David Sakmyster - The Mongol Objective

She released Alexander, who was sweating, eyes heavy, barely open.

“What happened to him?” Montross asked, turning around. Alexander slumped to the side, breathing slowly, exhausted.

Nina shook her head, lowered her eyes. “Nothing. Car sick, maybe.”

“Tough it out, kid. Going to be a long ride.”

Nina took a deep breath, then leaned back, trying to appear relaxed. “Xavier? I never asked you about your childhood. Did you have sisters? Brothers?”

Frowning at her, he shook his head. “Remember? Parents killed when I was six? And no other rugrats before or after me, far as I know.”

“You never looked?”

His expression darkened despite the waning sun blasting through his window. “Okay, my father? He wasn’t my real father.”

“You were adopted?”

“No, I only said my dad wasn’t my dad. He married my mother after she had me.” He sighed, and his eyes dulled with anger. “I only tried to find my real father once. Saw my mother with someone. An oily haired college-type.” He waved his hand. “Some quick tryst, and she never saw him again. I got that much.”

“What else?”

“What else? That’s it. That’s all I wanted to know. He was a prick, and I had more important things to chase after than someone who only wanted to chase after coeds.”

“Oh. Okay, then. So, when was your birthday?”

“What the hell is this, twenty questions?”

She gave a weak smile. “Maybe I want to send you a card, and a tie.”

“It’s October fifteenth, okay? My favorite color is red, I love pistachio ice cream, long walks through ancient ruins, treasure hunting and seeking magical objects of immense power. And I’m not afraid who gets hurt-or killed-in the process. Anything else, dear Nina? Are we a good fit?”

She laughed. “No one’s a match for me, you know that.”

“Black widow?”

“The blackest.” She closed her eyes, thinking. The Emerald Tablet, so close. It could enhance her visions, but she was never good at initiating them, only in bringing such powers out of other people, and then sharing in the sights. She could try it with Xavier, try to view his father again, but she wasn’t sure if this was something she wanted to share with him just yet.

Three brothers.

Three keys.

Alexander had been seeing this vision for years, but never anything more. No further details, but whatever this was, it was vitally important, crucial that he understand it. But he was still too young, and couldn’t rationalize it out.

But maybe she could, given more time with the boy.

On the drive, as Montross closed his eyes, meditating or dreaming, she wasn’t sure which, Alexander fell completely asleep. He rested his head on Nina’s shoulder, perhaps drawing comfort there in a longing for his lost mother. She shifted in her seat to prevent it from lolling forward.

Who were the three brothers? she thought. Surely they hadn’t been born in Khufu’s time, around 2600 BCE, or any time in the following forty-five hundred years, or else the door would have been opened, and the keys would not still have been hidden away, protected.

Guarded.

Some prophet and seer had glimpsed the future, seen enough to reveal a prophecy. It was possible the three could be here, right now. Who were they?

She had an idea now, based on what Montross had told her and Alexander’s vision of his parents’ car crash. His true father.

A college-type.

She thought back to her time in Alexandria, one night with Caleb, sharing his visions, his dreams. And of course, she had read George Waxman’s extensive file on the Crowe family. Especially the details on Phillip, Caleb’s father. The college professor.

A smile formed on her lips.

Things were certainly getting a lot more interesting.

Erdos City, 5 P.M.

Renee Wagner put away her badge and her credentials. The lead sergeant, Chang Xiaolong, returned her satellite phone after his supervisor in Beijing had sternly ordered him to provide Renee with anything she wished.

She spoke in Mandarin, with authority, as she removed her Kevlar vest, trying not to wince. “He told you what we have here?”

“Yes, Agent Wagner.”

“A threat to your national security. And an opportunity. Your men, are they trustworthy? Loyal?”

“Of course, every one.”

“Good, then not a word of this gets out. And they are now under my control, is that clear?”

He bowed his head quickly, and Renee smiled. Must’ve gotten his ear chewed off. “I want all these vehicles on the road now. But first, load them with halogen floodlights, generators, dynamite, shovels and flashlights, extra ammo. And call in a helicopter. I want you and three of your best shooters there ASAP. And find me a new vest. Please.” She dropped the one that had just saved her life. She touched the chain around her neck, pulled out the charm and stared at it-at the lance spearing the dragon, the ancient symbol.

Soon, they would have the keys. Caleb and his new friend couldn’t stop her. And if Montross was on his way, she would deal with him, too.

“Agent? The jeeps-once they have the supplies, where should I send these men?”

She turned her face to the cool wind and the bright blue sky.

“To Xanadu.”

Washington, DC 1:13 A.M., the Pentagon

Senator Mason Calderon followed his armed escort through the sub-basement halls, around a corner and through a door requiring a palm-print verification and retina scan. He moved slowly, deliberately, walking with a cane although he didn’t need it. Smooth mahogany shaft, the cane had a golden handle in the shape of a coiled dragon with a spearpoint through its skull. Calderon’s fingers gently held the solid gold tip, carrying it more than using it to lean on as he glided down the silent polished floors.

Various black-ops projects were given space down here in these well-protected and anonymous bunkers, and this one’s budget was modest compared to some. Not concerned with regime change, terrorist tracking or domestic surveillance, this one had simply existed for the purpose of monitoring certain sites of archaeological and cultural significance.

But eight years ago, after the incident at the Pharos site, its mandate had changed from passive observation to direct participation, and preparation for an event more than five thousand years in the waiting.

A new leader had assumed control, a man that was particularly motivated, a high initiate in the true organization behind this project.

As soon as the door whisked shut behind him, Senator Calderon set his briefcase on the table and ignored, for the moment, the man sitting at the far end, in the shadows, visible only by the dim glow of his cigarette.

Something smelled foul, not entirely masked by the smoke.

Calderon stared at the eight flat screens mounted on the side walls. Four screens displayed only text and numerical data, coordinates of various teams in the field. The other four showed satellite images of several sites: a familiar blue-domed structure; a downward-facing view of the desert plain, three pyramids and a reclining stone sphinx; and then moving views of two sets of vehicles speeding across barren terrain.

“How close are they?” Calderon asked.

A throat cleared in a raspy, agonized cough. “Which team? The Morpheus Initiative or Agent Wagner’s?” Calderon could barely make out the words. The voice, ravaged, grating as though speaking through a mouthful of hot ash. He could only imagine the pain the man must be enduring, and to have refused drugs and treatment. True, it was a miracle he survived, and clearly he was favored, but maybe this was his punishment for failure.

Calderon looked at the screens. “Where’s Renee?”