The Genghis Tomb Page 16

“I never fully understood the implications of accepting his help. He didn’t explain what obligations it entailed . . .”

  Wu shook his head.

  “Now it’s you being untruthful,” he said. “You understood completely. Besides, that’s all a moot point at his stage of your life. Hardly worth our debating, don’t you think? It’s enough to know that over the years you’ve accepted all our careful guidance as far as career choices and opportunities were concerned—and with admirable results, I might add.”

  He looked about the tastefully furnished apartment.

  “You currently enjoy a rather privileged lifestyle, but you must admit part of this is directly attributable to—”

  “I’ve worked hard to get where I am!”

  “No question,” he readily agreed. “Though I think you must also admit until now you’ve actually given us very little in return for our investment. Occasionally we’ve received the odd piece of information upon request—but nothing of any major consequence. And truth be told, it probably would’ve continued in that vein indefinitely. This is usually the case with most of our embedded operatives.”

  She knew where he was headed.

  He confirmed this by saying, “If you feel it necessary to blame anyone for your present situation, you’ve only to look in the mirror. Remember, it was your unexpected fax to M.S.S. in Beijing several weeks ago that started all of this in motion. Now I’m afraid you have no recourse but to see it through. Trust me, the alternative really isn’t something you wish to contemplate.”

  Zayaa breathed deeply, unable to shed the guilt she harbored for the spiraling events that ensued after sending that fax. If only it were possible to turn back the clock and do things differently. At the time it happened, she honestly believed it of little importance. Several months had elapsed since last she offered anything to M.S.S.—and feeling she was probably overdue, she made the mistake of selecting the president’s copy of David’s first transmission to Vlad.

  Now the damage was done.

  Studying her reaction carefully, Wu appeared undecided as to her present acceptance of the cold reality of her situation. Perhaps thinking to advance his position to another level, he stepped over to the fireplace and picked up a framed photograph from the mantle.

  “Your parents?”

  She hesitated before finally nodding.

  “If I’m not mistaken,” he said, “they presently reside in the city of Choibalsan, quite close to the Chinese border. Am I right?”

  For a second it felt as if her heart had stopped.

  “To my way of thinking,” he then added, “they also benefited substantially from my government’s involvement in your life.” He took a pause, letting his words sink in. “May I assume that both are . . . in good health?”

  She again nodded, this time even slower.

  The implicit threat was inescapable.

  “Very well then,” he said. “Back to business. The long-range ramifications of my failure to secure the jade key was most unfortunate—but I can accept what’s done is irreversible. Sometimes fate has a way of negating the best-laid plans. Such is life.” He butted out his cigarette. “But this hardly removes your continuing responsibility to provide us with information whenever the need arises. As I’m sure you can appreciate, my government’s interest in how all this eventually plays out over the next number of weeks and months will be ongoing.”

  Hearing this, Zayaa felt reprieved as Wu glanced at his wrist.

  “Since I’m here, I see no reason not to begin right now. I assume you and the others have had ample opportunity to draw up plans. Despite everything, I find myself most curious. We’ve plenty of time, so bring me up to speed with all the details. And leave nothing out. I’ll decide what’s pertinent.”

  It was approaching 3am when Wu parted the heavy curtains just enough to spot the dark blue rental parked across the street. Satisfied with the information provided by Zayaa, he dialed Zheng’s cell phone, instructing him to swing around to the back of the building and pick him up there.

  Minutes later, he exited the rear entrance and slid into the front seat, wondering if he’d been sufficiently convincing with Zayaa. He believed so. Though not entirely naïve, the woman had nevertheless been swayed by his words, hearing only what she wished to hear. She’d made every effort to mask her emotions, but the sense of relief was quite evident in her eyes.

  “Where to?”

  “Back to the embassy.”

