Treasure of Khan (46 page)

T
HE
U.S. N
AVY CRUISER
Anzio
turned north from her station off the United Arab Emirates, a hundred miles inside the Strait of Hormuz, and headed on a dissecting path across the Persian Gulf. Though far from being the largest ship in the gulf, the Ticonderoga-class Aegis cruiser was easily the most deadly. With its phased array radar system housed in the ship's boxy superstructure, the ship could detect and target enemy craft on land, sea, and air within a two-hundred-mile radius. At the push of a button, one of one hundred twenty-one Tomahawk or Standard missiles could be dispatched from its vertical launch system housed belowdecks, obliterating the offending target within seconds.

The high-tech arsenal was managed by the Combat Information Center, a dark control room in the depths of the ship. Under its dim blue overhead lights, Captain Robert Buns studied one of several large projection screens mounted on the wall. The surrounding region of the gulf was displayed in multiple colors, overlaid with various geometric shapes and symbols that danced across the screen in slow motion. Each symbol represented a ship or aircraft tracked by the radar system. One shape, a highlighted red ball, was inching toward the Strait of Hormuz from left to right across the ship's path.

“Twelve miles to intercept, sir,” reported a nearby sailor, one of several electronics experts seated at computer stations around the bay.

“Steady as she goes,” Buns replied. A studious but witty line officer highly admired by the crew, Buns had enjoyed his current tour of duty in the gulf. Aside from missing his wife and two children, he found gulf duty to be an invigorating challenge, enlivened with occasional danger.

“We'll cross Iranian waters in three miles,” warned a youthful tactical operations officer standing at his side. “They are clearly tracking the Iranian coast for safety.”

“After Kharg Island, I don't think the Iranians are up for harboring these guys,” Buns replied. “Pat, I think I'll watch the show from the bridge. You have the CIC.”

“Aye, Captain. We'll be dialed in just in case.”

Buns made his way out of the darkened command center and up to the bridge, which was bathed in bright sunlight reflecting off the gulf's waters. A dark-haired officer stood near the helm with a pair of binoculars to his eyes, observing a black vessel on the water ahead.

“Is that our target, commander?” the captain asked.

Commander Brad Knight, the
Anzio
's chief operations intelligence officer, nodded in reply.

“Yes, sir, that's the drill ship. Air recon has confirmed she's the
Bayan Star,
out of Kuala Lumpur. The same vessel that our satellites pegged at Ras Tanura and Kharg Island prior to the earthquakes.”

Knight gazed down at the cruiser's forward deck, spotting a contingent of Marines in assault gear, prepping a pair of Zodiac boats.

“Boarding party looks to be in order, sir.”

“Well, let's see if the
Bayan Star
will play ball.”

Buns stepped to a seated radio communications officer and issued a command. The cruiser began hailing the drill ship, first in English, then in Arabic, ordering the vessel to stop and heave to for boarding and inspection. The drill ship ignored the calls in both languages.

“No change in speed,” a radar operator reported.

“Can't believe those Hornets didn't get their attention,” Knight said. A pair of F/A-18s from the aircraft carrier
Ronald Reagan
had tracked the drill ship for the prior hour, buzzing it constantly.

“Guess we'll have to do things the old-fashioned way and fire a shot across their bow,” Buns said. The cruiser had a pair of five-inch guns capable of such a shot, and much more.

The cruiser closed to within two miles of the drill ship when the radar operator barked, “She's slowing, sir.”

Buns leaned over and watched the radar screen, seeing the drill ship's blip cease movement on its southwesterly course.

“Bring us alongside. Have the boarding party stand by.”

The sleek gray cruiser angled to the northeast, pulling even with the drill ship with a half mile of water separating the two vessels. The Marines were quickly loaded into the Zodiacs and lowered over the side. As they began motoring toward the drill ship, Knight suddenly alerted Buns. “Captain, I see two boats in the water off the enemy's stern. I think the crew is abandoning ship.”

Buns picked up a pair of binoculars and gazed at the drill ship. Two lifeboats filled with crewmen in black fatigues were making their way from the ship. Buns swung his binoculars toward the dilapidated vessel just in time to spot several puffs of white smoke rise from the lower levels.

