David Sakmyster - The Mongol Objective

He opened his mouth, about to ask an awkward question, but then thought better of it. “In that huge funeral procession back into Mongolia, to the Sacred Mountain, you saw through the fabric of that tent, through the wooden box itself, the knock-off golden coffin, with nothing inside. You confirmed that they wanted it to look like he was going back there and did everything to ensure the myth, including the massacre of eyewitnesses and those who made the long march.”

Still listening, half-seeing it again for herself, Phoebe bowed her head as she entered the faux mausoleum, mimicking what the other visitors had done. She stepped inside first, ahead of Caleb. “But we also know it’s not here. This is just ceremonial.”

Ahead of them, in the center of the hall, stood a thirteen-foot-tall white marble statue of Genghis Khan in all his triumph. On the wall behind this statue was a map of the Yuan Dynasty and the vast territory he and his sons had conquered.

“Yes,” Caleb agreed. “Ceremonial, but also spiritual. I believe it’s vital to honor the memory of Temujin.” He pointed past the statue, past the corridors leading in either direction, covered with frescoes of the Khan’s life, one passage leading to a hall filled with relics from his life, the other containing the coffins commemorating his three sons and his first wife.

“Come on,” he said, moving forward. “His coffin’s down here. We’re going to pay our respects. Honor tradition. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll get some hints about where his actual resting place is.”

Phoebe nodded and then, afraid that the group of milling tourists and worshippers might overhear, she whispered, “And then apologize for what we’re going to do next?”

He gave his sister a reproachful look at first, one that soon gave way to a smile when he saw the excitement bubbling in her eyes. “Most definitely. And pray his spirit forgives us.”

Back in the minibus, Orlando leaned forward in his seat from the second row and looked over Agent Wagner’s shoulder. Renee was in the driver’s seat, ticking away at her laptop, scrolling over field reports, maps and other intel.

“How ya doin’?” he asked, causing her to jump.

She turned, her eyes flashing. “Don’t you have something to do?”

Orlando shrugged, sat back and took a swig from his water bottle-water, mixed with Red Bull. He glanced out the windows. “Not really. Just enjoying my first time in a damned desert. Could you turn up the AC?”

“It’s fifty degrees outside.”

“Really?” Orlando rolled the window down halfway and stuck his hand out. “How about that? Some desert. Hey, so I’m sorry you got stuck with us misfits. I bet you wish this was just a typical domestic abduction thing, something where you could just bring in the SWAT team and take out the perps.”

“Seventy-five percent of all kidnappings end in the murder of the abducted person.” Renee looked back to her laptop screen. “And one hundred percent of the ten cases I’ve worked on.”

“Oh.”

“So no, I don’t wish I was back there. But I can’t say this one is making me feel any better. In fact-”

“You feel like you’re out of control.”

She blinked, stared at his reflection in her screen. “Again, don’t you have anything to do? Shouldn’t you be trying to remote view something?”

“Oh, I already did. While you were driving.” He smiled. “I was in the zone. Saw some interesting things.”

Renee shrugged. “So do another one. Or go in the mausoleum yourself, or out back and get some of that Mongolian beef I smell. I think they’re cooking it up in the field for some kind of re-enactment.”

“Mmmm, sounds good, but no. I want to stay and bother you.”

Renee turned. “I’m still wearing my gun, you realize. Annoy me again and I won’t be responsible if it happens to go off.”

Orlando crossed his arms, considering her. He looked back toward the mausoleum, then to their right, to the jeeps which held the second team of three local agents, a guide and a field officer. Should I risk it?

“Why not?” he said under his breath. “So, Agent Wagner, I’d like to ask you something.”

“Make it quick, I’m busy.”

“Okay, well, here it is. How did you get this case?”

She stopped typing. Turned around. “What?”

“I know a little something about FBI procedure. Studied up on it quite a bit before we left the States.”

“You studied procedure?” Her eyes were dark, flat stones.

“Seems all this was a little rushed. You guys coming onto the scene so fast.” Not backing down from her stare, Orlando continued. “A little unorthodox. And it also seems that your selection as lead agent came from much higher up.”

Silence. Then, “How could you know that?”

Orlando gave her a loopy grin. “You know how.”

Her eyes darkened. “I see.”

He took a deep breath, suddenly aware of the jeep beside them, the three faces pressed against the windows. He swallowed, noticing that the light on Renee’s cell phone, on the passenger seat, was on. Speakerphone? Walkie-talkie connection? It didn’t matter, he had already taken this past the point of no return and had to continue. “Does this-your interest in this case-have anything to do with that necklace you wear under your shirt?”

The doors on the other vehicle popped opened all at once and the black-suited agents leapt out just as Renee shook her head and reached for her gun.

“You should have gone out for the beef.”

Before leaving, Caleb decided to take Phoebe into the West Hall to see the relics.

“These are all replicas, right?” she asked, pushing past the visitors, some of them kneeling before the glass-encased pieces. A curved sword, a milk-pot, headgear.

Caleb walked up to the only item not protected by glass-a weathered-looking leather saddle. “Yes, except for possibly this one. There’s an account I read on the way up here, an interview with one of the Darkhad several years ago. Asked about the destruction of the relics during the Cultural Revolution, he inferred that the saddle alone might have escaped the zealots’ wrath.”

He approached it, glanced around at everyone else involved with the other pieces, reading the descriptions or leaving offerings.

“Want me to cop a feel?” Phoebe asked with a lopsided grin.

“Well, since I still think I’m kind of…”

“Impotent?”

He looked down as she whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” She reached for the saddle, brushed her fingers against it, closed her eyes and stepped back.

And as Caleb watched with pained jealousy, her visions took her away.

Burkhan Khaldun, Mongolia

Nina Osseni darted around trees, dove through brush, ducked and ran from cover to cover as she ascended the mountain, following the trail of the white stallion and the fleeing Darkhad woman.

But after about thirty minutes, the trail had gone cold. Too many rocks, boulders and paths overrun with horse prints for her to determine which were new. And the light was fading, the bright blue of the sky leeched out by hungry violets and grays.

“Damn,” she whispered, stopping with her foot it mid-step. Catching her breath, she looked down. In the hazy twilight she had just seen the barest outline of a wire.

She stepped back, following the wire with her eyes, seeing where it ended up a tree on a mechanism controlling a raft of sharp stakes, all pointed down at her. “Diabolically impressive.”

Nina scanned the shadows on the mountainside, seeing all the nooks and crevasses. She put on her night-vision goggles and let the world jump into green and white, but it was still no use. No wonder the Darkhad have been so successful. She backed up slowly, expecting to hear the thwang of an arrow zipping toward her.