The Genghis Tomb Read online

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because early in the reign of Genghis Khan—and by his express order—Uighur script was adopted as the official lingua franca of the day throughout the Mongol empire. Practically speaking, it became the only written language used for all administrative record keeping, diplomatic correspondence . . . you name it.”

  David saw the sense of Vlad’s criterion.

  Yet there had to be more.

  “Okay, fair enough,” he acknowledged. “But there’s something else, isn’t there? I mean, if it took a full reading just now of these other two sheets to persuade you it’s the genuine article—then what the hell is in there that makes it so damn convincing?”

  “Actually, I was getting to that part. However, to best explain will involve telling you a story.”

  “Too much to hope it’s a short one?”

  “I’ll do my best. Close to seven years ago, a dear friend came to me with something he knew I’d find of great interest. Having only recently attained a position of some authority within the government, he’d found himself caretaker, so to speak, of several boxes of old documents once belonging to our last reigning king, Bogd Khan. When they were removed from the king’s winter residence at his death in 1924, the material was apparently put in storage and quite forgotten—never properly examined, or even inventoried.”

  “Go on,” prompted David.

  “What he found inside one of them was a badly tattered document, apparently written by the very same unknown Uighur scribe who first composed the so-called Secret History of The Mongols some ten years after Genghis’ death. Are you familiar with—?”

  “Only vaguely.”

  “Well, unfortunately, very little of it survives in the original. Most of what it contained is now readily available for modern study, but only from much later Chinese translations—and these of often questionable accuracy. However, what my friend found was clearly part of the original History, containing a remarkable piece of information that to this day no one has ever seen before. Basically, the document described a map and set of instructions put together by a mysterious contemporary of Genghis by the name of Manegen—which was then placed into the hands of the shaman of the Uriangut clan for safe-keeping. You see, it was this clan alone that was given the sacred task of protecting the secret burial place of Genghis for all time.”

  David took a few moments to digest this information, and then shook his head, saying, “I’m sorry, but I still don’t see how that alone is irrefutable evidence for—”

  “There’s more,” interrupted Vlad. “You see, that document and these sheets you brought to me are totally unique in one respect. Both refer to the necessity of employing what is—for want of a better translation—something called the jade key to unlock the map’s true meaning. Hardly a coincidence, wouldn’t you agree?” He patted the three sheets. “That was my litmus test of authenticity. But as to what exactly the jade key is—at this point, I really haven’t the slightest idea. It will require much more thought. I only know both documents say possessing it is critical.”

  He again paused, heaving an audible sigh before continuing.

  “Unfortunately, the great tragedy here could very well be that not having it may ultimately render your fantastic discovery next to useless.”

  Intrigued as David now was, he saw a troubling inconsistency here that perhaps Vlad had so far overlooked.

  “Assuming this really is what it purports to be,” he said, “isn’t there a huge glaring problem with all of this? Think about it. Unless I’m totally misstating the known facts, I seem to recall your long tradition has it that when Genghis died his body was secretly interred somewhere near the headwaters of the Kerulen River where he grew up. There all physical evidence of its location was carefully hidden, ensuring his final resting place would never be disturbed. Am I right so far?”

  “Basically, yes.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, I have to wonder just what possible reason could there even be for this map to exist. What am I missing here? Why would one create directions to later locate something meant to be hidden away forever? Doesn’t this somehow stand in the face of logic? In all these years, did you and your friend never consider this apparent incongruity?”

  “Oh, indeed we did. Quite often, in fact. Eventually, however, we developed a theory—what we felt was the only possible scenario that satisfied us on every level.”

  “Which is?”

  A broad smile crossed Vlad’s round face. “Let me first ask you a question. When you spoke of our ancient traditions, have you not also read at some point how generation after generation of our supreme khans all likewise chose to be buried at the headwaters of the Kerulen? From Ogodai to Kuyuk to Mangu—right on up to Kubilai, first Mongol emperor of a united China—all wished to be laid to rest close to Genghis, the ‘Great Ancestor’ who founded their remarkable dynasty. And to the very best of our knowledge, their wishes were fulfilled. So in all this time, does it not strike you as rather odd that not a single one of their many tombs has likewise ever been found?”

  David’s hands now involuntarily tightened on his armrests, for the obvious direction Vlad was going momentarily stunned him. Could it be? The mere thought it was nothing short of staggering.

  “Are—are you suggesting what I think you are?”

  Vlad nodded.

  “We concluded no other possible reason would explain the continuing need for this map. If you follow the logic of our theory, its existence now becomes totally necessary down through the passing of each generation.” His smile deepened. “As you’ve apparently already surmised, it’s our firm belief that Genghis and all of those descendents who reigned after him are together, entombed in one single place.”

  As David absorbed the magnitude of this possibility, Vlad casually glanced at his wrist—only to then suddenly bolt to his feet, exclaiming, “By the balls of Buddha, look at the time! I fear we’re going to be late.”

  Taken aback, David asked, “Late for what?”