“They mean to scuttle her,” he said. “Call back the boarding party.”

As the
Anzio
's crew watched with surprise, the drill ship quickly began settling low in the water. In just a few minutes, the salty waters of the Persian Gulf began washing over the ship's bow. As the bow sunk lower, the stern rose higher into the air, until the flooded ship knifed to the bottom with a sudden whoosh.

Knight shook his head as he watched the trail of bubbles and foam dissipate over the ship's grave.

“Pentagon's not going to like that. They were eager for us to capture her intact. Had some big-time intel curiosity about the technology aboard.”

“We still got her crew,” Buns said, nodding toward the two lifeboats, which were headed willingly toward the cruiser. “And the Pentagon can still have the ship if they want her. She's just three hundred feet deep in Iranian waters,” he added with a grin.

A
CRISP BREEZE RIPPLED ACROSS
the lower slopes of Burkhan Khaldun, snapping taut the multitude of blue-and-red Mongolian state flags fluttering high overhead. The largest of the flags, a mammoth banner fifty feet wide, wavered above a large granite mausoleum whose carved façade had been hastily completed by local craftsmen just days before. The empty mausoleum was surrounded by a large crowd of dignitaries, VIPs, and news reporters, who talked quietly among themselves while waiting for the future occupant to arrive.

A rush of excited whispers swirled through the crowd, then all fell silent as the sound of marching boots drew near. A company of Mongolian Army soldiers appeared through the pines, marching up a slight incline toward the waiting assembly. They were the first in a long procession of military honor guards escorting the remains of Genghis Khan to his final resting place.

Genghis had been engaged in a battle siege near Yinchuan in northwest China when he'd fallen off his horse and died a few days later from his injuries. A secret funeral procession had brought his body back to Mongolia and the slopes of Burkhan Khaldun for burial in 1227, but history doesn't record the details of the cortege. Desiring to keep their enemies unaware of his death, as well as keep his burial spot secret for all eternity, his warrior comrades likely returned his casket in a nondescript, perhaps even covert, procession before burying him in an unmarked location. Nearly eight centuries later, there would be nothing covert about his reburial.

The Mongol warrior's body had lain in state in Ulaanbaatar for a week, drawing visits from over two million people, incredibly more than two-thirds the population of the entire country. Pilgrimages from all corners of the country were made by the thousands to lay eyes on his coffin. A three-day funeral procession to his grave site in the Khentii Mountains drew an equally impressive number of well-wishers, who lined the route holding flags and images of the ancient leader. Women and children waved and cried when the caisson rolled by, as if it was a favored relative who had just passed away. A national day of mourning, and future holiday of remembrance, marked the third leg of the procession. On this day, the caravan climbed up a makeshift road to a peaceful spot near the base of Burkhan Khaldun, where the warlord was said to have been born.

Pitt, Giordino, and Gunn, with Theresa and Wofford alongside, sat in the front row of dignitaries, just a few seats down from Mongolia's president and parliament leaders. Pitt turned and winked at a young boy seated behind him as the funeral procession drew near. Noyon and his parents, special guests of Pitt's, looked on at the surroundings with awe, the boy's eyes widening in wonder as the Khan's caisson finally appeared.

In a splendor worthy of the greatest conqueror the world has ever known, Genghis Khan's body was carried on a mammoth wooden caisson painted bright yellow. A magnificent team of eight snow-white stallions pulled the funeral cart, seemingly dropping their hooves in perfect unison. Atop the caisson was the granite tomb Pitt had saved from the floodwaters, now covered in fresh lotus blossoms.

A troupe of aged lamas wearing bright red robes and arched yellow hats quietly took up position in front of the tomb. Down the hill, a pair of monks blew into their
radongs
, enormous telescopic horns that emitted a deep baritone hum heard all down the valley. As the low resonations wafted in the breeze, the lamas launched into a lengthy funeral prayer, incorporating drums, tambourines, and burning incense. At the completion of the ceremony, the lamas quietly filed off to the side as an old shaman took to the stage. The age of Genghis Khan was filled with mysticism, and shamanism played an important role in the nomadic lifestyle. The grizzled shaman, who had a flowing beard and was dressed in caribou skins, danced and chanted around a large fire containing sheep bones. With a shrieking moan, he blessed the Khan's remains, imparting them from the land of the eternal blue sky to an afterlife of conquering the heavens.

