was coming from under the hood somewhere. The rear tire on the passenger side had been shot out, as well, and they were now rolling along on what was left of the tread and rim.
The terrain wasn't helping them, either. All of the wild maneuvering Kent was doing was kicking up great clouds of dirt and dust, obscuring their view of both the road ahead of them and of the helicopter behind.
Then Harris leaned forward and said possibly the only thing that could make matters worse.
"That's it. We're out of ammunition."
Short of throwing their guns at their attackers, they now had no way of firing back.

* * *

D
ESPITE
S
ANTIAGO'S OBVIOUS
enjoyment playing with the fleeing vehicle, eventually Ransom had enough. It was clear at this point that there was no way they were going to stop, and even if they did, they obviously weren't going to give up without a fight.
It was time to be done with this and continue their hunt for Davenport and the rest of his men. Every minute they spent here meant the others were getting farther away.
Ransom passed the order to Santiago to end it.

* * *

A
S
K
ENT THREW THE VEHICLE
into another series of wild maneuvers, all thoughts of driving into a ditch forgotten as he sought to avoid getting hammered by the helicopter's chain gun, he lost sight of the chopper.
"Where did he go?" Kent shouted.
"I don't know!" Harris was frantically moving from window to window, trying to see through the haze of dust and smoke, searching vainly for their attacker but unable to find him, either.
"Well, find him, for heaven's sake! Before he finds us."
But it was already too late.
The helicopter popped up from behind a small rise to their left, hovering just a few feet off the ground, the rotors clearing the dust like a giant broom, giving them a clear view of their quarry. The gunner would have to be blind in order to miss, and unfortunately for the men in the truck, he was not.
The Gatling gun sang out and hundreds of slugs tore into the vehicle, shredding metal, plastic and human flesh on contact.
The truck continued forward for another few seconds before a stray slug punctured the fuel tanks and an explosion ripped through its frame, sending what was left of the vehicle bouncing end over end across the rocky landscape.
There was no way anyone could have survived the strike, but Ransom wanted to be certain so the gunner sent another round of slugs pulsing into the burning wreck.
When no one emerged after several long moments, Ransom gave the signal for them to move out, a smile of satisfaction on his face.
Behind them, the wreck burned brightly in the early morning sunlight.

