The Genghis Tomb Page 14

  To show them the way, the man then knelt and rolled back a six-foot wide section of tatty carpet. What he exposed was a substantial trap door. As David and Vlad pulled it open, the ancient metal hinges squeaked in protest, an indication of its infrequent use. Beneath was a wooden staircase, solidly built to all appearances, yet descending sharply at what proved to be an uncomfortable incline. Upon reaching the bottom, the monk fumbled with a wall mounted electrical panel of questionable age, then threw another switch.

  The results were disappointing.

  At best, only three—possibly four—hanging bulbs came on, and these so dim and widely dispersed as to be woefully inadequate. The exact number was difficult to determine because of the surprise nature of the building’s ancient construction. Evenly spaced across an otherwise empty floor of packed earth was a field of perhaps twelve, bricked columns designed to support the entire upper structure.

  David snapped on his flashlight, grateful for Vlad’s foresight in bringing them.

  Again taking the lead, the abbot guided them to the basement’s deepest recess, there stopping before a large, padlocked door built flush into the temple’s foundation walls of cut and mortared stones. As he paused to examine his circular ring of old keys, he briefly told the history of what they were about to see.

  Both the door and the room behind it, he informed them, were part of the temple’s original construction, its intended use to house and secure some of Erdene Zuu’s more precious possessions. Nothing of any great material value, to be sure, but items nonetheless dear to their order. A function it served well over the centuries. With the communist takeover, however, it suddenly became prudent to somehow hide its existence.

  Forewarned by the growing calamity overtaking other monasteries throughout the country, the monks solved this dilemma by first removing the antique door and placing it inside—then carefully filling the opening with mortared stones closely matching the rest of the wall. This clever ruse proved successful during the years of vandalism that saw the wanton destruction of all religious artifacts. It was only with communism’s recent demise, he said, that his predecessor finally felt comfortable enough to reverse the process, returning everything to its original state.

  The proper key found, the abbot removed the padlock and pulled the door open.

  Inside, both flashlights were an absolute necessity.

  The interior dimensions were considerably more than David expected, its walls and vaulted ceiling likewise crafted of the same ancient stones. Across the chamber’s full length of perhaps sixteen feet was a solid, planked table, its surface laden end-to-end with a multitude of assorted objects. Moving closer, David concentrated his light on these, the play of his beam illuminating brightly colored stacks of elaborate robes, incense burners, embroidered banners, horns, bells, prayer wheels—all things that had apparently gone unseen in a long period of time. Some of the items he couldn’t identify, nor even begin to guess at their purpose.

  Then he saw it.

  A red and black lacquered box lay partially covered beneath a second pile of folded banners. Vlad also saw, his breath catching in his throat as David slid it out. Narrow and approximately twenty inches long, it definitely fit the description. “Do you think that’s—”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Due to its obvious age, David took extreme care opening the lid.

  Inside, wrapped in a musty cloth, was the object they’d been seeking—the final artifact necessary to locate the lost tomb of Genghis Khan. It was a beautifully fashioned length of rare white jade, its upper edge cut into a saw tooth pattern of varying sizes. The underside was basically a straight line, the only deviation being a narrow triangle, which curved up and ended in a fine point. The pleasure he felt was immense as he slowly drew it out for better examination. Against all odds, they’d actually found it!

  But his euphoria was short lived.

  “My hearty congratulations.”

  David spun around at the voice, stunned to find himself looking into the face of a man now blocking the chamber doorway—and, too, the muzzle of a machine pistol leveled straight at his chest.

  Who in the hell—!

  The man was Asian, his calm expression conveyed quiet amusement. Yet there was an underling deadly purpose in his stance that left little doubt in David’s mind of his ultimate intent. It was transmitted through the cold aspect of his eyes. Here stood a professional killer, pure and simple.

  “I’m only going to say this once. Place it back into the box and then carefully hand it over.”

  David’s first instinct was to stall, seek some kind of opening.

  “And if I do, what then?”

  The response was a faint smile—which said it all as far as David was concerned, offering no hope for what would then happen.

  “No negotiating, Professor. Just do it!”

  Still holding the jade artifact in front of him, David saw how the barrel of the weapon continued to be angled ever so slightly away from it. To test his perception, he subtly altered its position, noting a corresponding adjustment in the muzzle’s direction. Whether done subconsciously, or not, the man was broadcasting a telling indication of where his highest priority lay. He not only needed the key, but he needed to receive it undamaged.

  A weakness to exploit?

  David complied by slowly taking the box from Vlad’s shaking hand and then placed the jade piece back inside. He took a step forward, extending his arms.

  “Stop right there,” the man said warily. He then backed up a few paces, apparently uncomfortable with the box’s close proximity to his weapon. “Better yet, set it on the ground and back away.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  David crouched as if to obey. It must be now or never. Another few moments and his only edge would be forever lost. Before the box touched the earthen floor, he suddenly pitched it straight at the man’s face—and that split second of confused hesitation was all he required.

  The man’s underestimation of his intended victims proved costly.

