David Sakmyster - The Mongol Objective

He shook his head and wiped his face on his shoulder.

“… are you?” asked a voice.

“Huh?” He still couldn’t see. Just a dark, slender shape outside his window, pointing something shiny at him.

“I asked who you are.” A woman’s voice. Heavily accented, confident and powerful.

“Orlando Natch, at your service.” He rubbed his eyes clean with his shoulder, then turned, trying to show off his shiny wrist bracelets. “Whoever you are, please help. I’ve got friends in there, and-”

“And they’re as good as dead,” said the woman, “unless you convince me in the next five seconds that you’re not after the same thing as these agents. Or the people I left earlier today on a mountaintop in Mongolia.”

“Outside!” Renee yelled to her agents. “Shots came from outside!”

She turned but kept the gun trained on Phoebe. “What else? Tell me now!”

“If you’ve hurt Orlando…”

“Shut up!” she shouted, then repeated to Caleb, “Tell me now, or she dies too.”

“You can’t rush remote viewing,” Caleb said, quickly getting in step with Phoebe’s con. “It’s given us one hit, but now we should all sit together and focus our visions on this Xian and the emperor there, see what we can come up with.”

“So you can collude together and hone your lies? Send me in the wrong direction? I don’t think so.”

Another gunshot, then automatic fire. Renee cursed as she turned toward the door. Two dark shapes had rushed in, guns drawn. Renee dropped to a crouch and fired, knocking one back and wounding the other, who returned fire, missing. Caleb and Phoebe dropped to the floor, covering their heads. Caleb rolled, saw Renee get up and aim again. And then saw a shape at the window. But Renee fired down the hallway first, and a red spray burst from the other black-clad intruder’s head. She stood, turned, and took two bullets in her chest. She stumbled back, staring down without growing comprehension, then another shot threw her into the wall below a replica shield.

She slumped to her knees, then fell face-forward.

“Go!” Caleb shouted, as Phoebe lay there, too shocked to move. He got to her, pulled her up by the arm, even as the steady footfalls ran toward him. A shadow fell over Phoebe, and Caleb lowered his head. Raised his arms.

He looked up and saw a startlingly serene face, crowned with straight midnight-black hair, tanned skin and warm eyes the mirror of a broad turquoise sky. She was dressed in a black ski jacket and black jeans with knee-high boots.

“Your friend is outside, and he’s convinced me not to kill you if you come along with me right now.”

Caleb helped Phoebe to her feet, keeping a wary eye on their rescuer. “I guess we’re going. And thanks.”

“You keep dangerous acquaintances,” the woman said, leading them through the hallway, stepping over other black-clothed bodies.

“You,” Caleb said, “are you Darkhad?”

She froze, then turned her head, considering him. “My name is Qara, and yes, I am. As you’ve guessed. But now, I’m taking you to Beijing, and then seeing you on a plane home.”

“Can’t,” Caleb said. “Not until I save my son.”

She studied his face. “Your boy?”

“Abducted by a man named Xavier Montross.”

“And,” said Phoebe, “a nasty bitch named Nina Osseni.”

Qara’s eyes turned dark. “Montross. He has red hair?”

Caleb nodded eagerly. “You’ve seen him? Is Alexander-”

“The boy was fine when I left his group in the Khenti Mountains. But they killed my friends.”

“I’m so sorry,” Caleb said, taking a deep breath, but inwardly nodding to himself, releasing a cry of relief. Alexander’s okay. Kid’s probably driving Montross nuts. “So they’re looking on the Sacred Mountain, following the wrong visions.”

Qara tightened her grip on the gun. “Why do you say they’re in the wrong place?”

“Because,” Phoebe said, “we’ve seen-”

“Because you’re here,” Caleb inserted, realizing his error. “Just a guess. If Montross’s team was on the right track, you never would have left them.”

Qara eyed him for a long moment, analyzing his face. Finally, she said, “True.”

Over her shoulder, Caleb saw a jet-black Hummer idling with Orlando inside, his face pressed against the window. The other visitors were leaving the parking lot, some running, others driving or biking. In the distance, he heard sirens.

Caleb blinked and looked away from her penetrating gaze. “But I’m sorry, we can’t leave yet. We need to find the tomb. It may be the only way to get my son back.”

Qara shook her head. “You won’t use my Lord’s secret as a bargaining chip.”

“I don’t want to, but I don’t believe there’s any other choice. Montross will come, and he will find it.”

“You said his visions were wrong.”

“And he’ll figure that out, soon enough.” Or Alexander will.

She narrowed her eyes at them. “And where do you think it is?”

Back in the western hall, Renee could still hear them. She lay flat on her stomach, wincing. The Kevlar vest had stopped the bullets, but the pain had drilled into her ribs, her breastbone. It felt like her lungs were on fire. But she had to lie still. Couldn’t give herself away, even though every cell screamed at her to get up, pick up her gun and blow that bitch to hell, and then start in on Phoebe and Caleb.

But that had to wait.

She had to listen.

This wasn’t over yet. She had played her part perfectly on this mission. Played up the dedicated FBI agent, sympathetic to Caleb’s plight, and his talents. Got them to lower their guard, but then that damn kid had too much time on his hands and went snooping where he didn’t belong. Well, her master and colleagues feared this might happen, and she knew the risks. Which was why Plan B was always ready. Her security force, listening in at all times for any sign the Morpheus team had got wind of who she really was. At that stage, the operation turned from one of stealth to one of brazen force.

More than one way to skin this cat. Besides, she never believed she was in any danger. Not with these people. She was protected, chosen.

She was fated to find those keys and fulfill her destiny.

“Tell her,” Caleb said, looking at Phoebe, “what you saw.” They were in the hallway, just past two dead Darkhad and before the other pair of Renee’s men, cut down at the entrance.

“What do you mean, saw?” Qara asked. “When?”

“We’re kind of psychic,” Phoebe admitted, looking to Caleb first for approval to elaborate. “Remote viewers. We find things, and can sometimes see into the past.”

Qara stared at her, then at Caleb. Her face gave away nothing. “And what did you see?”

“He’s in a city, a huge city, inside a domed palace.” Phoebe bit her lip, eyes losing focus, remembering. “Underground.”

Qara remained frozen, just listening.

“I saw a river, and terra cotta warriors.”

“But,” said Caleb, “we told that agent in there it was Qin Shi Huang’s mausoleum, and that Genghis Khan just borrowed a pre-existing site.”

Phoebe cleared her throat. “But I saw the truth. Saw them merely model a new mausoleum after Huang’s older one. Saw them hollowing out great caverns underground, building an entire walled city, complete with a river and a small sea, gardens and monasteries, all for the dead. But it’s somewhere else.”

“Where?” Qara asked breathlessly.

“Why don’t you just tell us?” Caleb snapped. “We’re close. An hour or so with Orlando digitally mapping the exterior of the entranceway, designed from what Phoebe saw, and then matching the images to-” He looked at Phoebe, who had slumped forward, rocking. She slid sideways, supported against the wall.