The Genghis Tomb Read online

  The lone exception among these dedicated monks was a youngster of perhaps eleven or twelve. His fingers were partially stained with ink, his oval face and eyes that of a solemn angel. Seated beside Tenzin, he was clearly a novice taking his first direction and instructions from the patient teacher.

  After cordial introductions were made, Tenzin received the packet from the chamberlain and took his time reading its contents. As he did so, an inquisitive expression crossed his deeply lined face. Only when finished did he lift his head to study his guest for a second time. If anything, his oddly probing eyes now struck David as somehow vaguely encouraging.

  “I must say, Professor Manning, you present me an interesting challenge,” he finally said, “and one unlike any I’ve received in a great many years.” His fluency in English was expected, considering the nature of his work. “As you may already know, the vast majority of our work here entails the translation of purely religious texts and those instructional writings we consider of relative significance from past teachers. This task has occupied us almost exclusively. The need to explore deeper into our ancient archives is not one that occurs very often.”

  “Yet such archival material exists?”

  “To be sure. But I’m afraid it’s still not organized in any manner above a most cursory level. Needless to say, our present focus has always taken priority.”

  The old scholar paused, again glancing at the packet.

  “If I understand this correctly, your request is unfortunately built entirely on pure speculation. You’ve no actual evidence this unknown shaman of the Uriangut ever presented himself in either Lhasa or Drepung Monastery in the 14th century, is this not so?”

  “I’m afraid that’s true.”

  Despite this admission, however, David continued to take hope from the thoughtful concentration still lingering on the old man’s face. Something here was going unsaid.

  But what?

  In his earlier conversation with the chamberlain he’d taken note of the fact that Tenzin’s youthful monastery of origin was Drepung. Simple coincidence? Now he wondered if this had any relevant bearing.

  Before he could inquire, Tenzin abruptly said, “To satisfy your request, Professor, I will nevertheless do as you ask. I make no promise of success, of course, but I will be as thorough as possible. You’re staying here in Dharamsala?”

  “The Oms Hotel. Just off the main square.”

  “Very well. If this is acceptable to you—and it may take several days to research—I will contact you with the results.”

  “More than acceptable, sir.”

  Two long days passed without David receiving any word from Venerable Tenzin.

  Late on the morning of the third, he and an increasingly despondent Vlad sat patiently on the hotel’s shaded patio, effectively killing time as they awaited the women’s expected return. Both Elizabeth and Zayaa found it easier on their nerves to daily indulge themselves touring all the sights in Dharamsala. For them, at least, this distraction helped ease the pervasive sense of failure they were all now experiencing.

  David enjoyed no such option.

  Instead, he remained constantly at the hotel, making himself readily accessible despite his likewise growing sense of apprehension. Was all of their effort going to lead to nothing? He was rapidly coming to this grim conclusion. Surely if there was anything to be found, Tenzin would’ve done so by now.

  It was at this moment that a movement over Vlad’s shoulder caught his eye. The smiling boy approaching across the sunlit patio was unmistakably Tenzin’s student—and David tapped Vlad’s arm to gain his attention as he stood to greet the youngster.

  “My master wishes to see you,” the lad said shyly. “Is now convenient?”

  “Definitely,” replied David, glancing to Vlad’s expectant face. “My friend here will be accompanying us. Is that a problem?”

  The boy only shrugged, apparently having no reason to object. After David scribbled a quick message for Elizabeth at the front desk, they followed the young novice out and across the crowded square.

  Within ten minutes they were directed into a private office off the library’s now familiar third floor. Venerable Tenzin sat waiting. That Vlad accompanied David seemed quite acceptable to the old scholar. Perhaps it was even expected.

  The old man wasted no time announcing his discovery.

  “I believe I’ve found what you were seeking,” he announced with a satisfied expression. He paused, then asked, “Out of curiosity, gentlemen, in your previous investigations on this subject have you ever heard the name Kuichin before?”

  Neither had.

  “No? Well, no matter. What I can now admit to you, Professor Manning, is that when I first read through your request three days ago, your speculative scenario of possible events from that troubled period of history actually stirred a vague memory I somehow retained from my distant youth in Drepung Monastery. Curious as I found this, however, I made no mention to either you or the chamberlain, for quite honestly I wasn’t entirely confident of my distant recollections. Better to say nothing, I thought, than to needlessly raise false hopes.”

  “Quite understandable, sir.”

  Tenzin returned to his story.

  “When I was scarcely more than a novice monk, my blessed master, Lobsang, put me to the task of helping sort through and box a great number of ancient manuscripts to take with us in our flight from Tibet. It was all hurriedly done, mind you, but during this time the brief story I apparently read on this man must’ve made a deeper impression on my young mind than I ever realized. It took some doing for me to relocate the specific document from our archives, but it appears to verify the event you and your friends hoped took place. The man you’ve been seeking was called Kuichin, and he arrived in Tibet in the year 1398—which I believe fits the criteria your packet suggests.”

  “The name is definitely Mongolian,” said Vlad. “Did he claim to be the shaman of the Uriangut?”

