Overlooked as they entered the chamber, the body both men now saw was stretched out on a bench beneath the altar. Pitt and Giordino walked over and were shocked to recognize the corpse. It was Roy, half covered in a thin blanket, but with the shaft of the arrow still protruding from his chest.
"Theresa and Wofford are here," Giordino said, his voice trailing off.
"Let's hope they haven't suffered the same fate," Pitt said quietly, pulling the blanket up so that it covered Roy's face. As he wondered whether they might be too late, the stillness of the chamber was suddenly broken by the approaching clatter of boots on the stone floor. A second later, the two guards Pitt had spied across the courtyard burst into the mausoleum. Dressed like the guards at the front gate, they didn't appear to be carrying traditional firearms. Instead, each man clutched a wooden spear capped by a razor-sharp metal tip. A short knife in a scarab hung from their waists, while on their backs they carried a small quiver and bow. They were the weapons of war used by the ancient Mongol horse soldiers and were every bit as deadly at short range as a modern handgun or rifle.
The guards slowed as they entered the chamber until spotting Pitt and Giordino at the altar. Regaining their speed, they charged around the central crypt with their spears thrust in front of them. It was a small stroke of luck that the guards did not stop and hurl their pikes at Pitt and Giordino but instead tried to impale them at close range.
Giordino reacted first, grabbing a small wooden bench by the altar and pitching it toward the legs of the charging guards. His aim was true and the wooden seat struck the nearer man's legs hard in the shin, taking his feet out from under him. He stumbled face-first to the floor, his wooden spear rolling harmlessly to the side.
The second guard leaped over the bench like a high hurdler and continued the charge, heading straight for Pitt at full speed. Pitt stood lightly on the balls of his feet, his legs coiled and his eyes glued to the tip of the spear as he waited for the attacker to lunge. Seeming to defy reason, he stood perfectly still, providing a stable target to aim for. The guard assumed Pitt was frozen with fear and would soon be an easy kill. But Pitt waited and watched until the guard was just a step away, drawing back the spear for a lethal forward jab. With a quick thrust of his legs, he sprang to one side while reaching out with his left hand and shoving the shaft of the spear in the other direction. The guard charged past, realizing with a sudden blank look on his face that he was stabbing air. He attempted to twist the spear to the side, but he had already run the spear tip past Pitt's body. Pitt tried unsuccessfully to grab the shaft but lost his grip as the guard barreled by and swung it toward him. The side of the shaft whipped around and jammed Pitt on the shoulder as it slipped through his fingers.
Both men were thrown off balance and staggered in different directions, the guard falling across the altar while Pitt was knocked toward the crypt. Pitt quickly rolled to his feet to face his attacker, then backed up toward the stone tomb that loomed a few inches behind him. The guard was leery of Pitt now, eyeing him for a moment as he regained his balance. Tightening his grip on the spear, he took a deep breath then charged again at Pitt, his eyes locked on his prey to ensure the kill.
Pitt stood unarmed with his back to the crypt, his eyes darting about in search of a weapon. Off to the side, he saw Giordino lunge at the fallen man on the ground. Preoccupied with subduing the first guard, Giordino was in no position to offer immediate help. Then Pitt remembered the fur-tailed poles.
The nine tall wooden poles stood in individual marble base plates at the head of the tomb. Pitt quickly backed over to the poles and reached around with his right hand, covertly gripping one of the poles behind his back. The guard thought nothing of the movement, simply adjusting his angle toward Pitt as he accelerated his charge. Pitt hesitated until the guard was a dozen steps away, then quickly yanked the upright pole toward the ground in front of him. At eight feet in length, the pole easily outstretched the guard's spear. With a stunned look, the guard helplessly tried to slow his charge as he realized Pitt was lunging at him with the huge rod. Too late, the blunt end of the pole struck in his stomach, driven forward by Pitt with all his might. The shocked guard was driven off his feet before falling to one knee, gasping for air as the wind was knocked out of him. The blow pried the spear from his clawlike grip, the lance rattling across the polished floor. Ignoring Pitt, he desperately crawled toward the weapon before looking up in horror. The wooden pole had been flipped around and now the marble base was hurdling toward him like a wrecking ball. Attempting to duck, the guard was struck on the top of his skull, dropping him flat to the floor in total unconsciousness.
