"I am most interested to see what you have recovered."
Summer led them down a flight of stairs to a brightly illuminated laboratory. Racks of plastic bins lined the back bulkhead, all filled with various artifacts recovered from the wreck and now soaking in fresh water.
"Most of the items recovered were fragments of the actual ship," she explained. "The cargo holds and living quarters must all be under the lava, as we recovered few personal artifacts. We did find a few everyday cooking utensils and a large pot," she said, pointing to an end rack, "but you will probably be most interested in these."
She pulled two trays off one of the racks and set them on a stainless steel table. Inside the trays were several plates, a bowl, and numerous fragments of porcelain. Most of the items were sugary white in color, though the bowl was made of black clay. Tong's eyes lit up as he slipped on a pair of reading glasses and began examining the artifacts.
"Yes, very nice," he muttered as he quickly ran through the inventory.
"What can you tell us about the design?" Summer asked.
"The patterns and material are consistent with the product of the Chinese kilns at Jingdezhen and Jianyang. The overall quality appears less advanced than the work produced during the later Ming Dynasty. The fish emblem here," he said, holding up one of the plates. "I have seen this before on a Yuan-period bowl. I would concur with your assessment, these ceramics are characteristic of items manufactured in the Song and Yuan dynasties of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries."
A broad smile crossed Summer's lips and she gave a happy wink to Dirk. Tong reached over and pulled the last artifact from the tray, a large teal-and-white plate with a pie-slice section missing from the platter. The glazed image of a peacock strutted across the center, while smaller images of a cheetah chasing a herd of deer circled the plate's perimeter. Tong studied the plate with a renewed intensity, looking again and again at the ornate glazing and animal portrayal.
"One of the lab conservators found a similar design in the database used by Yuan royalty," Dirk said.
"Yes, it is," Tong muttered, then put the plate down and backtracked. "Similar, that is, but surely not made for royalty. A close design used for trade, most likely," he added. "But I would agree that it is from the Yuan era, which, as you know, lasted from 1264 to 1368. Well ahead of Admiral Zheng."
"That's what we believe, remarkable as it is to think a ship of that era found its way to Hawaiian waters."
The door to the lab opened and in walked the Mariana Explorer's captain. A towering sandy-haired man, Bill Stenseth commanded the respect of the entire ship by his quiet intelligence and his good-natured sense of fair play.
"Dahlgren has completed loading the fuel and supplies onto your floating hotel. Whenever you two are set to jump ship, we'll be on our way."
"We're about finished, Captain. Dirk and I will get our things and join Jack on the barge."
"You are still working on the wreck?" Tong asked.
"We have a final section of timber to uncover, which we believe may be part of the rudder post," Summer explained. "If so, it will give us a better idea of the ship's dimension. The Mariana Explorer needs to continue a reef survey project on the other side of the island, so Dirk, Jack Dahlgren, and I are going to camp out on the barge for a few days and complete the excavation work."
"I see," Tong replied. "Well, thank you for sharing the recovered artifacts with me. When I return to Malaysia, I will research our museum's records and see if I can't provide you some additional information about the ceramics I have seen today."
"Thank you for taking the time to visit us and share your insights. We are excited that you have confirmed our initial assessment of the ship's age and possible ancestry."
Dirk and Summer quickly threw together a few personal belongings and jumped onto the barge, where Dahlgren was busily removing the ship's mooring lines. With a blast of the horn, Captain Stenseth backed the Explorer away from the barge and in a short while the turquoise ship disappeared around the jagged coastline heading toward Hilo.
"Well, what did you two find out about our Chinese lava ship?" Dahlgren asked, digging into a large cooler for a drink.
"Dr. Tong agrees that the age of the ceramics matches our initial readings, which put the wreck at seven to eight hundred years old," Summer replied.
"The good doctor seemed mighty interested in the plate our lab boys thought had royal markings, though he wasn't willing to bite," Dirk said.
"Professional jealousy, I think," Summer grinned. "It's a royal ship, I just know it."