  “I know you’re exhausted and wish nothing more than to be driven straight to your hotel—but we have a planned meeting with my friend who is extremely anxious to speak with you. It’s not far. His offices are in the parliament building on the north side of Sukhbaatar Square.” As he hurriedly gathered up the sheets, he saw David’s rising reluctance. “Believe me, David, I’m truly sorry about the timing, but this isn’t something we can simply reschedule for tomorrow.”

  “Because—?”

  “In case I didn’t mention, my old friend is now the President of Mongolia.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As the recorder on Colonel Wu’s desk was designed to do, the soft, whirling purr of its two large tapes automatically shut down thirty seconds after the two men exited the university office. The last detectable sound was the closing of the door.

  Only then did Wu slowly remove his cushioned headphones, dazed at the expanding complexity of the problem he now faced.

  Damn!

  It was bad enough having the premier’s fear of a Genghis connection now fully confirmed—but this was rapidly developing into something far worse than anything either he or his old mentor had ever imagined! Exacerbating his concerns was the recently acquired knowledge of just who Manning was—and his astounding discovery in Egypt. Out of habit, he lit a cigarette, attempting to calm his agitation and better organize his thoughts.

  He blamed himself.

  In retrospect, not eliminating the American the moment he got off the plane was a huge mistake. Potentially disastrous! Yet he accepted that hindsight was always 20/20. No time now for self-recriminations. Still. removing both Manning and those missing sheets on his arrival would’ve effectively nipped all of this in the bud!

  And speaking of those sheets . . .

  He buzzed Major Kuo into his office.

  “Sir?”

  “How’s Specialist Peng doing with those fax sheets from Greece? He’s had them for over a full day now.”
/>   “I checked only minutes ago. He’s promised them on my desk shortly. Peng’s a good linguist, sir, but—”

  “But what?” snapped Wu.

  “I was going to say that perhaps it might’ve been quicker if we’d sent them direct to M.S.S. in Beijing for expert translation.”

  Wu’s only response was a firm shake of his head. He couldn’t say as much, but the very last thing he wanted was to let any of this slip out of his direct control. The less people in the loop, the better.

  “Anything else, sir?”

  “Contact whoever’s tailing Manning. Soon as he knows what hotel he’s been booked into, have him confirm the room number and let you know. I want your bugging expert in there tomorrow at first opportunity, understand? Same arrangement—only this time have the device installed in the room’s telephone. I want to record both sides of any phone conversations, plus everything said inside his suite.”

  “I’ll see to it.”

  “And set me up with another secure outside line. I’ll need it right away.”

  While waiting, Wu sat forward in his padded chair and ground out his cigarette. Extracting a narrow, black notebook from his breast pocket, he flipped it open, all the time mentally cursing himself for not having brought in Zheng Shi several days earlier.

  Vlad hadn’t exaggerated their close proximity to the scheduled meeting place with Dashiin Elbegdors, the Mongolian president. Less than fifteen minutes after leaving National University both men were already inside the Parliament building and being warmly greeted in the man’s impressive, private chambers.

  “A distinct pleasure to finally meet you, Professor Manning,” the president said congenially, clasping David’s hand. “I appreciate your indulging me, particularly so quickly upon your arrival in our country. I know it’s an unexpected imposition, but this will be extremely brief, I assure you. I must confess I just couldn’t let the opportunity pass without greeting you in person.”

  “No imposition at all, sir. The pleasure is mine.”

  The president was a robust man of fifty-plus years with close-cropped black hair just beginning to show flecks of gray. Heavily built, yet appearing quite fit, he was close to six foot in height—unusually tall for his race—and made Vlad seem like a diminutive teenager as he then turned to his friend. “So then,” he said, correctly interpreting the happy expression on the smaller man’s face, “may I assume everything was what we hoped?”

  “Very definitely.”

  “Excellent.”

  “However, there is a potentially serious problem. It seems the—”

  Before Vlad could explain further, the president was momentarily distracted as a side door opened. “Ah, here’s my indispensable Chief of Staff now. Professor, I believe you’ve already met Zayaa?”

  “Indeed, I have,” said a surprised David as he took her offered hand for the third time in as may hours. Now he better understood the hidden significance behind her parting words outside of National University. “You’re a woman of many surprises, Zayaa,” he said. “Would it have hurt you earlier to be more forthcoming?”

  Her smile of greeting only deepened. “My sincere apologies, Professor, but at the time it really wasn’t my place to say anything. Am I forgiven?”

  “Only if you start calling me David.”

  “Agreed.”

  With everyone comfortably seated around the president’s ornately carved desk, Vlad concisely laid out the problem faced by their not possessing the so-called jade key. He concluded by saying, “I intend spending more time tonight going back over my translation, but without any hint of its actual size or configuration, I worry we may hit an impasse as far as using David’s discovery as it was obviously intended.”

  The president heaved an audible sigh, thoughtfully pursing his lips.

  “So in the final analysis, what you’re saying is that it’s possible that what we have may be of next to no value?”

