The Spirit Banner (6 page)

* * *

A
NNJA FOUND
M
ASON
and his employer in Davenport's study on the first floor. She wasted no time in getting to the point.
"Something about the journal has been bothering me since this morning and I've only just now figured out what it is. If Curran died in that cave, who found the journal and how did you come to be in possession of it?" she asked.
Mason glanced at Davenport and the other man nodded, giving permission for him to answer the question.
"I handle a variety of jobs for Mr. Davenport. One of those happens to be scouting out new business opportunities. I was in Mongolia recently with a geological team, looking for mineral deposits. While investigating a series of caves a few days outside of Karakorum, we stumbled upon the mummified remains of two men. The journal was on a shelf near one of the bodies."
"And so you took it?"
Mason shrugged. "I thought it might be important and taking it with me seemed the best way of preserving it."
Annja frowned. "But now that you've had time to examine its contents, surely you understand that the site, and anything it contains, could be of historic importance to the Mongolian people?"
Davenport stepped in. "Of course we do, Annja. But we also want credit for finding the site and permission to excavate it. That is why we intend to apply for the proper paperwork to sponsor an expedition to do just that in the spring." He spread his hands, as if to say,
Can't you see we're doing the right thing here?
"Determining the authenticity of the journal seemed an important step in that process."
Annja wasn't sure if that was the whole story or not, but she recognized that it was all she was going to get at the moment.
"Good enough," she said, with a shrug of her own that clearly said she wasn't going to make an issue of it. "Then I guess it's okay to tell you…I think it's real." Annja couldn't keep the smile from spreading across her face as she admitted it.
Davenport let out a whoop of joy. "I knew it!" he shouted. "I just knew it."
Mason was up, shaking his employer's hand, congratulating him, the two of them laughing and talking, when Annja broke in again.
"I said I think the
journal
is real. Unfortunately, the map is not."
That brought both of them up short. Davenport's voice held a trace of steel as he asked, "What do you mean
the map is not?
"
Annja brought her laptop over to the table in front of the chairs where they'd been seated and turned it around to face them.
"Look," she said. "This is a full-scale image of the map from the back of the journal." The map appeared on the screen before them. "I cleaned it up some, but otherwise it is exactly the same. No image enhancements or anything like that."
The two men nodded to show they were following her.
"Now this," she said, calling up another image, "is a modern-day map of the same area. I've reduced it to scale to match the other one." The two maps appeared side by side.
Davenport glanced between them. "I don't see…Oh."
Annja grinned. "Yeah. Oh." She tapped the keyboard and they all watched as the two images slid over each other. Doing so allowed them to see that Curran, or whoever had drawn the map, had deliberately introduced errors into the positioning of many of the major landmarks. For instance, the Onon River had been moved slightly to the east while the Hentiyn Nuruu mountain range had been relocated a good distance to the south. The other errors were similar in nature; Annja had counted eleven in all.
Davenport stared at the map in confusion. "Why would he do that?"
Annja opened her mouth to reply but Mason beat her to the answer.
"He wanted to pass on the information but didn't want to make it easy in case it fell into the wrong hands. Remember, there's no way for anyone at that time to verify the map short of going there themselves. So a few subtle alterations and, voilà—the secret is safe."
Davenport frowned. "So the map's a fake? It won't lead us to the tomb?"
Annja smiled. "The map's authentic all right, in the sense that it is as old as we expected it to be, and more than likely penned by the individual we think penned it. The thing is, it just doesn't give accurate directions to the tomb. At least, not directly. The location of the tomb is in there, we just have to break the code to get it."
Davenport's eyes shone with curiosity. "Code?" he asked.

* * *

T
HE CUTTER SHUT OFF
the torch and set it aside. He drew out a long-bladed combat knife. He used it to wedge up one side of the rectangle he'd cut in the roof, and then slid a gloved hand beneath it. A sharp tug broke the last remaining edge and the piece came free in his hand. He passed it to the others and then cautiously stuck his head down through the opening he'd created.
The work area was immediately below them, just as they'd been told it would be.
There was no need for instructions. The entry team had been briefed thoroughly before their departure and they all knew their own individual assignments. One man stayed behind to cover the roof while the leader and the last remaining team member lowered themselves through the hole they'd cut and dropped lightly to the floor below.
They were in!

