The Emperor's Treasure Read online

  THE

  EMPEROR'S TREASURE

  DANIEL LESTON

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  * Copyright © Pending, Application #1-2197206981

  1st Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any part or in whole without written permission from the author

  This book is dedicated to my niece, Terry, whose encouragement and expertise made it all possible.

  3rd Adventure of Professor David Manning

  (1st Adventure – The Amun Chamber)

  (2nd Adventure – The Genghis Tomb)

  THE EMPEROR’S TREASURE

  PROLOGUE

  West Texas. Nine Miles Northeast Of The Mexican Border

  The Present

  The young man’s physical and mental suffering had been nothing less than incredible, a continuing blur of ever-increasing pain lasting without respite for over twenty-four hours. It was a virtual eternity of sustained agony, sadistically inflicted upon him by someone he didn’t know—and all for reasons entirely beyond his ability to comprehend.

  The actual why of it never made sense.

  Nor did the unrelenting and puzzling interrogation that accompanied the span of his torture. It pertained to who else knew of his whereabouts, and what his reason was for being where he was apprehended in the first place. Both were questions he steadfastly refused to answer.

  It became a stubborn point of pride, a chosen determination on his part to not satisfy his brutal inquisitor in any way. A simple enough secret, to be sure, yet it became the sole anchor to which he tied his retreating sanity. Somehow he found the inner strength to maintain this deception to the very end.

  But only barely . . .

  Now he was dead.

  It was an hour past midnight, his naked and mutilated body loosely wrapped along with his meager belongings in a greasy, canvas tarp in the back of an old pickup on the shoulder of an otherwise empty gravel road. By his side was a long-handled shovel.

  Seated behind the vehicle’s wheel was his methodic torturer, Kurtz, a short, heavyset figure with blunt features that were now fixed in a somewhat drained and anxious expression. Though wearied by his recent exertions, the burly man considered himself a professional—thus he took the time to cautiously scan the sandy, moonlit landscape with his narrowed eyes, seeking any unexpected movement around the random rocky outcroppings that stretched off in all directions. Everything seemed as it should. If true, then his assignment would soon be over. At least he hoped so—and as if seeking confirmation, he once again glanced at the second man in the cab, his longtime employer who sat calmly smoking a cigarette.

  Aware of this repetitious scrutiny, John Marino made a reassuring gesture with his hand, indicating a need for further patience. Though their expected company was running somewhat late, in his opinion there was nothing to warrant unnecessary alarm. Of average height and appearance, his face projected the confident image of someone years younger than his actual of age of forty-six. He’d worked long to attain his present position, intelligently mastering all the poor judgment and foibles of lesser men. Besides which, experience told him the timing of such late night rendezvous’ were rarely, if ever, very exact.

  He felt he could afford to wait several minutes more.

  His beefy companion was the first to notice the faint flicker of distant headlights softly reflecting off their dusty dashboard. A car was approaching from the rear up the gravel road, gradually slowing as it drew near where they were parked.

  “Is it Patch?” asked Marino.

  Kurtz didn’t immediately respond; then gave a satisfied nod as the car now made the appropriate signal by flicking its lights. Only when the late model Lincoln finally pulled up close and extinguished its headlights did Marino take his hand away from his holstered revolver.

  “Wait here,” he ordered, sliding out the passenger door.

  Sheriff P.T. O’Malley—known throughout the rural town of Enid and all of Trayle County simply by the nickname Patch—took his time exiting his personal vehicle, grabbing a long-handled flashlight as he did so. Despite the lateness of the hour, he remained in uniform. A big man by anyone’s standard, he was noticeably past his prime, a considerable paunch overhanging his wide belt as he acknowledged Marino with a deferential smile—one he reserved for a very limited number of people.

  “So we got us a bit of a disposal problem, have we?” he said, peering over the latched tailgate. “Well, nothing that can’t be resolved, I’m sure.” He snapped on his flashlight. “May I?”

  Marino gave an affirmative nod, dropping his cigarette butt into the sand as the sheriff reached in and flipped back the canvas. If the grisly sight revealed by the flashlight’s beam in any way shocked the older man, it wasn’t evident on his round face. After a few brief moments, he re-positioned the covering and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

  “Jest pondering out loud, mind you,” he finally said, “but that shovel there may not be necessary. There’s another way we can go here—one that might better serve both of us rather than jest finding the right spot to bury him.”

  Marino was curious, willing to listen.

  “Such as?”

  “Well, hear me out, but I’m thinking the smart move may be to simply place him someplace where he can be easily found in the next day or so. A couple more miles up ahead from here alongside the road, for example—so long as it’s inside the county line. None of my business, of course, but by his age and general condition this can easily be interpreted as jest the ugly result of some sort of drug activity gone bad. See what I’m saying?”

  His small eyes shifted once again at the covered figure before continuing.

