David Sakmyster - The Mongol Objective

“Not this memory,” Montross said. “You’ve succeeded in a great game of deception, clouding the minds of your leaders and your people, the people of China and Mongolia alike, as well as the world. From the beginning, the Darkhad created false rumors, inciting historians and explorers, such as Marco Polo himself, into quoting prefabricated fantasy and outright misdirection. Throwing out names of fake mountains and imaginary rivers, providing fodder for future treasure seekers to chase their proverbial tails. Classic misdirection.”

Nilak’s gaze never wavered. “Who are you? How do come by such beliefs?”

Montross merely smiled.

“Very well,” said Nilak, glancing around at the wide expanse of the hills, the steppes where once the Golden Horde, the greatest army in the world, had launched their campaigns, conquering kingdom after kingdom and ruling the largest collection of people that had ever fallen under one leader. Nilak looked over the vast grasslands, hills and bogs; the empty, skeletal forest of pines burned in a great fire decades ago. Desolate but for a few packs of roving sheep and cows.

Nilak sighed and spoke two words.

“Kill them.”

Alexander cried out as the men raised the machine guns, looking to Montross for help, for some sort of saving word or plea, but Xavier just stood with his arms outstretched, still smiling.

He’s insane, completely whacko! Alexander thought, believing it was to be the last thought of his too-short life, before joining his mother, hopefully in Heaven.

Two gunshots snapped the night air. Crisp, loud, echoing off the hills of the Burkhan Khaldun. Alexander clenched his eyes shut, but not before first seeing something out of the corner of his eye: a dark form slipping out from the back of the jeep, from under the tarps and equipment they had packed in the cargo hold at Ulaan Baatar.

His eyes popped back open just as Nilak’s head whipped around to see his companions drop silently, guns unfired.

“Thank you, Nina,” said Montross, lowering his arms. His gaze never left Nilak’s. And his smile never wavered, not until Nina walked right up to their guide and placed the muzzle of her still-warm Beretta against the back of his head.

“Now,” Montross said, “where were we?”

“Check the tents,” he said after he had disarmed Nilak, taking away the guide’s sleek stainless steel Ruger SR9c. “Make sure we’re alone.”

Nina’s head cocked, eyes narrowing. She nodded and approached the first yurt, one with an orange glow inside.

“I will never betray the Khan,” said Nilak, still locked in a stare with Montross. “Never.”

Montross shrugged. He kept the Ruger pointed at the Darkhad while he reached into the pack slung over his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. We could torture you. Nina is an expert at such things. And out here, no one will hear your pitiful cries. But such tactics are uncomfortable for me, and unnecessary. Especially when I have this.”

He pulled out the object, glowing with a shimmering emerald aura, and for the first time, Nilak gave a reaction, as if a jolt ripped through his body. “Impossible.”

Montross cocked his head. “I see you know what this is. Why do you say impossible?”

“No one could penetrate the seal.”

“Why not? Because your Temujin failed?”

The Darkhad seethed. “Only because he had other demands on his time.”

Montross nodded. “Provinces to keep in line, adversaries to crush, I understand. So much to do, and all of it so much more important than the Truth.”

Nina came out of the first tent, then headed to the next.

Nilak said, “Nothing was more important than the truth, not to Temujin. It was why he called for the great philosopher-mage Chi-Chan from China to study the seven symbols his men discovered under the tower in Alexandria.”

“Lot of good that did,” Montross said, hefting the tablet. “Let me guess, you lost a few battalions there, eh? Before giving up? But regardless, we’ve got it. We did what your great leader could not.”

Nilak stared, then slowly nodded. But after a moment, he let his lips curl back into a smile. “But it is not enough, yes? You cannot read what you hold, cannot gain its secrets. Not without-”

“Without the keys.” Montross sighed. “Keys your master spent a lifetime trying to find. A search which your sacred book, the Secret History of the Mongols, fails to mention.”

“Then how do you know of it?”

“I”-he pulled Alexander closer to him-“ we have our ways.”

Nina came out of a tent and headed for the next.

“I have seen,” Montross continued, “how your master subjugated the peoples of Persia, the world of Babylon, and took from there some of the greatest artifacts. Pieces he used to bargain for the lives of their princes. I’ve seen how the great Khan learned of the keys, and once the truth took hold, he would not let it rest. Having found one key, he sought the others. One of which was located in Bodrum, Turkey.”

“The Mausoleum,” Nilak whispered. “You killed him, my cousin.” It wasn’t a question.

Montross fingered the charm around his neck. “Not personally, but I had a feeling he might not make it.”

“Nevertheless, you will pay.”

“Oh? I didn’t think vengeance was your thing. Single-minded and all.”

Nilak glared at him. “Vengeance is most assuredly permitted, as long as it doesn’t interfere with our mission.”

Montross held up the tablet. “Oh yes it will. I am close. I have seen many burials, many elaborately staged ceremonies with white tents, rituals and the Khan’s standard. But thanks to your infernal exercises, where I know you’ve spread out his relics, buried some here, some there, and the true treasure only in one place, I don’t know exactly where it is, where the two keys have been kept. Except that they are on his body. That much I’m certain of. But I want you to know this one thing whether or not it helps in making your decision. I don’t want or care for the rest of your hero’s treasure. I just want those keys.”

Nilak said nothing.

“Tell me,” Montross said, “and you live. You can continue to preserve the secret. Go on playing your little mind-trick games with a billion people. I want the keys, and you’re going to-”

Nina screamed.

Something punched through the last tent, a small hole made by an arrow launched from a composite bow, taking her in the shoulder. She dropped her weapon, grunting, the arrow lodged in her flesh. And as Montross swung his gun around, the tent flaps burst open and a bright white stallion erupted from inside, bearing a cloaked rider, a dark-haired woman slinging a bow over her shoulder as she gripped the reins and galloped ahead.

Nina dodged, then picked up her gun with her other hand, turned and aimed. But the horse leapt, darting in front of Montross, then around so the rider could reach down and scoop up Nilak before turning and racing in a white flash to the woods.

Shots rang out, both Nina and Montross emptying their magazines after the fleeing horse. Bullets exploded into tree trunks and branches, kicked up sparks on the rocks as the horse wove in and out of the trees. With her last shot, Nina gave a smile of satisfaction.

A cry followed the dying echoes of gunfire as Nilak tumbled off the back of the horse, hit the ground and rolled. The horse turned and Montross had a glimpse of a face below the hood-a feminine, chiseled jaw line with sharp cheekbones and haunting eyes. Then, as Nina reloaded, the horse turned and fled into the safety of the trees.

For a moment, she had a clear shot at the rider’s retreating figure, and was about to fire when Alexander threw himself at her knees, bringing her down and then avoiding a backward slap at his face.