"No respect for a man's furnishings," Giordino's voice grumbled as the pole and marble base crashed to the floor. Pitt looked over and saw Giordino rubbing the back of his fist as he stood over the unconscious body of the first guard.
"You okay?"
"Much better than my friend here. What do you say we get out of this box before any more Royal Lancers show up?"
"Agreed."
The two men hustled out of the chamber, Pitt scooping up one of the loose spears on their way out. The wind whistled through the archway as they reached the entryway and peeked cautiously into the compound. The sight was not encouraging.
Two horsemen, clad in bright silk tunics and round metal helmets, sat on their mounts near the residence door, replacing the foot guards. Nearby, another guard on horseback was combing the courtyard for signs of Pitt and Giordino. Knowing nothing good would come by hanging around, the two men ducked out the opposite side of the archway under a dirty gust of wind and crept around the back side of the stone mausoleum. As they moved toward the rear of the stone structure, they could see down the right wing of the residence. Curling around the far edge of the building, they spotted a half dozen horsemen in brightly colored garb riding in their direction. Unlike the guards they had encountered so far, these men appeared to have rifles slung over their shoulders.
"Fine time for the cavalry to appear," Giordino said.
"Just makes our exit route a little clearer," Pitt replied, knowing they would have to quickly cross the courtyard and backtrack the way they came in order to avoid the patrol.
Reaching the covered corral at the rear of the crypt, they ducked in to cut to the other side. Winding through a maze of crates and equipment, Pitt briefly eyed the large dust-covered antique car parked in back, surprised to identify it as an early 1920s Rolls-Royce. He started to take a step over the opposite rail when a whistling sound ripped past his ear, followed by a sharp twang. He glanced to his side to see an arrow fluttering out the side of a wooden crate just inches from Giordino's head.
"Incoming," he yelled, ducking as another arrow whistled by.
Giordino was already crouching behind a wooden barrel when the arrow slammed into a support post. "A fourth horseman," Giordino said, peering over the top of the barrel.
Pitt looked into the courtyard and saw the horseman beside a hedge, pulling on a bowstring to fire a third arrow. Pitt was the intended target this time and he just barely slipped behind a cart before the arrow zinged by. It no sooner struck the cart then Pitt jumped to his feet and turned toward the guard. It was his turn to retaliate now. As the horseman reached over his back to draw an arrow, Pitt let fly the spear he'd carried from the crypt.
The horseman was nearly fifty feet away, but Pitt's throw held true as the lance soared toward the man in the saddle. Only a quick turn saved the guard from being impaled, but the sharpened spear still pierced flesh, striking the man's right arm above the elbow. His bow fell to the ground as he clasped the wound with his left hand to stop the flow of blood.
Pitt and Giordino's respite from attack was short-lived, however. The other three horsemen quickly closed ranks with their wounded partner and resumed the aerial barrage. On the opposite side of the corral, the galloping hoofbeats of the other patrol echoed above the shrieking wind as they too raced to the scene. Within minutes, the air in the corral was filled w
ith a flying maelstrom of razor-tipped arrows, bursting into the wooden crates and carts with deadly force. The archers were highly skilled at their lethal talent, their arrows following Pitt and Giordino's every movement like a magnet. If not for the gusting winds, the two men would have been killed quickly. But the swirling gusts hampered the horsemen's vision, as well as deflected the flight of their arrows. For their part, Pitt and Giordino kept the attackers from approaching too closely.
Though weaponless, the two men improvised a defense as best they could. They found the wagons to be full of tools and field implements, which they turned into makeshift projectiles. Giordino was particularly proficient at heaving double-pronged picks, managing to impale one guard in the thigh with a throw while knocking another from his horse with a swirling toss. The flying picks and shovels temporarily kept the riders at bay, but the horsemen knew that they had the men trapped.