Unaware of what was happening to their comrades, Davenport and the rest of the team awoke the next morning to find a thin coating of snow covering everything in sight. It was less than half an inch deep, barely worth worrying about and certain to melt before the morning was over, but for Annja it was a reminder that their time here was limited. Winter was coming, and once it arrived, it would mean the end of their search for six long months or more.
They were going to get one shot at this and that was it.
Better make it count.
They broke camp quickly and got under way, the knowledge that they were close to their destination spurring them on. In the light of day they were able to see that the density of the forest on the far side of the valley was not going to allow them to continue with the trucks, so supplies were transferred to backpacks that had been brought along for just such an eventuality and the group continued on foot. If all went according to plan, they would return to the trucks after finding the "voice in the earth" and figure out their next move from there.
They hiked upward into the trees for a couple of hours, taking a brief rest along the way to gulp down a cold lunch and rejuvenate their systems.
It was shortly after that that they emerged into a clearing about a third of the way up the mountain and were given the first chance they'd had to see what lay ahead of them since taking to the trees earlier that morning.
"There," Nambai said, pointing at a near-vertical wall of dark stone that loomed above the trees surrounding it a short distance away.
"The birthplace of the river is at the foot of that mountain."
He went on to explain how he had come here several years before, hunting eagle chicks to sell in the market in the city, and had seen where the river bubbled up from the base of the mountain, as well as where it diverged into three separate waterways shortly thereafter.
"How much farther is it?" Davenport asked, breathing a bit heavier than usual due to the exertion.
"Not far," the Mongolian said with a smile.
Apparently "not far" in Mongolian translated to "far enough that you'll want to strangle your guide for lying to you" in English. They climbed upward through the dense tree cover, using saplings to pull themselves forward when the trail, or lack thereof, became too steep.
Just when Annja's legs started screaming for release, the group emerged from the trees to see the river rushing past them perpendicular to their line of travel. Upriver to their left, the sheer face of the cliff wall rose from the forest floor like some looming giant, ready to squash them at the slightest provocation.
Nambai led them in that direction without comment.
Once they were close enough, they could all see that a raging torrent spilled out from under the base of that mammoth wall, bubbling up from somewhere deep beneath their feet. A few hundred yards downstream it split into three distinct rivers—the Onon, the Tuul and the Kerulen. They all had their common origins in that single waterway surging past their feet.
Davenport gathered the group around him and gave them their instructions. "All right, this is it. This is the place we've been looking for. I want you all to spread out and start looking around. We're searching for something referred to as the 'voice in the earth,' but that's all I can tell you about it, so look for anything unusual, any sign of human habitation, that kind of thing, okay?"
The rest of the team nodded their understanding, then split up and began covering the surrounding area. Wanting a little time to herself to think, Annja strode off on her own before anyone else could volunteer to accompany her.
She had to admit that she was surprised by the beauty of the place. After the drab colors of the plains and the scorched damage of the Restricted Zone, the green of the forest and the bright blue color of the river at their feet was a welcome change. As she walked along the riverbank she was able to relax for the first time in days, to just let go and enjoy where she was, even if it was for only a few minutes. The trees around her swayed in a gentle breeze that had kicked up shortly after they had arrived and though it made things a little colder, the air seemed fresher, the smells richer because of it.
She watched fish dart back and forth beneath the surface of the water, listened to the cries of the birds in the trees, but after half an hour without finding anything, she gave up and returned to their starting place at the base of the cliff.
Annja found a relatively flat rock to stretch out on and sat down, letting the afternoon sunlight warm her as she went back over everything in her mind. The answer was there somewhere; she knew it. She just had to ask the right questions in order to get the right answers.
She must have dozed off a little in the peace of the moment, for something intruded on her consciousness and she jerked upright, suddenly aware of how quiet the forest around her had become.
"Mason?" she called softly. "Mr. Davenport?"
There was no answer.
The air held an expectant feeling, ripe with tension, as if the forest around were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
And she was all alone.
She reached out into the otherwhere, made sure she could get to her sword if she needed it. It was there as it always was, waiting for her touch to bring it to life, but she didn't draw it just yet. There would be time for that.
She waited.
Listened.
She was just about to call out for her companions a second time when, as if on cue, a deep, groaning cry burst up from the ground nearby.
She jumped in surprise, her skin rising in goose bumps, the sound just the right timbre to cause the hair across her body to stand on end.
The noise came again almost immediately but this time it was gentler, quieter, and somehow she knew it would continue getting softer until she wouldn't be able to hear it at all.
She had to find its source before that happened.
Annja scrambled back to the point where the water surged up from beneath the cliff face, her gaze flashing frantically about, her ears straining.
Come on, come on, she thought, just one more time.
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye but she dared not turn away, dared not miss the opportunity, for who knew when it would come again.
"Annja!" she heard Davenport call, but still she didn't turn.
One more time. Please.
The voice obliged her.
It came again, much more softly, but this time she was ready for it, standing as she was directly in front of the wall when the sound issued from it a third and final time. She saw that it came from a small hole about the size of her fist, a hole that was at shoulder height and, lucky for her, on her side of the stream.
"Did you hear that?" Davenport asked, as he and Mason rushed over to her side. Williams and Kent weren't too far behind.
Annja barely heard the question. Guided by some inner sense she couldn't define, she watched as if from afar as she put her hand inside the hole and pushed.
A deep grinding sound came from somewhere within the wall in front of them and a section of the stone a few feet away rolled slowly to one side, revealing an opening large enough for several of them to fit through at once.
Annja started toward it, but Mason stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Hang on a second. We do this the smart way."
He pulled a pair of high-intensity flashlights out of his pack, keeping one for himself and handing the other to her.
Together, they stepped as one through the opening.