  Wu shifted his gaze briefly to Zheng as they drove beneath the yellow glare of a streetlight, noting the half dozen lines of extensive stitching required to put his face back into shape. Not pretty, he mused. The eventual effects would most likely be permanent. No matter how well they healed, the residual scaring was certain to be extensive. What previous ability Zheng enjoyed utilizing his nondescript facial anonymity was definitely a thing of the past.

  He felt no sympathy for the man’s plight.

  Though Wu had yet to enlighten him, the debacle was one of his own making. If Zheng hadn’t allowed himself to be tailed out to the safe house by that damned Russian, none of this would’ve happened. Not only would the jade key be safely in his possession—but both David and Vlad would be dead, finally out of the picture. He glanced once again at his battered henchman, thinking later would provide time enough to properly chastise him for this huge blunder. For the moment, bigger issues occupied his mind. Despite what he’d intimated to Zayaa, he was far from conceding the game.

  Somehow all the pieces must be reconfigured.

  Through Zayaa, he now knew precisely how and when Manning’s team intended to proceed. Though he still found the inclusion of the meddling Russian somewhat disturbing, it now crossed his mind that maybe—just perhaps—there might be a way to use this to his eventual advantage.

  “Once you drop me off,” he instructed, “go back to your room and pack your bag. I want you in the embassy and ready to leave with me before dawn.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Beijing.”

  Late autumn in the year 1227 C.E.

  With all but one of the many torches now extinguished, old Manegen sat alone and cross-legged on the chill cavern floor, his eyes fixed on the sarcophagus that had been laboriously carved in place out of the living stone. Beneath its thick lid lay the mortal remains of his lord, Genghis Kha-khan—and as per his master’s final instructions, the simple edifice was ruff hewn and completely unadorned.

  The internment was also as Genghis wished, befitting his stated desire to take into the netherworld only those things most precious to him . . . his sword, his bow, dishes of cooked meat and grain, plus the bones of his favorite horse. No gold, or silver—or even rare jewels—would share his long sleep through eternity. As Manegen understood, it was never for the accumulation of such material wealth that Genghis had striven so long and hard. At heart he remain a simple nomad to the end.

  The responsibility to see this properly completed had been Manegen’s alone, for the written authorization he possessed was beyond questioning. Not even the imperial family had been granted the power to override his decisions in the matter.

  To their credit, none attempted to do so.

  The old man drew the small scroll from his fur-lined sleeve, unrolling it for the last time in the flickering light of the single torch. It bore the irrefutable weight of Genghis’ personal seal, granting him the final say as to how and in what manner his master’s last wishes were to be obeyed. Its legitimacy was beyond dispute—for all knew exactly how and when this unique authorization came about.

  Manegen recalled the events vividly.

  It was at the completion of a successful campaign against the rebellious Tanguts that Genghis’ health appeared to go into a fateful decline. On an evening when his returning army had camped earlier than normal, he summoned Manegen to attend him alone for several hours. It was during this time that Genghis divulged his last wishes to his long time friend, the boon companion of his distant youth whom he tr
usted above all others. When he didn’t stir on the following morning, his youngest son and second-in-command, Lord Tului, found Genghis dead, reclining as if asleep in his sumptuous tent.

  In the many days that followed—as word swept across the vast Mongol domains like a thunderbolt out of the blue—the casket of Genghis was solemnly borne to the headwaters of the Kerulen River on the southern flanks of the Kentei Mountains. There the sons and generals of the late kha-khan had already begun to converge from every corner of the empire, bringing with them the lords and khans of all the outlying tribal clans. Seemingly overnight a great encampment soon called the Yakka Ordu swelled, growing to enormous proportions—there to grieve the passing of the one who single-handedly forged all of the scattered clans into what was now the dominant power of High Asia.

  It was at this encampment that the official ceremonies of mourning were conducted. The actual location of his eventual internment was kept secret from all but his immediate family and the High Shaman of the Urianguts, the local clan entrusted with the sacred honor of guarding Genghis’ mortal remains for all time.

  Now it was done . . .

