David Sakmyster - The Mongol Objective

The phone crackled with Orlando’s voice. “But he didn’t get too far in that respect. In his old age he fell off a horse or something and never recovered from his injuries. Died like all rulers and tyrants-just like the rest of us.”

“Knock it off,” came Phoebe’s voice. “We don’t need your anarchy speech here.”

“I’m just saying, in the end we’re all the same: dead meat.”

“It’s a good point,” Caleb said, “and where I was going next. He died on a way to another battle, a campaign to put down a revolt at Xi-Xia in 1227 CE. But his passing left behind one of the greatest archaeological mysteries of all time.”

Renee blinked at him, waiting. “Which is…”

Caleb gave her a weak smile. “Where is he buried?”

Noting her impatience, he continued. “His body was taken somewhere in secret, as was the custom with all Mongolian rulers. Different theories about the whereabouts of his tomb have circulated ever since. There was a cryptic anecdote from Marco Polo, then some observations from visiting dignitaries decades later. And then some subtle clues surfaced, based on the Mongolian epic work written shortly after his death: The Secret History of the Mongol People. ”

“Well, does any of it help us here?” Phoebe asked.

“I honestly can’t say how much we can rely on. The more colorful legends state that all those who labored on his crypt were massacred, and any unfortunate souls who had come across the funeral procession were put to the sword. And when his procession finally arrived, returning back across the Gobi Desert to his ancestral home in northeastern Mongolia, another force of soldiers were waiting to kill those who had escorted the Khan’s body. Some estimates put this burial-related death toll at over twenty thousand, all to ensure Temujin would have an undisturbed afterlife. Archaeologists and treasure-hunters have sought his resting place for centuries, certain there would be tremendous wealth buried inside his crypt with him.”

On the other end of the line, Orlando made a choking sound. “How tremendous are we talking?”

Caleb shrugged. “The spoils of all the conquests he had made, all the treasure acquired from the kingdoms he conquered. None of it has ever been found, so the speculation is that it’s all still there somewhere, with him or his descendents, whose graves are also unaccounted for, but rumored to be in the same area.”

“Like the Valley of the Kings in Egypt,” Phoebe said, and then giggled. “Only it’s the Valley of the Khans.”

“Okay,” Renee snapped. “But if no one knows where this place is..”

“Well, there is a mausoleum for him.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she sighed. “Another mausoleum?”

Caleb’s voice pitched excitedly. “Ceremonial only, built in 1954 in Erdos City, now part of China, as a place for Chinese and Mongolians alike to honor their national hero.” He lowered his head. “And now I’m thinking when Montross said we’d meet again at the mausoleum, he might not have meant this, Mausolus’s ancient Wonder of the World. He may have been referring to another tomb-the tomb of Genghis Khan.”

“Or,” Renee said sarcastically, “maybe some other mausoleum? One of the Roman emperors? Or hell, Grant’s tomb?”

Caleb gave her a look. “I thought you were a believer.”

Renee blinked at him, then looked away. “This is too much. We’ve got nothing to go on, and meanwhile your son’s in danger. Let’s do this my way.”

“Hang on,” Orlando chimed in, excitement in his voice. “That symbol, I traced some more references and found that somebody’s still using it. One group of people, actually.”

“Using it how?”

“As body art.”

Renee frowned. “Who?”

“They’re called the Darkhad. And their function, get this, is to conduct the ceremonies and rites around honoring the great Khan, and also to protect his mausoleum.”

“I remember now,” Caleb said. “That force of loyal soldiers who waited for the Khan’s body to return? They were from the clan known as the Darkhads.”

“Yeah,” Orlando continued tersely, taking back the spotlight. It sounded like he was reading again. “Originally there were eight mausoleums, then more, set up in portable white tents that moved around the Mongolian steppes. Some actually held relics like his saddle or his sword, but they were chiefly designed to inspire the continued worship and adoration of old Genghis. The Darkhad families, descendents of his two favorite generals, were given special privileges by Temujin-freedom from any other civil duties, freedom from taxes, the right to raise money on their lands-all so they could care for the mausoleums. Originally there were over five hundred Darkhad, and that number swelled to the thousands in later centuries. But during the 1950s the Communist government abolished the roving mausoleums and allowed just one, which housed all the relics. And the Darkhad dropped in number to only eight. And then during the Cultural Revolution, the Commies cracked down even more on any worship of their non-Communist past. All the cherished cultural elements were destroyed, the mausoleum sacked by angry punks, and the Khan’s relics were broken or burned. Only recently did the Darkhad rebuild the mausoleum and create replicas of the more significant artifacts.”

“Thanks for the history lesson,” Caleb said. “But that only strengthens my theory that this assassin, if he was one of these Darkhad, was guarding the key. Mausolus’s key. A key that could open one of the locks guarding the Books of Thoth. Why would he be guarding that unless-”

“-unless,” came Phoebe’s voice, “he knows where there’s another one, because he’s been sworn to protect it. Genghis must have found one, or both. Maybe he was the one who looted Alexander’s grave?”

“And maybe,” said Orlando, “he wanted to leave this one here as bait, to see who came looking.”

Caleb nodded. “I think we can safely guess that if Montross has this key, then he’s off to find the others.”

“But,” said Renee, “if all the Khan’s relics were destroyed and his body isn’t even at that mausoleum in Erdos City, then what?”

“Then,” Caleb said solemnly, “it looks like we’ve found our next RV target. One that will provide our greatest test since the Pharos.” He took a breath. “If we succeed, it’ll make us the envy of archaeologists everywhere, and quite possibly the enemy of billions of people who might not want to have their demigod dug up.”

He sighed and met Renee’s stare before giving a nervous smile.

“We need to find the tomb of Genghis Khan.”

Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia, 1 P.M.

Alexander sat alone in the center of the middle row seat of their rented black Jeep Commander. In the large cargo space behind him they had stuffed most of their gear, including tents and tarps, chests of food and water, blankets and sleeping bags. Three plastic chests were tethered to the roof rack. It looked like they were going on a long camping trip, the kind he wished he could have taken with his dad and Aunt Phoebe sometime, maybe in the Adirondacks.

In the front seat, Xavier Montross sat next to their guide, a man they had met outside the airport. Alexander thought he looked like one of those actors in kung-fu movies, a man with a strong build, long braided hair, weather-worn face and penetrating eyes. The capital city itself was congested and noisy, the sights and sounds overwhelming. As they left the airport, Montross had left his window open, and the reek of diesel fumes from the hundreds of buses and taxis mingled with the smell of street vendors roasting some kind of meat, likely marmot, which Alexander had learned from their guide was a kind of dog. The thought of actually eating a dog almost made him sick.