Amid the battle, the dusty winds had served as an ally to Pitt and Giordino, providing intermittent clouds of cover while distorting the archers' fire. But as if the atmospheric gods decided to take a respite to inhale, the blowing winds suddenly fell for a moment. As the dust settled and the howling ceased, the sudden calm spelled doom for the two trapped men. Readily visible in the middle of the corral, the men now had arrows flying at them in a relentless fury. Standing to fight would mean instant death and the two men dropped their tools and dove for cover. They both rolled under a large wagon, finding minimal protection behind the large-spoked wheels. A half dozen arrows buried their razor tips into the sides of the wagon just inches above their heads. From the opposite side of the corral, gunfire now erupted, as the second patrol abandoned their bows and sought to end the siege with rifle fire.
"I can do without the Custer scene," Giordino muttered, a trickle of blood running down his cheek where a splintered arrow shaft had ricocheted. "You don't suppose they would bite at a white handkerchief?"
"Not likely," Pitt replied, thinking of Roy. An arrow smashed into the wagon wheel beside him and he instinctively rolled away from the impact. A thin knobby protrusion struck him in the back, halting his turn. He twisted his head to find an object covered in a dirty canvas tarp sitting next to the wagon. Another wave of arrows came flying in, forcing him to crouch to the ground alongside Giordino.
"The next cloud of dust, what do you say we rush one of the horsemen on the fringe?" Giordino asked. "You grab the reins, I'll grab the rider, and we've got ourselves a mount. Only way I can see us getting out of here is to make a play for one of the horses."
"Risky," Pitt replied, "but likely our best chance." Rolling onto his side to survey the perimeter, he accidentally kicked off a section of the tarp covering the object by the wagon. Giordino noticed a sudden glint sparkle in Pitt's eyes as he peeked under the tarp.
"A change of plans?" he asked.
"No," Pitt replied. "We'll just try riding out of here on a horse of a different color."
-23-
THE WALL-MOUNTED radio popped with the receipt of a signal, followed by the caller's voice. The blowing wind created a background static that muffled the gravelly voice, though the proximity of the transmission made for a strong signal. "We have them surrounded behind the sanctuary. They arrived with the Chinese delegation as Mongolian state security escorts, but are apparently imposters. My guards who were locked in the test chamber claim they are not Chinese but appear Russian."
"I see," Borjin replied, speaking into the handset in an irritated voice. "Government agents or, more likely, spies from a Russian oil company. See that they don't leave the compound alive, but hold the gunfire until the delegation has departed. I will expect a full report from security as to why they were not monitored at their arrival."
Borjin replaced the handset, then closed a cherrywood cabinet that concealed the two-way radio transmitter. Exiting the small anteroom, he walked down the hall and returned to the formal conference room. The Chinese minister stood at the window staring into the dust storm outside with his own sense of swirling obfuscation.
"Excuse the interruption," Borjin said, taking a seat with a grim smile. "A slight mishap has occurred with two of your state escorts. I'm afraid they won't be able to join you on your return trip. I will, of course, provide replacement escorts, if you desire."
Shinzhe nodded vaguely. "The gunshots we are hearing from the outside?" he asked.
"A training exercise by my security guards. No reason to be alarmed."
The minister stared blankly out the window, his mind clearly elsewhere. As if slowed by age, he sluggishly turned and sat down across from Borjin. "Your offer is akin to blackmail and your demands are preposterous," he said, his anger finally surfacing.
"My demands are nonnegotiable. And perhaps they are not so preposterous for a country facing an economic meltdown," Borjin hissed.
Shinzhe stared at his host with contempt. He had disliked the arrogant and demanding magnate from the moment they met. Though perfunctorily gracious, he obviously had no respect at all for China or its leadership position in the world. It pained Shinzhe even to attempt to negotiate, but he knew the state leaders, and the president in particular, were expecting a deal for the oil. With reason, he feared his country's leadership would accept the abominable proposal out of desperation. If only there was another way.
