Clive Cussler - Treasure of Khan

The door opened and they entered the domed foyer, which was filled with aged pastoral paintings of horses in the field. A short housekeeper with a crooked grin slipped from behind the door and nodded for the group to follow. Padding across the polished marble floor, he led them down a side hallway to three interior guest rooms. One by one, Theresa, Roy, and Wofford were escorted into comfortably decorated rooms, then were left facing a closed door that the housekeeper locked and bolted behind him.

Theresa found a side table next to the bed that was set with a bowl of steaming soup and a loaf of bread. Quickly washing the road grime from her face and hands, she sat down and devoured the food in hunger. Exhaustion finally overcoming her fears, she lay on the soft bed and promptly fell asleep.

Three hours later, a hard knock at the door jolted her from a deep sleep.

"This way, please," the little housekeeper said, eyeing Theresa with a hint of lasciviousness.

Roy and Wofford were already waiting in the hallway. Theresa was surprised to see that Wofford's leg had been wrapped and he now sported a wooden cane. Roy's head gash was also bandaged, and he wore a loose cotton pullover in place of his bloodstained shirt.

"Don't you two look the model of health?" she said.

"Sure. Assuming the model is a crash test dummy," Roy replied.

"The hospitality has taken a slight turn for the better," Wofford said, tapping his cane on the floor.

The three were led back to the foyer and down the main hallway to an expansive sitting room. Shelves of leather-bound books lined the walls, punctuated by a fireplace at the far end and a bar along one side.

Theresa looked up nervously at the torso of a black bear that lunged from the wall above her head, its sharpened claws and bared teeth frozen in a permanent display of aggression. Panning the room, she saw it was a taxidermist's heaven. A variety of stuffed deer, bighorn sheep, wolves, and foxes guarded the enclave, all leering viciously at the visitors. Tatiana stood in the middle of the room, next to a man who looked like he could have been mounted on the wall as well.

It was the grin, she decided. When he smiled, a row of sharp pointy teeth flashed like a shark's, seemingly eager to devour some raw flesh. Yet the rest of his appearance was less imposing. He had a slight though muscular build, and wore his jet-black hair brushed back loosely. He was handsome in the classic Mongol sense, with high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes that had an odd golden-brown tint.

A sprinkling of wind-and sun-borne wrinkles suggested he had spent his earlier years working outdoors.

However, the mannerisms of the man dressed in the fashionable gray suit suggested that those days were long over.

"It is good of you to join us," Tatiana said in an emotionless tone. "May I present Tolgoi Borjin, president of the Avarga Oil Consortium."

"Pleased to meet you." Wofford hobbled over, and shook the man's hand as if he were an old friend.

"Now, would you mind telling us where we are and why the hell we're here?" he asked, applying a vise grip to his handshake.

Wofford's sudden demand seemed to catch the Mongol off guard and he hesitated before answering, quickly letting go of Wofford's hand.

"You are at my home and enterprise headquarters."

"Mongolia?" Roy asked.

"My regrets for your hasty exit from Siberia," Borjin replied, ignoring Roy's remark. "Tatiana tells me that your lives were in peril."

"Indeed?" Theresa said, casting a wary eye toward her former cabinmate.

"The forced departure at gunpoint was most necessary for your security," she explained. "The environmental radicals of Baikal are very dangerous. They had apparently infiltrated the institute's survey ship and tried to sink it with all hands. I was fortunately able to contact a leased vessel nearby that assisted in our evacuation. It was best that we departed secretly, so as not to call attention to ourselves and risk further attacks."

"I have never heard of the Lake Baikal environmentalist groups acting in such a violent manner," Theresa replied.

"It is a new breed of youthful radicals. With the reduction in state administrative controls in recent years, I am afraid that the rebellious youths have become much more brazen and forceful."

"And what about the scientist, Dr. Sarghov, who was taken off the ship with us?"

"He was insistent on returning to the ship to alert the other institute members. I'm afraid we could no longer vouch for his safety."

"Is he dead? What about the others on the ship?"

"We were forced to evacuate the area for everyone's safety. I have no information on the research ship or Dr. Sarghov."

The color drained from Theresa's face as she contemplated the words.

"So why haul us here?" Roy asked.

"We have abandoned the Lake Baikal project for the time being. Your assistance in evaluating potential oil field sites is still of value to us. You were contracted to work for us for six weeks, so we will honor the contract through another project."

"Has the company been notified?" Theresa asked, realizing her cell phone had been left behind on the Vereshchagin. "I shall need to contact my supervisor to discuss this."

"Regrettably, our microwave phone line is down at the moment. A common problem in remote regions, as you can surely understand. Once the service is restored, you will of course be free to make any calls you like."

"Why are you locking us in our rooms like animals?"

"We have a number of sensitive research projects in development. I'm afraid we can't let outsiders go wandering around the facilities. We can give you a limited tour at the appropriate time."

"And if we wish to leave right now instead?" Theresa probed.

"A driver will take you to Ulaanbaatar, where you can catch a flight to your home." Borjin smiled, his sharp teeth glistening.

Still weary from the trip, Theresa didn't know what to think. Perhaps it was best not to test the waters just yet, she decided. "What is it that you would like us to do?"

Reams of folders were wheeled into the study along with several laptop computers, all chock-full of geological assessments and subsurface seismic profiles. Borjin's request was simple.

"We wish to expand drilling operations into a new geographical region. The ground studies are at your fingertips. Tell us where the optimal drilling locations would be." Saying nothing more, he turned his back and left the room, Tatiana tailing close behind.

"This is a load of bunk," Roy muttered, standing up.

"Actually, this looks like professionally gathered data," Wofford replied, holding up a subsurface isopach map, which portrayed the thickness of various underground sedimentary layers.

"I don't mean the data," Roy said, slamming a file down on the table.

"Easy, big fella," Wofford whispered, tilting his head toward the corner ceiling. "We're on Candid Camera."

Roy looked up and noticed a tiny video camera mounted beside the smiling stuffed head of a reindeer.

"Best we at least pretend to study the files," Wofford continued in a low voice, holding the map in front of his mouth as he spoke.

Roy sat down and pulled one of the laptops close, then slunk down in the chair so that the opened screen blocked his face.

"I don't like the looks of this. These people are warped. And let's not forget we were brought here at gunpoint."

"I agree," Theresa whispered. "The whole story about trying to protect us at Lake Baikal is ludicrous."

"As I recall, Tatiana threatened to blow my left ear off if I didn't leave the Vereshchagin with her,"

Wofford mused, tugging his earlobe. "Not the words of someone who cares about my well-being, I should think."

Theresa unfolded a topographical map of a mountain range and pointed out meaningless features to Wofford as she spoke.