"Royalty," Dahlgren said, plopping into a canvas chair with a can of beer and hoisting his feet to the side rail. "Now, don't that beat all?"
-37-
FIVE THOUSAND MILES TO the east, Pitt and Giordino tramped into the lobby of the Continental Hotel in Ulaanbaatar looking like a pair of worn saddlebags. Their wrinkled clothes were laden in dust, which permeated their hair, skin, and shoes. Sunbaked blisters tainted the portion of their faces where scraggly growths of beard failed to sprout. All that was missing was a circle of flies buzzing around their heads. The hotel manager looked down his nose with disdain as the two stragglers approached the front desk with bleary eyes.
"Any messages for rooms 4024 or 4025?" Pitt asked, his white teeth sparkling brightly behind his blistered lips.
The desk manager raised a brow in recognition, then briefly retreated to a small side room.
"One message and a delivery, sir," he said, handing Pitt a slip of paper and a small box plastered with overnight-shipping labels.
Pitt took the message and handed the package to Giordino while stepping away from the desk.
"It's from Corsov," he said quietly to Giordino.
"Pray tell, what does our favorite KGB agent have to say?"
"He was called away to a Foreign Ministry conference in Irkutsk. Sends his regards, hopes our foray south was productive. He'll contact us in a few days when he gets back to town."
"Very polite of him," Giordino said with a touch of sarcasm. "I wonder if Theresa and Jim will have the luxury of awaiting his return." He ripped open the overnight package, revealing an old leather book and a heavy jar of vitamins. A small card fell out, which he picked up and handed to Pitt.
"From the wife?"
Pitt nodded, silently reading the handwritten note inside.
Your favorite book, along with some extra vitamins to keep you healthy. Please use sparingly, my love.
The kids send their best from Hawaii. They have created quite a stir by discovering an old wreck. Washington is a bore without you, so hurry home.
Loren
"A book and vitamins? Not very romantic of Mrs. Pitt," Giordino chided.
"Ah, but it is my favorite story. Always packs a wallop." Pitt held up the leather-bound novel, displaying the spine to Giordino.
"Melville's Moby-Dick. A tasteful choice," Giordino said, "though the adventures of Archie and Veronica work fine for me."
Pitt opened the book and flipped through the pages until a cutout section revealed itself. Buried in the center of the mock book was a Colt .45 automatic.
"I see she comes with a harpoon, Ahab," Giordino whispered, letting out a low whistle.
Pitt popped open the vitamin bottle cap, displaying a dozen or so .45 caliber rounds that matched the Colt.
"Wouldn't a congresswoman get in a bit of trouble for shipping firearms around the world?" Giordino asked.
"Only if she got caught," Pitt smiled, sealing the bottle and closing the book.
"With a little canned heat, there's no sense in waiting for Corsov," Giordino urged.
Pitt shook his head slowly. "Nope, I think we make for a quick turnaround. It probably wouldn't be safe lolling about here for long anyway, once Borjin fails to hear back from his Buddhist hit man."
"A shower and a beer should aid the planning process."
"First some facts," Pitt said, walking to a cramped business center off the main lobby. He fished into his
pocket and pulled out the silver pendant taken from Borjin's lab and laid it on a copy machine. He scribbled a note on the resulting photocopy, then fed it through an adjacent fax machine, dialing up a long-distance number by rote. He then fed the pages from the seismic-imaging manual through the fax, dialing a second number.
"That ought to keep a few pair of idle hands out of the devil's workshop," he said to himself as he made his way up to his room.
• • • •
The exterior of the Georgetown carriage house looked like any other upscale residence in the swanky quarter of Washington, D.C. The weathered-brick structure had freshly painted eaves, its nineteenth-century glass windows were sparkling clean, and the small surrounding yard was neatly manicured. It was a stark contrast to the home's interior, which resembled the book depository for the New York Public Library. Polished wooden bookshelves lined nearly every wall in the house, each packed to the brim with historical books on ships and seafaring. More books littered the dining table and the kitchen counters, in addition to strategic stockpiles at various locales on the floor. The home's eccentric owner, St. Julien Perlmutter, wouldn't want it any other way. Books were a major passion for one of the nation's preeminent maritime historians, who had assembled a reference collection that librarians and private collectors salivated over. Generous with his archives, he gladly shared his knowledge and resources with those like him who had a love of the sea.
