David Sakmyster - The Mongol Objective

Head down, he followed, staring at the colonel’s boots as they crunched into the hard ground. Suddenly Hiltmeyer spun, pressed a hand against Alexander’s chest and leaned in.

“Quick. Tell me what you saw.”

They rode in slowly around the south side of the site while the other two jeeps approached from the east and west. Hiltmeyer was on the walkie-talkie, coordinating with his men as their jeeps descended into the valley. He glanced back at Montross. This was going to be tricky.

They stopped on the ridge and Nina stepped out, going to the trunk for the sniper rifle. “We’ll provide teams A and B cover from up here,” she said.

Hiltmeyer nodded, then flashed Harris a look. They stepped out of the jeep. Montross and Alexander got out last. “Now we watch,” said Nina, setting up a tripod, then passing around night-vision goggles. “Pick out our targets, and then-”

Suddenly she spun, kicked away the tripod, and aimed the rifle at Hiltmeyer, even as he was going for his gun. Montross pulled out Nilak’s gun and pointed it at Harris’s forehead.

“Now,” said Montross, disarming Hiltmeyer and Harris, “Colonel, kindly get on your walkie-talkie there and tell your teams this is for real. We’ve already given them information on where Renee’s commandos are hiding out, and with any luck, your men might live through this.”

“But-”

“Yes, we know. Renee’s men are your men too.” Montross gave him a slanted look. “I guess you need to make a choice here.”

Nina stepped in, reversed the rifle and slammed Hiltmeyer in the ribs. He swore, then lunged for her, but she had the business end back on him in a flash. “Talk to them. Now!”

Groaning, holding his side, Hiltmeyer reached for the walkie-talkie and stopped, catching Alexander’s eye. He saw pity there, maybe even sympathy.

Damned psychics.

Colonel Hiltmeyer brought the phone to his lips and closed his eyes. I’m sorry, he thought, and pushed the button. “Do it,” Hiltmeyer ordered. “Turn on your lights, go in strong!”

Nina turned and set up her rifle as Montross kept his gun trained on Hiltmeyer and Harris. She sighted with her scope, and as soon as the headlights pierced the blackness from two directions, she chose her targets and began shooting.

Alexander shrank back as far as he could, all the way against the side of the jeep. He put his hands over his ears, but couldn’t help but watch the firefight on the field ahead. Cringing with each of Nina’s shots, he imagined bodies plucked from the shadows, heads exploding, men dropping without knowing what hit them.

He heard automatic gunfire, shouting and screaming in a foreign language. More gunshots. He watched Harris and Hiltmeyer, standing impotently, fists clenched. Then he saw Nina reload, sight, track a target and fire. And in the flashes after each shot, he saw the rush of excitement on her face. And finally, as the blasts subsided, a contented smile.

“Done,” she said at last, after scanning the field with her binoculars. She stood, disconnected the tripod and returned the rifle to the trunk. Business-like and efficient. Then she pulled out her Beretta and jabbed it against the Colonel’s ribs.

“My men?” he asked.

Nina led him to the back seat, pushed him in. “Colonel, I’m sorry to report that nobody from either side survived.”

They stood around the pit before the archway and the first six stairs descending into the earth.

And a lot of dead bodies.

Montross stood on the edge, looking down while holding up the Emerald Tablet like a lantern. It glowed faintly, pulsing along with the charm on his necklace, lying against his chest.

“It’s time,” he said. “Alexander, you’re with me. Nina, escort our guests. They’ll be going first.”

“No way,” insisted Colonel Hiltmeyer. “I’m not going down there. I heard what the boy said.”

“That’s right,” Private Harris agreed. “No way.”

Nina slammed the back of her Beretta against his forehead, turned him around and then shoved him ahead, sending him tumbling down into the darkness.

“I’ll kill you-!”

“Enough!” Montross yelled. “Colonel, it’s up to you. You go first, or Nina puts a bullet in your head so you can stay up here with your men.”

“You’ll kill me anyway.”

“No,” said Nina, “we’re pretty sure what’s down there will do that for us. But at least you’ll have a chance.”

“And,” Montross said, “look at it this way. Now you get to see history in the making. People have been searching for the tomb of Genghis Khan for eight hundred years, and you’re about to find it.”

Hiltmeyer grit his teeth. “All right, but if I get hit with something down there, I’m going to do my damndest to make sure I take all of you with me.”

“Or maybe,” Montross said, hefting the tablet, “along the way you’ll realize you and your boss are on the wrong side. You can’t fight us.”

Hiltmeyer shook his head. “You don’t know anything. All your abilities, and that thing you carry, you don’t even know who or what you’re fighting.”

Nina jabbed him in his side, then pushed him ahead. “Lead the way, Colonel. Genghis awaits.”

Forty minutes before the shooting started, before all the ensuing carnage, Caleb and Phoebe had descended into the mausoleum.

They went ahead of Orlando, Qara and Renee, with two other Chinese soldiers following at the rear making sure they didn’t turn and flee. Ahead, sixteen soldiers led the way. Chang’s team entered with four rows of four men each, equally spaced in the passageway. The air was thin, stale and brittle. Every soldier carried Type 81 assault rifles-the Chinese version of the AK-47, but with enhanced designs and better accuracy. They all had Maglites fitted onto the barrels, and when Caleb looked down the ramp he saw only the dozen-plus flashlight beams stabbing out wildly, tracing the sloping ceiling, the wide, descending steps and the pockmarked granite walls.

Remarkably free of dust, the beams were pure white energy striking here and there, illuminating faces and betraying fear in the men whose trembling hands wielded the rifles. “Shouldn’t we be worried?” Phoebe whispered, glancing right and left, trying to see in the sporadic light, looking for telltale signs of traps. Immediately she felt like she was back in that Mayan temple in Belize. Out of her element, blind.

“Not yet,” Caleb answered. “I believe we’re safe until-”

Some commotion ahead, shouting.

“A wall!” Chang yelled back.

The four flashlight beams at the front position converged into one thick laser-like spear that thrust up against a solid wall.

“Don’t touch it!” Renee yelled. “Wait for me.”

They all reached the bottom, fanning out into a larger rectangular chamber with a low ceiling. The beams darted around, highlighting cracks, a root sticking through one side.

“We must be what, a hundred feet down?” Orlando wondered.

Caleb looked back the way they had come, past the two commandos with their guns pointed down, their faces and emotions lost in shadow. Already the way behind them was gone, as if the blackness had swallowed up their trail, stealthily consuming their one route of escape. “I’ve counted seventy-two steps.”

“A little too familiar,” Phoebe said. Did Sostratus have a hand in this, too?” She saw his look. “I’m kidding. Of course I know this was built fifteen hundred years after the Pharos.”

Renee pushed between Caleb and Phoebe and approached the wall. All the beams reflecting off the pale white surface made it hard at first to see the mural painted there. Well-preserved in the darkness, the vibrant face of Genghis Khan sternly gazed at them, superimposed upon his banner of nine ox tails. In a series of four vertical columns, Mongolian script covered the right side of the wall.