* * *

"L
ET ME SHOW YOU
." Annja closed out the maps and brought up several pages from the journal itself. She pointed out the strange addition to each letter that had caught her eye in the first place, then showed them how selecting only those words brought up another message hidden inside the text of the first.

meet

"What the heck is that?" Mason asked, bewildered. "I'm not one hundred percent sure," Annja replied nonchalantly, "but if I had to guess, I'd say it is probably directions to the final resting place of Genghis Khan himself."

Annja's announcement was met with renewed excitement from the two men.
"Do you think you can decipher it?" Mason asked.
Annja nodded. "I've worked through the first stanza already, I think. And I've got some ideas about the others. But understand, there's no way to be certain. We could get all the way there only to discover I was wrong about the first part, which would then call the rest of the solution into question, as well. It's a crapshoot."
She didn't miss the look that passed between the two men.
"Let's say, just for the sake of argument, that I can figure it out. What, then?" Annja asked.
Davenport laughed. "What, then? Why, we go after it, of course!" he said. "In fact, we'd better start making plans to do so now. The off-season is coming on quickly over there, so we'll have to wait until spring, of course, but that will give us time to get things organized and allow you a chance to work out the puzzle to your satisfaction before we leave the country. We'll need to get travel and dig permits from the Mongolian authorities, arrange for local guides and transportation, never mind choosing the right individuals to be a part of the dig team." He must have seen something in her face in reaction to that last statement, for he suddenly turned to her with a grin. "You are coming along, right?" he asked.
With a start, Annja realized she did want to go. Very badly, in fact. Working with the map and diary had fired her desire to follow this thing to the end, to see if there was any truth to the words Father Curran had so faithfully recorded all those years ago.
She'd been to a lot of places across the globe, but Mongolia wasn't one of them. And being able to take part in the search to uncover one of the world's greatest mysteries? It was the chance of a lifetime. Doing something like this was why she had become an archaeologist in the first place. There was no way she would pass it up.
Besides, she thought with a sly grin, she'd have her producer at
Chasing History's Monsters
, Doug Morrell, eating out of her hand for months if they pulled this one off.
"When do we leave?" she asked.

* * *

O
UTSIDE IN THE GRASS
, one of the dog handlers, Kyle Davis, stirred. He'd come into work that night as a last-minute replacement for a fellow employee who had gotten sick. Davis was a big man, not just tall but heavily muscled, as well; and, as chance, or perhaps fate, would have it, he outweighed the regularly scheduled guard by a good fifty pounds.
That meant the tranquilizer dose that had been prepared for the original guard wasn't strong enough to keep Davis under for long. Certainly not long enough for the intruders to accomplish their goal.
He woke shortly after being shot.
Davis had been trained well. As he slowly came back to consciousness, he stayed where he was, lying facedown in the grass, and didn't try to sit up or attempt to discover what had happened. The details didn't matter; what mattered was letting the rest of the team know that they were under attack.
And he needed to do it without attracting undue attention to himself in case the enemy was out there, watching.
His arms had been flung out over his head when he fell and that proved to be an unexpected godsend. Moving just half an inch or so at a time, he slowly slid his right hand over to his left, until his fingers came in contact with the band of his watch. The military timepiece had a panic button built into its face. Pressing it sent a high-frequency signal to the main security station, letting the man on duty there know that something was amiss.
Davis searched for the button.

* * *

T
HE SPOTTER IN THE TREES
scanned the grounds with his sighting scope, going through the motions just as he'd been taught in sniper school so many years before. Constant vigilance was his motto and it had never let him down.
Nor did it this time.
"Son of a—! Target! Sector B. From TRP 1, right 50, add 25."
His partner brought his weapon into position, repeating the location information back to the spotter as he did so.
"Roger. Movement on the ground. Second target from the left."
The shooter repeated the target designation and adjusted his grip on the stock of his weapon. Taking a deep breath he held it for a moment, made sure he was on-target, and then fired on the exhale. To an outside observer it would have seemed like one continuous motion, but to the sniper it felt disjointed and rushed.
He hadn't expected to have to use the weapon again once they'd taken down the guards, and it was only the fact that he made a habit of keeping his weapon loaded while in position that let him get the shot off at all.
The tranquilizer dart gun had been set aside just moments before and been replaced with his standard piece, a Parker Hale M85 rifle, and a sharp crack rang out over the estate as the gunman pulled the trigger.
The sniper's shot was true.
It struck Davis in the head, killing him instantly.
But the sniper had been about a quarter of a second too late. Davis had already found the panic button and mashed it down flat.