The beep and whir of a fax machine startled Perlmutter awake from an overstuffed leather chair, where he had fallen asleep while perusing the ship's log from the famous ghost ship Mary Celeste. Hoisting his rotund, nearly four-hundred-pound frame from the chair, he walked to his den and retrieved the fax. He stroked a thick gray beard as he read the brief note on the cover page:
St. Julien,
A bottle of fresh brewed airag for you, if you can identify this.
Pitt
"Airag? That's bloody blackmail," he muttered with a grin.
Perlmutter was a grand gourmand who loved rich and exotic food, as evidenced by his immense belly. Pitt had touched a culinary nerve with a bribe of the Mongolian fermented mare's milk. Perlmutter closely examined the following fax pages, which showed the front and back side of a silver pendant.
"Dirk, I'm no jeweler, but I know who just might peg this," he said aloud. Picking up a telephone, he dialed a number and waited for a voice to answer.
"Gordon? St. Julien here. Say, I know we had lunch scheduled for Thursday but I could use your help on something. Could you meet today instead? Fine, fine, I'll take care of the reservation and see you at noon."
Perlmutter hung up the phone and gazed again at the image of the pendant. Coming from Pitt, that meant there was probably a wild tale behind it. Wild and dangerous.
• • • •
The Monocle near Capitol Hill was bustling with a workday lunch crowd when Perlmutter walked in the door. A popular haunt of Washington politicians, the restaurant was filled with senators, lobbyists, and Hill staffers. Perlmutter quickly spotted his friend Gordon Eeten in a side booth, as he was one of the few occupants not wearing a blue suit. "St. Julien, good to see you again my friend," Eeten greeted. A large man himself, Eeten had a humorous demeanor mixed with the observant eye of a detective.
"I see I have some catching up to do," Perlmutter grinned, eyeing a nearly empty martini glass on the table.
Perlmutter hailed the bartender for a Sapphire Bombay Gibson, then the two men ordered lunch. As they waited for the meal, Perlmutter handed Pitt's fax to Eeten.
"Business before dining pleasure, I'm afraid," Perlmutter said. "A friend ran across this brooch in Mongolia and would like to know its significance. Can you shed any light?"
Eeten studied the photocopies with a poker face. As an antiquities appraiser with the famed auction house of Sotheby's, he had assessed literally thousands of historic artifacts before they were put up for public auction. A childhood friend of Perlmutter's, he regularly tipped off the marine historian when a pending auction contained items of maritime interest.
"Difficult to gauge the quality," Eeten prefaced. "Hate to give an estimate over a fax copy."
"Knowing my friend, he could care less about its value. I believe he is more interested in its age and historical context."
"Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Eeten replied, visibly relaxing.
"So you know what it is?"
"Yes, I believe so. I've seen something similar in a lot we auctioned a few months ago. Of course, I would have to examine the piece in person to verify its authenticity."
"What can you tell me about it?" Perlmutter asked, taking notes in a small book.
"It appears to be Seljuk in origin. The double-headed eagle, a very unique motif, was a favored symbol of the dynasty."
"If my memory serves, the Seljuks were a band of Turkish Muslims who briefly controlled a large chunk of old Byzantium," Perlmutter said.
"Yes, they overran Persia around 1000 A.D., but their power peaked about two hundred years later, before they were crushed by the rival Khwarezmid Empire under Ala ad-Din Muhammad. The Seljuks were fine artisans, particularly in carving stone, but were also skilled in metallurgy. They even minted coins of silver and copper for a time."
"So this pendant is within their skill base."
"Absolutely. The minute calligraphy is consistent with a Seljuk practice of inscribing an Islamic prayer or dedication on their later metalwork. There's a professor at Columbia who could translate the inscription for you, which is probably written in Kufic. Who knows, perhaps it is a personal inscription to a sultan."