When the service was completed, the granite sarcophagus was rolled into the mausoleum, then sealed with a six-ton slab of polished stone lowered by a crane. The spectators would later all swear they heard a distant clap of thunder at the precise moment the tomb was sealed, even though there was not a cloud in the sky. Genghis Khan was at rest again in his beloved homeland mountains, and his tomb would stand forever as a cultural mecca for tourists, historians, and all the peoples of Mongolia.

As the crowd began filtering out, Ivan Corsov and Alexander Sarghov approached from the rear, where they had been seated with the Russian ambassador.

“I see you are as adept at sniffing out historic treasures on land as at sea,” Sarghov laughed, giving Pitt and Giordino a friendly bear hug.

“Simply a bonus for figuring out why somebody tried to sink the
Vereshchagin,
” Pitt replied.

“Indeed. By the way, we still have our joint research project to complete on Lake Baikal. The
Vereshchagin
will be repaired and ready to go next season. I hope you both will join us.”

“We'll be there, Alexander.”

“Just as long as there are no more seiche waves,” Giordino added.

Corsov sidled up, his usual ear-to-ear grin in full display.

“An impressive demonstration of undercover work, my friends,” he said. “You should join the Russian Federal Security Service, there is a need for men of your talents.”

“I think my boss might have a thing or two to say about that,” Pitt laughed.

The president of Mongolia approached with a small entourage. Sarghov said a quick farewell, as Pitt slyly noted Corsov melding away into the exiting crowd. A short, polished man of forty-five, the president spoke nearly flawless English.

“Mr. Pitt, on behalf of the people of Mongolia I wish to thank you and your NUMA team for rescuing Genghis for all posterity.”

“A giant of history deserves to live forever,” Pitt replied, nodding toward the mausoleum. “Though it is a shame that the riches of the tomb have all been lost.”

“Yes, it is a tragedy that the treasures of Genghis were dispersed to collectors around the world simply to enrich the pockets of Borjin and his siblings. Perhaps our country will be able to buy back some of the antiquities from our newfound oil revenues. Of course, the archaeologists all believe that a greater trove lies with Kublai Khan, whose grave Borjin was thankfully unable to find. At least Kublai and his treasure still reside undisturbed in Mongolia, buried somewhere beneath these hills.”

“Kublai Khan,” Pitt muttered, staring at the mausoleum of Genghis. On its granite façade, he noted an engraving of a lone wolf, whose outline figure was painted blue.

“Yes, that is the legend. Mr. Pitt, I wish to also personally thank you for exposing the corrupt activities of the Borjin family and helping put a stop to their lawlessness. I have initiated an investigation into my own government to determine the extent of the influence-peddling on their behalf. The remnants of their actions will be buried with the body of Borjin, I promise.”

“I hope that Tatiana is proving to be a cooperative witness.”

“Most assuredly,” the president replied with a furtive grin. Tatiana, he knew, was being held at a less-than-comfortable security site. “With her help, and the continued assistance of your oil industry companions,” he said, nodding toward Theresa and Wofford, “we shall be able to exploit the discovered oil reserves for the good of a new Mongolia.”

“China isn't going to renege on acceding Inner Mongolia?” Gunn asked.

“It's too politically dangerous for them to do so, both internationally and within the confines of Inner Mongolia, whose occupants largely favored secession from China. No, the Chinese will be happy enough, as we've agreed to sell them oil at a favorable price. That is, until our pipeline to the Russian port of Nakhodka is completed.” The president smiled and waved at the Russian ambassador, who stood a few yards away chatting with Sarghov.

“Just ensure that the oil revenues go to the people who need it most,” Pitt requested.

“Indeed, we've taken a lesson from your own state of Alaska. A portion of the revenues will be distributed to every man, woman, and child in the country. The remainder will support the state's expansion of health, education, and infrastructure. Borjin has taught us that not a dime of profits will end up in the hands of an individual, I can assure you.”