  Manegen looked again at the sarcophagus, finding he no longer grieved so much for the man given the title of Genghis Khan, Supreme and Universal King, as he now did for the childhood friend and companion he’d once known simply as Temujen. From Genghis’ own lips on the evening prior to his death, he’d learned the story of this cavern’s long ago discovery—and also of Temujen’s solemn pledge to eventually share his youngest brother’s final resting place.

  Temujen’s promise to the child, Buri, was now finally fulfilled.

  Reflecting on this only served to bring fresh tears to Manegen’s eyes, but this he quickly brushed away at the sound of approaching footsteps. He heaved a weary sigh as he stood, recognizing the soft tread of the shaman come to fetch him.

  “Do you require more time? If so, I can—”

  “No, I’ve made my farewell. All is ready?”

  “Yes, my lord. On your command the entrance can be sealed.”

  Manegen responded with a firm nod as he lifted the last torch from its holder, thinking there was no more to be done.

  At least not in his lifetime, anyway.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Major Nikitin—now simply called Feliks at his insistence—leaned back from where he stood behind the seated pilots and shouted over his shoulder, “We’re getting close to the coordinates I gave them. Only about ten minutes out.”

  David nodded and checked his watch: 1:41 am. The massive Mi-26M heavy-lift transport helicopter was actually running ahead of their target ETA by twenty minutes.

  Because of the unabated noise generated by the craft’s twin turbo-shaft engines and enormous eight blades, he relayed this information to Elizabeth, telling her to pass it on down the line to Vlad and Zayaa—as well as to the five, heavily armed soldiers that President Dashiin had insisted accompany them. Due to the chopper’s utilitarian design and crammed cargo bay, everyone sat on a narrow bench along its length without the luxury of exterior windows to ease potential queasy stomachs.

  David knew at a glance that none would be more relieved to see them safely on the ground than Vlad. Even in the dim light of the darkened bay his strained features appeared no less anxious as when they first boarded almost three hours earlier.

  The precautionary details and timing of their mission had been a closely held secret, for everyone took to heart the distinct possibility that someone at the capital’s government air field had given privileged information to the Chinese regarding previous flights. This time, however, was different in two respects; making it much less likely word of their mission would slip out.

  The fully loaded helicopter left Baganuur Air Base as part of a routine Mongolian training exercise involving a dozen other aircraft, none of which were required to pre-file flight plans. Kept ignorant of their eventual destination, this particular chopper was airborne before the pilots or onboard soldiers were allowed to open sealed orders from their nominal Commander-In-Chief, President Dashiin. As per instructions, they then collected five additional passengers after sunset at a remote site to the east of Ulan Bator, a spot clearly chosen to be well away from prying eyes.

  From that point on, they flew steadily to the northeast toward exact coordinates provided by Feliks, heading through the night sky well below the craft’s normal operating ceiling of 15,000 feet. Now they were finally approaching their target.

  David gave a reassuring squeeze to Elizabeth’s hand, then unbuckled his safety harness and made his way up beside the Russian. He wanted to view their approach to the long-abandoned Soviet airfield through the cockpit’s plexiglass canopy.

  For the first time since their boarding he could actually do more than just imagine the vast, rolling landscape passing beneath them under the starlit sky—and now, rapidly coming into view directly ahead of them, was their objective.

  The co-pilot snapped on high intensity ground lights for a better look.

  The huge helicopter gave a slight shudder as the pilot immediately reduced airspeed, eventually angling their craft toward the farther side of the largest building. Constructed and roofed with what David perceived to be rusted sheets of corrugated metal, it unquestionably once served as a sizeable hangar. But that was a lifetime ago. Close by stood a tilted water storage tower, plus a two-story block building with broken windows and missing door.

  As they made a wide surveillance swing, Feliks pointed to the western end of the dilapidated hangar, saying, “Set her down over there. The tarmac appears a bit overgrown, but it should still be solid.”