  “Personally, I don’t recollect having seen him around these parts before, so I’m guessing he’s not a local, am I right? Which is even better. The case can be quickly closed and put to bed, all clean and simple—and with no unnecessary investigating required beyond what looks to be a drug connection, considering the proximity of the Rio Grande border and all.”

  Marino saw where this was headed.

  “You say going this route might serve you, as well. How so?”

  The sheriff snapped off his flashlight.

  “Simple, actually. As you know, I’m up for re-election again this fall, and I’ve made my career by pretty much running a crime free county. The possible threat of new drug violence coming into our county is sure to make folks a tad jumpy. Something I can exploit. Only natural they’ll feel better continuing with a strong hand at the helm come voting time. Jest seems logical.” He grinned. “So then—are we in agreement?”

  Marino found no immediate flaw in the sheriff’s proposal.

  It was a decision he’d shortly live to regret.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ulan Bator, Mongolia. Seven Days Later

  Even with over eight hundred people in attendance—not including a like number of international media personnel—the vast halls that were specifically designed to accommodate an anticipated flow of ten times this volume on a daily basis seemed almost empty. In actuality, however, this had the beneficial effect of making the interior of the newly-constructed edifice appear even more impressive, providing the privileged attendees all the leisure time they desired to study and marvel over its many treasures.

  As did everyone present, David thought the sprawling, white marble building an inspired architectural wonder, entirely worthy of its purpose. Constructed in a park-like setting on the we
stern outskirts of Mongolia’s capital city—and now virtually surrounded by an assortment of equally new luxury hotels—the gleaming attraction was a visual masterpiece, incorporating the best of modern design while maintaining a true sense of the country’s unique history and nomadic traditions. Suggestive of eleven interlocking imperial yurts, they folded outward like the petals of a flower, spatially all separate, yet distinctly rooted to an even larger central dome. And the symbolism this represented was both intentional and appropriate, for each contained the royal remains and accompanying grave riches of a long succession of ruling kha-khans, each supreme in his own time and directly descended from no less than the great conqueror himself, Genghis.

  Until the discovery of a cavernous burial chamber roughly two hundred miles northeast in the Khentai mountain range, the location of their collective entombment had remained a continuing mystery, enduring for over eight centuries—and as David had been the single most instrumental person in finding and securing this national treasure, it was appropriate that today his personal guide throughout the entire tour was no other than Elbegdor Dashiin, Mongolia’s recently retired president.

  Though four years had now elapsed since the conclusion of that particularly harrowing adventure, both David and his wife found the memories of it still vivid and decidedly mixed. Neither of them would ever forget how two close friends had paid the ultimate price in making all of this possible. For Elizabeth, the tragic circumstances of those untimely deaths remained far too fresh and painful. Truth be told, David believed this was the sole reason she ultimately passed on attending the acclaimed event and instead chose to remain in Greece.

  At three months beyond his forty-sixth birthday, David considered himself in reasonably good physical shape. Lean of build, he stood at slightly over six feet, his dark hair and angular features only adding to an otherwise pleasing appearance. As both a working archaeologist and teaching professor out of Salonika’s famed Aristotle University, he’d achieved an enviable—and some would say legendary—reputation for continued successes in the field over the past decade. Not being someone who sought or enjoyed anything that infringed on his private life, he’d made it a rule to never grant interviews to the world press regarding any of his achievements. If his reclusive nature and low profile had the overall effect of labeling him as a mystery man to the media, then so be it. It was a price he was quite willing to pay.

  Being a close friend who knew and respected David’s desires in this matter, Dashiin had the authority to ensure their quiet tour proceeded free of any unwanted intrusions—just one of the many prerogatives he enjoyed by being a former president. The Mongolian government’s deep gratitude for David’s contribution toward enhancing their national pride during a truly difficult period wouldn’t soon be forgotten.

  They eventually made their back to the central dome, the very heart and soul of the exhibit. Unlike the eleven adjoining halls, here there were no dazzling display cases of accumulated material wealth as were retrieved from the individual tombs. But in direct comparison to the others, however, this was undoubtedly the most impressive room of them all. On a central raised dais, cordoned off at a respectful distance by a garland of velvet rope, was a massive stone sarcophagus. Rough-hewn out of a solid piece mountain limestone, not even the thick lid bore any carved ornamentation. No adornment was necessary, for the solemn majesty of both its size and simple configuration was undeniable.

  Within were the bones of Genghis, himself; the Great Ancestor—the Man of Iron who single-handedly forged the largest continuous land empire the world had ever known—and the one whose royal descendants chose to surround in death. Revered among modern-day Mongolians as the father of their nation, many still considered him to be little less than a fabled deity.

  David lightly tapped Dashiin’s arm, directing the older man’s attention toward the far side of the domed hall.