  With his vision momentarily obscured, he failed to see David immediately lunge forward, using his head and shoulder as a battering ram while simultaneously grabbing at the weapon. The impact drove both of them to the ground, David landing on top, hands clasped tightly to the man’s wrist. Yet the smaller man still clung to the machine pistol—desperately pulling and holding the trigger despite David’s efforts to wrench it free of his grasp.

  The staccato burst of rapid firepower narrowly missed their entangled legs, ripping a wide arc over the stone face of the wall. As it raked high across the vault’s open doorway, Vlad and the abbot immediately dove deeper inside for cover.

  Though smaller and lighter, the man proved exceedingly strong—and also superbly trained. Enraged at what was transpiring, he now used his free hand to expertly pummel David’s kidney, then alternately tried to stab his fingers into his eyes.

  As the pain of this quickly became excruciating, David heaved himself upward and slammed his knee hard into the man’s unprotected groin, taking satisfaction in the stunned expression of agony this engendered. In that instant, he finally managed to wrench the weapon free—only to have it then struck from his grasp by a sweeping forearm that propelled it several feet back into the darker section of the basement. Surprised at the man’s continuing agility, he didn’t anticipate the jarring head-butt to his face—or the accompanying maneuver that successfully rolled him off to his left.

  In the brief seconds it took David to clear his dazed senses, he found his opponent was once again in control. Back on his feet, the man had not only retrieved the machine pistol, but was now swinging it in his direction.

  Before he could aim and fire, however, two rapid shots coming from a distinctly different weapon drove him behind the nearest support column. The first bullet had ripped through the sleeve of his long jacket, the second missing his throat by inches.

  Though equally confused by this sudden development, David neve
rtheless knew salvation when he saw it and quickly scrambled out of the line of fire. Whoever his timely rescuer was, the figure remained only marginally visible near the basement stairwell, his revolver extended in both hands.

  Outraged by this unexpected intrusion, Zheng carefully edged himself around the bricked column to locate his attacker, but two more quick shots now made him scream out in pain. Both had been at head level, exploding fragments of ancient brick across his face.

  Then long moments of silence.

  “Manning—?”

  “Here.”

  “Any of you hurt?”

  “Thanks to you, no.”

  “I can’t tell if I finished him. Too dark. You and your friends better get over here right now. I’ll cover you until you’re all up the staircase.”

  Not that David cared at this point, but the accent was unquestionably Russian, the tone of someone used to being in charge. Scooping up the partially broken box containing the jade key, he waved Vlad and the abbot out of the vault. After passing behind the vigilant Russian—a stocky man whose revolver remained trained toward the back of the basement—David gave the box to Vlad, hustling him and the badly shaken monk up the stairs. Neither needed any encouragement. Once at the top, the abbot disappeared through the main entrance, running as fast as his legs would carry him.

  “You next, Professor. I’ll be right behind you.”

  But it wouldn’t prove this simple.

  Crouched on the far side of a protective column, a furious Zheng couldn’t stem the blood seeping steadily down into his eyes. Otherwise uninjured, the jagged lines of deep cuts across his forehead and face had left him partially blind. The continuing flow was next to impossible to wipe away, severely limiting his vision. Yet he was determined to thwart their escape. Snapping another full clip into his machine pistol, he stepped out from behind his cover and immediately sprayed a long burst of fire toward the two blurry images darting up the stairs.

  The profusion of bullets ripped into the stairwell, shredding a sizeable section of the ancient wood as it chased David and his rescuer up to the main floor. Only David made it unscathed. Prior to the Russian reaching the top, one of the bullets impacted his right forearm, passing through roughly six inches below his elbow. Grunting in pain, he made it out the front entrance, there joining David and Vlad in a dash for the helicopter.

  Half way there, the dirt suddenly exploded around them, forcing them to dive and roll over a low ground swell. The determined assassin had followed them out of the temple basement, his black outline now silhouetted by the main floor lighting.

  Seeing the damage to the Russian’s gun arm, David grabbed the pistol from his slack hand and fired back, forcing their attacker to likewise duck for cover.

  “Get to the chopper!” he ordered. “I’ll keep him pinned down until the pilot has it powered up and read to fly. No arguments. Go, damn it!”

  Alerted by the loud gunfire as to what was unfolding, the competent pilot had already begun the process as both men ran the final distance. Pulling open the side door, they flipped down the metal steps and scrambled inside. Farther back, David continued to hold the man in place, waiting for the chopper’s engine and blades to reach full lift capability. Gauging the craft’s readiness, he took careful aim and snapped off the last few shots of his clip—then made a running dash for the open door. Once inside, he slammed it shut as the chopper lifted off.

  Well behind him, Zheng screamed in frustration to hear the roar of the helicopter’s rotating blades. Still half blind, he ran foreword, frantically targeting the night sky even as the departing chopper cleared the monastery wall and began moving effectively out of range.

  Seconds later as they gained power and altitude, any relief the three men felt at their escape now suddenly dissipated. The helicopter was beginning to wobble erratically, audibly losing power as it inclined increasingly to the right.

  The reason was instantly apparent.