  “According to the document, yes,” answered Tenzin. “It records that he met for several days at Drepung with Gedun Drupa, eventually entrusting him with the care of what is described as a narrow, lacquered box for safekeeping. This abbot who pledged to do so, by the way, was the man who years later became Tibet’s first recognized Dalai Lama.”

  David’s mind swam with questions.

  “Is it possible to get an English translation of this document?”

  “It’s being prepared as we speak. I’ll have it in your hands before evening.”

  It was Vlad who then asked, “Does—does it say anything about the contents of that lacquered box?”

  “It states only that it contained an unusual object made of rare, white jade . . . its design and function unknown.”

  Which left the most important question of all.

  “I know this is asking a lot,” said David tentatively, “but did your research give any indication of what eventually happened to the box? Any hint—suggestion—of where it might presently be?”

  The old man’s smile expanded.

  “It took much longer to dig out this information, but what I found was very detailed. It appears the box remained undisturbed in Lhasa for well over two hundred years. In 1642—for reasons not totally explained—the 4th Dalai Lama, Yonten Gyatso, apparently chose to resolve Tibet’s obligation to the long-dead Kuichin by returning it to Mongolia, its place of origin.” Tenzin looked pointedly at Vlad. “To be specific, it secretly went to Erdene Zuu Monastery in Karakorum for safekeeping. I assume you’re familiar with its historic temple?”

  Vlad appeared stunned. “It’s our oldest Buddhist monastery. Do you believe it might still be there after almost four centuries?”

  “I have no reason to believe otherwise—particularly with the stern admonition given to the abbot when it was transferred.”

  “Which was?”

  “That it be held in safekeeping always, released only to someone deemed to be in supreme authority.”

  David also smiled.<
br />
  “Like perhaps President Dashiin of Mongolia?”

  Tenzin appreciated the humor.

  “Well, I’d say he certainly qualifies, don’t you? Gentlemen, whatever your reason behind all of this is, it appears to me that your long hunt is now over.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Erdene Zuu Monastery, Karakorum

  Zheng strove to be inconspicuous as he exited the last scheduled tour bus parked outside the main temple’s entrance. It was evening, the steadily falling temperature and sporadic rain definitely working to his advantage.

  Adjusting his cloth hat and oversized coat against the blustery wind, he followed the twenty odd visitors across the gravel yard into the ancient building, confident that the Beretta 93R machine pistol holstered across his abdomen was undetectable. A fully automatic weapon, it was able to fire in both single shot mode as well as multiple bursts. By his calculation it was now less than forty-five minutes before sunset. From this point on, timing would be everything.

  As a professional, he’d prepared well.

  This was actually his second visit of the day. The first was at mid-morning, his opportunity to not only familiarize himself with the building’s interior layout, but also to seek out what would later become the optimal place for his concealment.

  Back then, three possibilities had readily presented themselves while he casually strolled around the inside perimeter of the main floor, yet each in turn was eventually discarded as being too chancy—particularly when considering the importance of his mission. Then as now, it helped considerably that his presence was largely ignored. As usual, his practiced anonymity served him well, providing ample time to finally settle on what he believed to be the spot most suited to his purpose.

  Phase one now required only the exercising of patience.

  Having already timed the earlier tour’s duration, he waited thirty minutes before nonchalantly positioning himself where he needed to be. With a last cautionary glance around, he then made his move. Unnoticed by anyone, he slipped into what he already knew to be a seldom-used storage closet, silently closing the entry behind him.

  Thus concealed, he peered out through the thin crack created between the aged, wooden door and the temple wall—watching and listening as the unsuspecting young monk who was nominally in charge of the tour eventually began the methodical process of shepherding his last flock of the day out through the building’s front entrance. As Zheng anticipated, no physical count of the exiting tourists was taken. Seconds later, the switch powering the overhead lighting was flipped off, followed by the sound of the heavy main door being pulled shut and locked from the outside.

  So far, so good.

  The radial dial on Zheng’s wristwatch confirmed his timing was perfect, everything progressing as planned. The all-important shift to phase two was now close at hand. Pleased, he withdrew his machine pistol in preparation. Not only did he know exactly whom it was that would soon arrive—but he also knew precisely how and when, as well.

  He hated surprises in any form.

  Long accustomed to the silence of his own thoughts, Zheng always appreciated the need for careful planning and patience. It had been firmly ingrained into his personality since childhood, a learned prerequisite vital to satisfying all of his dark and secret cravings. The eventual carryover of this youthful discipline to his present profession came as a natural evolution.

  A lesson well learned.

  Only once in his memory did he ever violate this personal dictum—and it came close to ending his existence. It happened seventeen years before. He was nineteen at the time, just six months into his military training south of Beijing, when he foolishly allowed himself the luxury of seeking instant gratification without any thought to its consequences. After decisively winning a supervised hand-to-hand combat match with a fellow trainee—someone he’d come to despise—he proceeded to immediately stomp and kick his downed adversary in such a horrific fashion as to inflict shattered ribs and multiple internal injuries. As the man had come close to dying from his injuries, Zheng’s punishment was equally swift and severe. He was sentenced to five years hard labor at a remote prison camp inside distant Qinghai province.