“That is good to know. Mr. President, I have one favor to ask of you. We discovered a plane crash in the Gobi Desert.”

“My director of antiquities has already informed me. We'll be sending a research team from the National University of Mongolia right away to excavate the aircraft. The bodies of those aboard will be returned to their homes for proper burial.”

“They deserve that.”

“It was a pleasure, Mr. Pitt,” the president said, as an aide tugged at his sleeve. He turned and started to walk away, then stopped.

“I almost forgot,” he said to Pitt. “A gift from the people of Mongolia to you. I understand you have an appreciation for such objects.”

He pointed down the hill to a large flatbed truck that had discreetly followed the funeral procession up the mountainside. A large covered object sat upright on the truck's bed. As Pitt and the others watched with curiosity, two workmen climbed up and pulled back the canvas covering. Underneath sat the dust-covered Rolls-Royce from Borjin's compound.

“Should make for a nice restoration project on the weekends,” Wofford said, eyeing the decrepit car.

“My wife Loren will love that,” Pitt replied with a devious grin.

“I'd love to meet her sometime,” Theresa said.

“Next time you are in Washington. Though I take it you'll be working in Mongolia for some time to come.”

“The company gave us three weeks of paid leave for our ordeal. We are both hoping to go home to rest and recuperate before Jim and I come back.”

From the look she gave Giordino and the tone in her voice, it was clear that the “we” was not referring to Wofford.

“I don't suppose you could take it upon yourself to nurse a rabid old sea dog like Al back to health during that time,” Pitt offered.

“I was rather counting on it,” she said coyly.

Giordino, leaning on a crutch with his lower leg heavily bandaged, smiled broadly.

“Thanks, boss. I've always wanted to see the Zuider Zee.”

As the friends parted company, Pitt strolled down the hill toward the flatbed truck. Gunn joined him as he approached the old Rolls.

“The Mongolian energy minister just told me that the price of oil is down another ten dollars today,” he said. “The markets are finally accepting the news that the Avarga Oil Company has been put out of business for good and the destructive earthquakes are finished. Combined with the news of the oil reserves in Inner Mongolia, the experts predict that the price will soon drop to levels below those seen before the Persian Gulf disruption.”

“So the oil panic has subsided and a global depression averted. Maybe the economic powers that be will finally learn the lesson and focus on developing renewable energy sources in earnest.”

“They won't until they absolutely have to,” Gunn said. “Incidentally, I was told that the Pentagon was none too happy that all three of von Wachter's seismic devices were completely destroyed, after the last-known device was sunk in the Persian Gulf.”

“NUMA can't take responsibility for that one.”

“True. It was a lucky stroke that Summer and Dirk stumbled upon Borjin's brother and the second device in Hawaii. Or he stumbled upon them. Had the ship traveled on to Valdez and damaged the Alaska Pipeline as planned, there would have been real pandemonium.”

“It was the Chinese wreck Summer found. It drew them there for some reason,” Pitt said. A faraway look crossed his face as he mentally searched the clues. Then his green eyes suddenly sparkled in enlightenment.

Gunn was oblivious to the mystery, focused instead on the immediate demands of his government.

“Not only were all of the seismic devices destroyed, but von Wachter's research materials as well. Apparently, Borjin had all of the professor's data in the laboratory building, which is now a pile of charcoal. There's nothing left for anyone to be able to resurrect the technology.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I suppose not. Though I'd feel better if I knew the knowledge was in our hands and not the likes of Borjin.”

“Just between you, me, and the car,” Pitt said, “I happen to know that the operator's manual you lifted from the lab survived the flood and fire.”

“The manual survived? It would give a big leg up to anyone trying to duplicate von Wachter's work. I hope it's secure.”

“It's found a safe and permanent home.”

“You sure about that?” Gunn asked.

Pitt walked to the rear of the Rolls and opened a large leather trunk mounted to the car's luggage rack. Lying at the bottom of the musty interior was the seismic array operator's manual, with the shaft from the crossbow arrow still protruding from its cover.