  The skilled pilot did as instructed, choosing a spot safely outside the rotation diameter of 95 feet needed for his primary blades. Once this was accomplished, he throttled back the engines, gradually allowing the sagging blades to come to a full halt. When the whirling cloud of dust outside finally dissipated, he reached under his seat and depressed a button that hydraulically lowered the rear access ramp of the cargo bay. After an assuring nod to Feliks, he looked back to the young captain in charge of the small unit, signaling with a raised thumb that all was clear to begin the process of unloading.

  First to disembark were the five civilian passengers, each toting a single duffel bag of personal gear, followed quickly by two identical Z-GAZ TIGER military trucks. New to the Mongolian military service, they were often referred to as Russian Humvees, each equipped with a powerful diesel engine and five-speed transmission. They were fast, flexible and relatively comfortable, designed to carry supplies and personnel over rough terrain.

  Within fifteen minutes of landing, the now empty helicopter was again airborne, heading back the way it came. As all soldiers were trained to do, two of the small squad were already busy digging a latrine, the other three raising tents against the night chill.

  By David’s watch it was 2:16 am.

  David awoke three hours later to the faint glow of approaching dawn filtering into the canvas tent he’d shared with Vlad and Feliks. Perhaps not surprising, their bedrolls were empty, their soft voices barely audible from somewhere close by.

  He found them twenty feet away seated at a folding table, bathed in the glow of a kerosene lamp. Deep in conversation, doubtless both were too excited to sleep. What did surprise David was the steaming pot of coffee they shared.

  “I’m impressed. Now how did you two manage that at this hour?”

  “Captain Ubur brought it over a few minutes ago,” replied Vlad. “Wanted to know when we wished to eat and break camp.”

  David poured himself a cup. A glance at the nearest truck told him Elizabeth and Zayaa were still asleep within—and probably would remain so for another few hours if left undisturbed. “What did you tell him?”

  “Only that there was no rush.”

  David nodded. Their present location put them less than thirty miles south of the three oval plateaus everyone assumed to be the so-called ‘footprints of Tengri.’ Even if they had to u
se the jade key from atop each to finally determine which was the right one, in theory it could all be accomplished by early afternoon at the latest.

  As Feliks lit another cigarette, David reached over and drew one from the pack, picking up the adjacent lighter. “May I?”

  “Of course,” said the surprised Russian, watching as David lit it. “Didn’t know you smoked.”

  “I don’t. Gave up the habit over six years ago. However, sometimes on very rare occasions I see no harm in making an exception.”

  Feliks grinned. “Elizabeth knows?”

  “I suspect she just chooses not to . . .”

  David sipped at his coffee, appreciating the expanding bands of purple and gold developing across the eastern horizon that heralded the imminent arrival of dawn. Another several minutes and the lantern would become unnecessary. Noting the holstered revolver strapped to Feliks’ waist, his thoughts returned to the single biggest question that had so occupied their recent series of meetings with the president.

  “So, Feliks,” he said, “have you drawn any final conclusions on the Chinese?”

  The older man shook his head.

  “Nothing I feel comfortable with, David. Vlad and I were discussing this before you joined us. I must admit I’m still of two minds. As I told you a few days ago, my people confirmed that the mysterious colonel and his apparent henchman packed up their bags, so to speak, and flew back to China. How much we can read into this, I don’t know. Part of me wants to believe they gave up the game once you and Vlad retained possession of the jade key—which only seems logical on the surface. I’d love to believe it, of course, yet long experience tells me to remain skeptical.”

  “What in particular bothers you?”

  Feliks paused for several moments before responding.

  “Two things. The first is admittedly minor, but it nevertheless troubles me. I keep wondering at the open manner both of them up and left the country, making no effort to hide or disguise their departure. After the fiasco in Karakorum two days earlier, they must’ve known that in all likelihood their embassy was being watched. So why wasn’t more care taken? It’s almost as if they were purposely leading us toward drawing a hasty and false conclusion, don’t you think?”