  “Perhaps, but not necessarily. Above all, remember that what David brought is not just a set of instructions. It’s a quite discernable map, as well—one that actually does provide a very specific starting point.” Vlad grinned. “And it clearly identifies it by a name that can only be translated one way.”

  The president’s face immediately brightened. “Please tell me it’s what we always hoped. The Burkhan Khaldun?”

  “Without question. The Hill of God is where our search begins.”

  “Incredible,” whispered the president. “Vlad, why this alone is—is—” He paused, unable to find the words. Shifting his attention to David, he said, “A great many of our scholars have long theorized this was the most probable location, Professor—but it was always mere speculation. Now we actually know for certain. This by itself is worthy of celebration!”

  David lifting his shoulders. “This Burkhan Khaldun . . .” he said. “I confess I’ve never heard of it.”

  The president responded with obvious pleasure.

  “It’s located well to the northeast of here in the Khentai range, quite close to the Russian border, in fact. Since the time immediately following Genghis’ death in 1227 the entire region has been called Ikh Khoring—loosely translated as The Great Taboo. It’s a mountainous district, much of it covered in thick forests—and an area that the Urianguts declared sacred and off limits over eight centuries ago, enforced under penalty of death. And this they successfully protected, if you can imagine, right up until 1924 when Mongolia became a communist satellite of the Soviet Union.”

  “So the Russians then lifted the prohibition?”

  “No, quite the opposite. Back then the Soviets feared any form of resurgent nationalism inside Mongolia that memories of Genghis and his vast empire might engender. Thus they took steps to ensure public access was never allowed. It was a form of extreme paranoia on their part, to be sure, and to accomplish this they went so far as to expand the region even farther, creating a ‘Highly Restricted Area’ that eventually included a couple of secret MiG airbases and depots used to store nuclear waste.”

  Leaning forward, he folded his arms atop the desk’s polished surface.

  “Please don’t misinterpret this as overt criticism of the Soviets, Professor. It is not. Far from it, in fact. Truth be told, back then it was they alone who were instrumental in modernizing our fledgling country—and perhaps more importantly, insulating us from any aggressive predation by the Chinese. For this alone, we owe them greatly. As to the eventual opening up of the Ikh Khoring after so many centuries, well, that wasn’t made possible until the collapse of the U.S.S.R in 1991. It was only then we actually achieved full independence within our own borders.”

  David was curious of something.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said, “but I seem to recall hearing something about one or two high-profile attempts to find Genghis’ tomb in recent years.”

  The president gave a dismissive flick of his hand.

  “Basically, there were two,” he confirmed. “Both quickly became mired down in controversy, producing few discoveries of any real importance. The first was in the early nineties—the second about four years ago prior to my election. Both of them were foreign sponsored—and in my opinion, ill conceived from the onset. As Vlad can tell you, I argued strongly against granting official authorization, but was in no position to block it. As it turned out, my main objection proved valid. We are a proud people, Professor, and I can tell you the average Mongolian took great insult at having what was generally perceived to be little more than foreign treasure hunters traversing and probing the sacred burial grounds of our ancestors.”

  “Understandable, sir. It would be surprising if otherwise.”

  Perhaps now recognizing the tired edge in David’s voice, the president paused for several moments. He then looked to Vlad, saying, “Before we wrap this up, my friend, perhaps you and Zayaa would allow me a few minutes alone with our guest. I won’t keep him long. I assume you’ve booked him into proper accommodations?”

  “The Ra
mada Citycenter.”

  “Excellent choice. And Zayaa, where is—?”

  “Top drawer on the left side, sir. The blue folder.”

  “Thank you.”

  The president retrieved it as the door closed, leaving the folder unopened on the desk. He instead loosened the knot of his tie, gratefully expelling a sigh. Curiously, his broad features now conveyed a far more solemn aspect unseen prior to this moment—and it struck David that this man was also weary from a much extended day. Being a skilled politician and administrator, he’d just been more adept at masking it.

  Relaxing back in his chair, the president now surprised David by asking, “When you arrived with Vlad, did you happen to notice that statue of Genghis on the top steps of this building?”

  “Notice it?” David’s first instinct was to laugh. “Well, yes—but only if you’re referring to that twelve foot high bronze piece of him sitting astride his war horse.”

  The president laughed, enjoying the wry humor.

  “A foolish question, I admit,” he finally managed. “But in all seriousness, it leads me to something I cannot emphasize enough to anyone visiting our country for the first time. In Mongolia, Genghis’ legacy is synonymous to our sense of national pride—and to a very real degree he’s looked upon as little short of a deity. To this day his name appears everywhere; on our hotels, our biggest airport, our city municipal buildings, uncountable consumer products—even our currency proudly displays his image. Thus I believe it’s absolutely paramount that when his tomb is eventually found—and I can only pray it be soon—it will be Mongolians, not foreigners, who make the discovery. Nothing less will be acceptable to our people.”

  Something important was obviously going unsaid.

  “You say you pray it will happen soon as if there exists some real urgency,” probed David. “Mind telling me?”