"Minister Shinzhe, you must view it as a mutually beneficial transaction," Borjin continued, regaining his composure. "China gets the oil it needs to keep its economy running, I get a long-term commitment as a major supplier, and the Mongolian Autonomous Republic rejoins its rightful place as part of greater Mongolia."
"Acceding sovereign territory is not an act taken lightly."
"There is nothing of significance that China must accede. We both know the region is little more than a rural dust bowl that is largely occupied by Mongol herders. My interest in reunifying the region is born of a cultural desire to restore the lands that once belonged to our nation."
"You may be correct that the region represents little of value. Still, it is most unusual for a private entity to be interfering in territorial exchanges."
"This is true. In fact, my government knows nothing of our accord. They will find it a quite pleasing political gift, one that will be most favored by the masses."
"And you will benefit handsomely, no doubt?"
"As broker, I have assigned a portion of the land rights to my company, but it represents only a small percentage of the total," he smiled devilishly. He handed a thick leather binder to Shinzhe. "I have already worked up the necessary agreements for state representatives of both countries to sign. It would please me to receive acknowledgment of your country's acceptance at the earliest opportunity."
"I will be reporting to the general secretary's council tomorrow afternoon. A decision will be forthcoming. Your fixed position on the terms may negate an agreement, I must warn."
"So be it. Those are my terms." Borjin rose to his feet. "I look forward to a long and fruitful relationship, Minister Shinzhe." Borjin bowed graciously, if insincerely.
Shinzhe rose and bowed stiffly in return, then left the room with his entourage. Borjin and Tatiana followed the Chinese delegation to the door and watched as they staggered through the howling dust storm to their cars. As the taillights blinked past the guard gate, Borjin closed the door and turned to Tatiana.
"The plum is ours for the taking," he said, walking back down the corridor.
"Yes, but the risks are many. They will not find it easy to give up the lands of Inner Mongolia. Perhaps they will begin to suspect something."
"Nonsense. The Chinese can appreciate the cultural desire of Mongolia to seek unification with its prior territory. A perfect cover story. And a rich irony, that they will give us the lands that we will in turn exploit to sell them oil."
"They will not be happy once they learn the truth. They might nullify the agreement, or worse. And they won't want to pay prices above the market rate."
"The latter point is a simple matter
. With our newfound technology, we can keep the entire market unstable for years and profit richly. We have already proven that in the Persian Gulf, and will do so again."
They reached the conference room and stepped inside, moving to the small bar that was surrounded by dozens of shelved liquor bottles. Borjin reached for a bottle of cognac and poured two glasses.
"My dear sister, we have already won. Once the oil starts flowing, we will have the Chinese by the throat and they dare not renege. Should they have a change of heart, we simply accelerate the pipeline to Siberia and link up with the connection to Nakhodka. Then we will be able to sell our oil to Japan and the rest of the world and laugh in their face."
"Yes, thanks to our brother's fire ship incident at Ningbo the Chinese are in a desperate bind."
"Temuge has been working miracles, hasn't he?"
"I need not remind you that he nearly caused my death in Baikal," she said irritably.
"An unforeseen side effect, the large wave. But no matter, you are here safe now," he said with a slightly patronizing tone. "You must admit, he has been most effective. Coordinating the pipeline destruction in Siberia, then setting fire to the Chinese port when a suitable fault line could not be found. And the Persian Gulf team he assembled has been most effective. After the next demonstration in the Middle East, the Chinese will be crawling to us on their knees."
"And Temuge is proceeding across the Pacific to North America for the final strike?"
"They are already at sea. The Baikal equipment arrived in Seoul two days ago, and they departed shortly thereafter. I sent the Khentii excavation team with Temuge, since we had to cease operations after the incident with the Russian survey team."
"Their search efforts have produced nothing anyway. It is apparent from the empty crypt we found near Genghis that the other tomb was ransacked or else never interred. It is a mystery why the associated riches have never come to light."