"Royalty implications?"
"Yes. You see, the Seljuks seldom used silver and gold in their artwork. The materials were regarded as luxury items and therefore inconsistent with the Islamic ideal of simplicity. Of course, the rules didn't necessarily apply to the sultans, some of whom hoarded the stuff. So if this pendant is made of silver, which it appears to be, then there's a strong likelihood of a sultan connection."
"So we are talking Seljuk manufacture, dating approximately 1100 to 1200 A.D., and possibly sultan pedigree," Perlmutter summed up, scribbling in his book.
"Most likely. The items we examined and auctioned recently were part of a cache linked to Malik Shah, a Seljuk sultan who died in 1092. It is interesting that your friend found this piece in Mongolia. As I mentioned, the Seljuks were sacked by the forces of Ala ad-Din Muhammad, who in turn was defeated by Genghis Khan around 1220. This may well have been one of the spoils of war brought home by the armies of Genghis Khan."
A waiter arrived and set their lunches on the table, a rib-eye steak for Eeten and an order of calf's liver for Perlmutter.
"Some remarkable insights, Gordon. I don't suppose a great deal of twelfth- and thirteenth-century Asian artifacts reach the marketplace very often."
"It's a funny thing. We seldom used to see artifacts from that era. But about eight or nine years ago, we were contacted by a broker in Malaysia who had a consignment to sell and he has provided us a steady stream of artifacts ever since. I bet we have sold over one hundred million dollars' worth of similar goods in that time. And I know Christie's has been auctioning similar quantities."
"My word. Any idea of the source of all those relics?"
"I could only speculate," Eeten said, chewing on his steak. "The Malaysian broker is a most secretive fellow and refuses to divulge his sources. I've never even been allowed to meet the man face-to-face. But he has never shipped us anything phony. Every consignment has contained the genuine article from top to bottom."
"Seems a little odd that kind of volume emanates from Malaysia."
"True, but the goods could be routed from anywhere. He's just a broker. Neither he nor his firm's name even sounds Malaysian."
"What's that?" Perlmutter asked, finishing his meal.
"An odd name. It's called the Buryat Trading Company."
-38-
THERESA FELT A SLIGHT sense of relief when the door to her
room opened and a guard motioned for her to step into the hallway. If they were going to kill her, then so be it, she thought. It would be better than an endless confinement in fearful anticipation. It had been two days since she was first locked in the room without explanation. There had been no contact by anyone, save for the occasional tray of food shoved in the room. Though she knew nothing of the visit by the Chinese delegation, she had heard the caravan of cars arrive and depart. Of greater mystery was the heavy gunfire that had erupted from the rear of the compound. She strained to peer out the tiny window at the back of her room but could see little more than swirling dust. Idly staring out the window again the next day, she had observed the horse guards on patrol trotting by, though their numbers seemed smaller.
Now walking out her door, she was glad to see Wofford standing in the hall, leaning on a cane. He flashed her a warm smile.
"Vacation's over," he said. "Guess it's back to work."
His words proved prophetic, as they were escorted back to the study. Borjin sat waiting for them, inhaling a thick cigar. He appeared more relaxed than the last time they saw him, his effusion of arrogance stronger than ever.
"Come sit, my friends," he said, waving them over to his table. "I hope you enjoyed your time off from work."
"Sure," Wofford said. "Staring at four walls was most relaxing."
Borjin ignored the comment and pointed to a fresh stack of seismic reports.
"Your work here is nearly complete," he said. "But there is some urgency in the appropriate selection of well sites in this region." He unfurled a topographic map covering a two-hundred-square-mile area. Theresa and Wofford could see from the markings that it encompassed an area of the Chinese Gobi Desert just southeast of the Mongolian border.
"You have already provided inputs on a number of detailed sites within this region. I must say, your assessments have been most insightful," he said with a patronizing tone. "As you can see, the blocks you have already examined are marked on this regional map. I ask that you evaluate those blocks in relation to the entire region and identify a prioritization of test-well sites to maximize potential production."