  There he came to the notice of Colonel Wu.

  While reviewing the files of newly interred inmates within his military zone, Wu was intrigued by the impressive contents of Zheng’s relatively short military stint. Always on the lookout for potential men to perform discrete functions, he noted not only the young man’s superior intelligence assessment, but also his apparent natural skill in the use of a wide variety of firearms and other weapons. If anything, the documented scores attained throughout his basic training appeared nothing short of exceptional.

  Regarding the brutal attack that led to Zheng’s incarceration, Wu found even this to be highly encouraging. It demonstrated the necessary presence of an amoral component embedded within Zheng’s personality. A distinct bonus. All things considered, he felt he had a perfect candidate to serve his future needs.

  As it turned out, his initial judgment was sound.

  For Zheng, his rapid retrieval from the labor camp proved his salvation, and the intense loyalty he bore the colonel from that day forward was abiding. It was a point of pride. Whenever called upon to perform, his paramount concern was to always to succeed at his mission. Disappointing his employer was never an option.

  Nor was it one now, he thought, again checking his watch.

  Four miles out, an official government helicopter displaying the Mongolian state seal slowed marginally, reducing altitude in preparation for its arrival. As pre-arranged just days before by President Dashiin after their return from India, the two-hour flight from Ulan Bator was right on schedule to place its two passengers down mere minutes after sunset.

  Inside, David stared out through the rain-streaked window, fully primed by Vlad for what lay ahead as the chopper made its steady descent. In the near distance he could make out the small, rural town of Kharkhorin, the destination for those hardy travelers wishing to come view the remnants of what was once the virtual center of the Mongol empire. Doubtless, most found the site of fabled Karakorum a great disappointment, for little physical evidence lay above ground on this vast, undulating plain to indicate its past glories or significance.

  But neither this nor the town was David’s present focus of concentration.

  Instead it was the enormous, rectangular shape now rising up out of the twilight shadows. Their sole objective lay within this impressive confine, the historic Erdene Zuu Monastery. Located adjacent to old Karakorum, the monastery’s twelve-foot walls had been built over four hundred years earlier in 1585 during the introduction of Tibetan Buddhism—and all from cut stones quarried from the ruins of the former Mongol capital.

  Yet it was the monastery’s recent history that most intrigued David, for as he’d recently learned, the entire complex came very close to complete destruction sixty years earlier in a series of violent communist purges. During this dark period, hundreds of other monastic orders were obliterated across Mongolia, along with the bloody killing of many thousands of monks in the process.

  In comparison to this national tragedy, Erdene Zuu faired somewhat better.

  Once, its vast interior grounds had contained literally dozens of additional temples of varying sizes. Now all that currently remained were three, each standing in lonely isolation. Only with the eventual fall of communism in 1990 was the crippled monastery returned to Buddhist monks as a functioning place of worship.

  Fortunately, the oldest and largest of the three buildings had survived intact. Though now maintained as a museum and tourist attraction, the brightly painted structure with its Chinese-style roof of green tiles still remained an impressive sight under the last rays of the setting sun. If the jade key still existed, the consensus was that in all likelihood it would be stored somewhere within its venerable walls.

  David felt a growing sense of anticipation as the pilot completed a wide circle before f
inally selecting a landing site well inside the massive enclosure, roughly 150 feet from the building’s entrance.

  As the helicopter shut down, he saw that a robed figure had already hurried across the flat field from the rather shabby building housing the few resident monks. Now sheltered from the drizzling rain beneath the temple’s upswept roof design, he stood waiting to greet his visitors.

  “That will be the abbot,” said Vlad as they unbuckled their seats. “He was advised what time to expect us.”

  “And understands our reason for coming?”

  “I’m hoping—though I question how much he actually comprehends. Once he realized it was President Dashiin speaking to him over the phone, I think he became more than a little flustered.” Vlad paused to pull two flashlights from his stored bag, handing one of them to David. “In the man’s defense,” he continued, “this is a fairly rural area, so I can appreciate his initial bewilderment.”

  “Anything I should know about him?”

  “Only that he’s relatively young and new to his position. His predecessor passed away three months ago. I suspect he’s lived out here all his life, so in all likelihood his second language is probably going to be a smattering of Russian, not English. Best let me do the talking. Other than that . . . ”

  David nodded as he zipped up his jacket.

  “Let’s do it.”

  As they soon discovered, only one of Vlad’s suppositions proved correct. Though the man’s English was basically nonexistent, he did indeed fully understand their reason for being here.

  After unlocking the temple door, he led them inside and snapped on the museum’s meager overhead lights. Through a continuing verbal exchange—which Vlad translated for David’s benefit—he first assured them that the museum section contained no such box as described to him by President Dashiin. He was well familiar with every single item on display, thus any search of the ground floor would be a complete waste of their time. He was quick to add, however, that there was a promising place in the basement level, which to his knowledge hadn’t been opened in the past twenty-odd years. In his opinion, if the box they sought was secreted away anywhere inside Erdene Zuu, then it could only be there.