* * *

I
N THE LIBRARY
on the first floor, the celebration continued. Davenport cracked open a bottle of cognac and drinks were passed around.
"A toast, then," he said, raising his glass and waiting until the others followed suit. "To our expedition!"
"Here, here!" Annja and Mason replied with grins.
No sooner had they done so, however, than a loud siren began blaring throughout the house.
Annja cast a questioning look at her companions.
"We've got an intruder," Mason said, by way of reply, as he crossed the room and disappeared through the door.
Davenport and Annja quickly followed.
Out in the hallway they found Mason surrounded by a handful of hard-looking men who had apparently appeared out of thin air. Or at least it seemed that way to Annja, who up until now hadn't seen even a hint that a security team was present, never mind active.
"Sitrep," Mason said to the tall black man who was helping him slip into a ballistic vest.
"We've got a breach along the south wall. Davis's panic button went off just over sixty seconds ago. I tripped the alarm and assembled the team as per SOP."
"Good job, Jeffries. Any idea who or what we're up against?"
The other man shook his head. "The motion sensors never went off, which means the video feed wasn't activated. At this point, all we have is the lack of response from Katter and the active signal from Davis, which doesn't tell us a whole hell of a lot."
Mason turned to face Davenport. "Without knowing what we're facing, I have to suggest that you take cover in the secure room until this is over, sir."
The trusted friend had reverted back into the loyal employee, Annja noted. And it appeared that Davenport was more than willing to listen to him, too. She had long suspected that Mason was more than just Davenport's assistant and she felt some small sense of satisfaction that her hunch had proven correct.
One of the security team members stepped to Davenport's side, gun drawn and eyes on alert. "This way, sir," he said, indicating the hallway to the left.
Curious about what was going on, but not wanting to get in the way of what appeared to be a well-organized response, Annja chose to follow Davenport. Probably gets half a dozen death threats a week, considering how rich he is, she thought. Besides, if he was the target, at least she was there to protect him.
She was halfway down the hall when a sudden thought stopped her dead in her tracks.
The journal.
Whoever they are, they're after the journal, she was sure of it.
She turned it over once or twice in her head, testing it for accuracy, and finally decided that her hunch was right. They
were
after the journal. She didn't know how she knew it; she just did.
Turning, she charged back down the hall, headed for the staircase in the foyer that would take her to the second floor. She didn't know how someone could have learned of the journal, nor who might be after it. But that didn't matter. Right now all she cared about was imposing herself between the artifact and whoever it was that had come to claim it.
"Annja! Annja, wait!"
Davenport's calls echoed down the hallway after her, but she ignored them, intent on her objective. She hit the staircase and took the steps two at a time, her gaze directed above, watching for intruders, as she rapidly made her way to the top.
When she reached the second-floor landing, she flattened herself against the wall, settled into a crouch and peeked around the corner at knee height. If someone was there, she didn't want to stick her face right in their sights.
The hall was empty, however.
"Annja!"
She spun around to find Davenport coming up the steps, calling her name, his bodyguard a few steps behind and obviously not very happy about the current situation. Annja wasn't, either. She silenced him with a sharp wave of her hand and gestured for him to join her against the wall.
"What are you doing?" he asked in an urgent whisper, once he'd done what she'd asked. "Mason told us to get under cover."
"We need to check on Curran's diary."
Davenport processed that for a second. "You don't think…"
"Yeah, I do think. Now stay here and let me check things out." She turned to look at the bodyguard. "Make sure he listens, understand?"
The security agent nodded.
She straightened up and took a deep breath. Rounding the corner, she headed for the room at the end of the hall at a fast walk, doing her best to be as quiet as possible.
She'd made it about halfway there when the door at the end opened and a man clad in dark clothing stepped out. His back was partially turned as he listened to instructions given by someone still inside the room, but Annja could clearly see the automatic weapon he carried.
The closest door was behind her and to her left. He'd see her long before she could reverse course, get it open and slip inside.
There was nowhere else for her to go but forward.
Annja knew that at any second he was going to turn around and see her coming toward him down the hallway. If that happened she was as good as dead; it wouldn't take much to bring that weapon in line and gun her down in her tracks.
She had to reach him first.
All this flashed through her mind in the space of a heartbeat and then she was rushing down the corridor toward the intruder as fast as she could go move. Picturing her sword in her mind, she reached into the otherwhere, wrapped her hand around its hilt and drew it forth.
Unfortunately for Annja, she didn't make it.
She was still a dozen or so steps away when the intruder closed the door and turned in her direction. His surprise at seeing someone charging down the hall toward him brandishing a sword didn't stop his training from taking over. The look of shock was still on his face when he swung his gun around and fired from the hip.