  Unnoticed by them, the pilot hadn’t escaped injury. One of the bullets had pierced the aircraft’s thin veneer and sliced through the back of his seat. His upper shoulder was visibly soaked in blood. Now slipping into unconsciousness, all that held him upright at the controls was his seatbelt.

  They were on the verge of crashing.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Russian’s swift response to this sudden emergency was impressive—and doubtless lifesaving as the ground began rushing up toward them. Though cradling a badly wounded right arm, he managed to clamor forward and slip into the unoccupied co-pilot’s seat—then quickly reached over with his left hand and flipped the switch transferring the flight controls to his side of the cockpit. Within hair-raising moments he had the helicopter trimmed out and again rising as he re-throttled the engine’s power.

  How close they’d actually come to impact, David refused to even estimate. All he knew for certain was this made twice within the past ten minutes that the mystery man had saved their collective asses. With the immediate crisis now thankfully past, Vlad helped David disconnect the pilots’ safety harness and then move the limp form back into the passenger area.

  Over his shoulder, the Russian asked, “How bad does it look?”

  David took a few moments to watch as Vlad ripped the shirt open for a better examination. “Near as I can tell,” he finally replied, “the damage appears localized to his upper shoulder. The bleeding has basically stopped. The collarbone looks to be shattered, but I doubt any arteries were severed. A lot of muscle damage though.”

  “See an exit wound?”

  David looked closer.

  “No. Is that good or bad?”

  “Don’t know. Depends on the velocity of the bullet when it got him. We were almost out of range, so the best case scenario is it’s still lodged right there in his shoulder.”

  “And the worst?”

  The Russian hesitated, and then said, “It’s possible the bone might’ve deflected it into his chest. That would explain why a young fellow like him lost consciousness so fast.”

  Vlad pulled off his coat and looked around. “I think he’s going into shock. We should cover him in everything we can find.”

  “Good idea.”

  David located two blankets in the overhead compartments and added his own jacket to the cause. With no more to be done, he then moved to the vacated pilot’s seat and buckled himself in. A glance to his right told him the Russian’s slack arm had likewise stopped bleeding. Or at least it appeared so.

  “Anything I can do to help?” he asked.

  The man forced an amused grin over his clenched teeth.

  “Not really, Professor—unless, of course, you know how to fly one of these.”

  “Haven’t a clue,” David readily admitted. “I was thinking more along the lines of putting together a sling for your arm. It must hurt like a bastard.”

  The man declined the offer.

  “Maybe later,” he said. “At the moment it’s so fuckin’ numb I’d rather not risk moving it.” He paused, taking several seconds to study the instrument panel through squinted eyes. “It’s been so goddamned long since I last flew one of these birds it’s difficult figuring out all these new-fangled readouts. The closest military airbase is straight ahead outside Ulan Bator’s western suburbs. I assume that was your departure point?”

  David confirmed this with a nod.

  “Good. I figured as much. Their medical facility is rudimentary—but adequate enough to stabilize him until he’s transported to a proper hospital.”

  David wondered how the Russian knew this with such certainty.

  “In the meantime, Professor, we’ll have to radio the base and alert them to our situation. The contact frequency the pilot was using should still be set. I’ll obviously need you to do this—but trust me. I can easily walk you through it, okay?”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “Also, we might not be high enough for them to track us on radar, so you’ll have to tell them we’re about an hour out and
closing.” He paused. “And one more thing. It would be a wise precaution on their part to have an emergency crash unit standing by. The truth is, even when I was young and healthy, landing one of these things was never one of my strong points.”

  Behind them, Vlad muttered, “Oh, great . . .”

  Hearing this brought an amused grin back to the Russian’s face.

  “Once you’ve relayed all this information to the base,” he continued, “that should leave us enough time to answer some of your questions concerning tonight. By the way, I’m Major Feliks Mikhailovich Nikitin—and if I survive all this, the soon to be retired Intelligence Chief at the Russian Embassy in Ulan Bator.”

  Sixty-five minutes later, the struggling Nikitin managed to set the helicopter down in one piece well off the main runway. It wasn’t pretty—but compared to the alternative, more than acceptable.

  The cold front had followed them east; a spattering of wind-driven rain now wetting the grass as the rotating blades gradually came to a halt. After retrieving his coat, Vlad was quick to scramble down onto solid ground, clutching the lacquered box in his arms as if it was his good luck talisman.

  As the emergency personnel quickly loaded both wounded men into the waiting ambulance and sped off to the base infirmary, David and Vlad walked to a second vehicle now pulling alongside, a dark limousine with official markings. Out of it sprang Elizabeth and Zayaa, followed closely by President Dashiin.

  “Please tell me you’re not hurt,” Elizabeth said, encircling David in her arms. Concern was etched on her face.

  “It’s okay, hon,” he assured her. “Really.”

  “And Vlad? They told us almost nothing.”

  “Him, too . . .” He caught the president’s eye over her shoulder. “I haven’t yet put it all together in my own mind, but it could’ve been infinitely worse. From the moment we located the jade key everything took an ugly turn. If it wasn’t for the Russian showing up when he did—”