  “Is that the Chinese ambassador?”

  Dashiin gave a tight-lipped smile.

  “I know what you’re thinking, my friend,” he said in a low voice. “I also had misgivings about his presence here, but the polite game of international politics must be played out. On a personal level, I find his attendance insulting when you consider all the clandestine measures his premier took trying to not only thwart this great discovery from being made—but also to see it all destroyed in the process.”

  Though David and Elizabeth had lived through the worst of these grim events, he yet appreciated the precarious relationship that existed between small Mongolia and its expansionist neighbor. Like Dashiin, he accepted that the need for diplomatic stability with China was always of prime importance.

  “So, even privately, you’re saying that they’ve never acknowledged what took place? No admission of any kind?”

  “Nothing. Not a word. They apparently consider the entire affair a complete non-event.”

  As David grimaced in disgust, Dashiin changed the subject.

  “Do you still plan on flying back so quickly after your short visit?”

  David nodded.

  “Afraid so,” he replied. “Elizabeth and I still have much left to sort out in the next few days before our planned move back to the states. With all my work finally completed on the excavation site outside Salonika, there’s really no valid reason for us to continue living in Greece. It’s time. As you know, her roots and business interests are back in New England. Plus, of course, there’s our son to consider. It was never intentional on our part, mind you, but he’s pretty much been made to live his entire life in Greece. Starting this fall we want him enrolled in a good middle school back stateside.”

  “And he’s how old now?”

  “Turning eleven. It’s hard for me to believe, but two more years and he’ll be going into high school.”

  Dashiin smiled as he clasped David’s hand.

  “I well understand, my friend. Time waits for no one. So please give Elizabeth my very best wishes. Please know that your presence here has meant much to me and to my grateful government. Only promise me one thing, won’t you?”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Do try and keep in close touch.”

  “You can count on it, sir.”

  Salonika, Greece

  Eighteen hours later and seven time zones to the west, a weary Elizabeth glanced at her wristwatch as she sat alone in a secluded waiting lounge attached to one of Thessaloniki Airport’s several private hangers.

  It was approaching 4am; dawn a full two hours away.

  By last report—and this only if the Mongolian government’s jet was still on time—another ten minutes, or so, remained before David’s anticipated touch down. Hoping this was so, she got up and tossed her empty paper cup into the wastebasket and began to pace. The coffee had been black and damn near undrinkable, yet it served its intended purpose, keeping her awake over the past forty minutes since her arrival.

  At thirty-six Elizabeth felt herself to be fast closing in on middle age, yet she remained an extremely attractive woman by anyone’s standards. Always of slim build, her profusion of copper-hued hair and vivid green eyes enhanced her naturally striking features. Such was the clarity of her creamy complexion that she rarely wore makeup in any form. To those who best knew her, however, her most endearing quality was the fact that she seemed quite oblivious to the effect her innate charm and beauty had upon others.

  She suppressed a yawn, noting the time. Even without factoring in the early hour, she’d every right to be tired, for the past three days since David’s departure to Ulan Bator had evolved into an unanticipated nightmare. It all began with the phone call she received mere hours later. Now she again questioned if she’d made the right decision by not immediately notifying him, instead choosing to wait upon his return to give him the bad news.

  Being an accomplished businesswoman, she rarely second-guessed her own decisions. But this was an entirely different animal. This was deeply personal—and she could only wonder how David would react. One way or th
e other, a few more minutes would answer her guilty speculations.

  Though few outside her and David’s inner circle were aware, Elizabeth was an incredibly wealthy woman. Living modestly as they had for the past decade in Greece to be close to David’s work, not even young Jake fully comprehended the implications of it—and certainly not its actual magnitude. As with any average pre-teen, sports and friends seemed to occupy the majority of his daily interests.

  Which was exactly the way she wanted it.

  Being the sole heir of her father’s vast financial fortune back in New England, which now amounted to several hundreds of millions, Elizabeth felt she’d successfully balanced her responsibilities toward nurturing the steady growth of DeCaylus Corp with her equally strong determination to maintain a normal family environment. Helping her toward this end was a central management team headquartered in Boston and carefully handpicked by her late father—one that not only ran the everyday operations of her wide corporate holdings, but also had effectively multiplied her net worth three times over since his passing. They supplied her with detailed monthly reports, of course, but her overall input was held to a minimum at her own request.

  Such was her continuing confidence in their performance.

  Through the thick glass window facing Thessaloniki’s main runways she now saw the lights of what promised to be David’s arrival. Her expectation was confirmed minutes later as the sleek corporate jet bearing the official seal of Mongolia made its way up to the private hanger.

  She took a deep breath and walked outside as the twin engines wound down. When the plane’s door opened and David descended onto the tarmac, she saw the surprised expression on his face to find her here waiting for him. His intention had been to call for a taxi.