David Sakmyster - The Mongol Objective

“A coffin!” someone shouted, the voice amplified by Renee’s transceiver.

“Describe it,” she said back into the device.

In broken English, almost too choppy to comprehend, she heard, “We at bottom. In room, eight wall. Box in middle. Gold. Three meter long.”

“Carefully,” said Renee, “approach the casket.” She took a very deep breath, glancing from Caleb to Qara, seeing their expressions of resigned fear. “Touch it.”

“ Hao.”

Seconds passed without sound or commotion.

“Report?”

Crackling. Shuffling.

“Fine. Okay. We move top. Look inside. We see…”

“What? What do you see?”

Nothing.

“What’s going on?” Renee barked. Chang took a few steps down and Caleb moved close behind him, peering down. Maybe only forty steps and the stairwell widened, revealing the four beams of light playing around a room bare of any artwork, furniture or treasure; nothing save for a gilded coffin.

And the four men on their knees around it, holding their throats. Coughing, wheezing.

Chang started down, but Caleb caught his arm, even as he stepped back. “Gas. Poison.” Chang aimed his light past the contorting men, and for an instant Caleb caught a glimpse of a man’s face: a foaming mouth, blood trickling from his nose, his eyes crimson. The light stabbed through the triangular opening into the coffin, to reveal — nothing but a few strips of rags.

“They treated the cloth with something that would ferment, turn and release a gas that would be trapped in that air-tight coffin,” Caleb said, backing up and hanging his head, “until opened.”

Qara smiled. “By intruders who wouldn’t heed the warnings.”

Renee swung her fist, slamming it into Qara’s cheek and knocking her down. Then she pointed to Chang, whose horrified face had turned to bitter resolve. “Shut that door.”

Caleb couldn’t help but let out a snicker. “You’re running out of men, Agent Wagner. At this rate, pretty soon we’ll outnumber you.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure the odds stay in my favor. As I see it, Orlando and Qara here are nearly useless. They’ll go first. Now talk. Tell us which way.”

“I don’t think it matters." He scratched his chin, staring again at the inscription. “ The best choice is not to choose. Maybe it means that our choice doesn’t matter.”

“So, what then?” Phoebe asked.

Caleb looked at each of them, including the ten remaining soldiers. “Who’s got a coin to flip?”

“Tails,” Orlando said, flipping and catching a gold dollar. “Looks like we’re headed left, for the old spike pit.”

“Damn,” Phoebe said. “I would’ve preferred the pancake room.”

Renee stared at the coin in Orlando’s open palm, two flashlight beams dancing across the eagle’s wings. “So, that’s it? All your vaulted abilities and we’re reduced to a coin toss?”

“That’s about right,” Caleb said. “Like I told you, our process takes months. Weeks at least. Even then, if we do see something, it’s hard to separate truth from imagination. In this case, the flip of a coin is as good as anything else.”

“I think,” Phoebe added, “that whichever way we choose, it won’t be easy.”

Qara cleared her throat as the soldiers prepared to move on Chang’s orders. Her eyes were haggard, and blood from the fresh cut on her cheek trickled down her bruised face. “Death walks with us.”

Nina led Colonel Hiltmeyer and Private Harris down the stairs first. Alexander followed after taking what he feared might be his last gulp of fresh air. Montross descended last, still holding aloft the Emerald Tablet in his left hand, his gun in his right. At the bottom, they followed the glow, approaching the threshold with caution.

“Left their floodlights behind,” Nina noted when they had passed the first door and saw the large halogen bulbs resting amidst the pile of skeletal remains.

“Good thing too,” Montross said, pointing at the mosaic floor. “Now we can follow Hansel and Gretel’s grisly trail.”

Alexander shuffled his feet, hands in his pocket, the chill reaching deeper as they proceeded. The air was dank and oppressive, stifling. The corridors on either side loomed dark and full of menace, and the stairs behind them only reminded him of the field of corpses above.

Death up there, death down here, he thought. As Above, so Below.

Private Harris went first, looking miserable and terrified all at once, rubbing his elbow which had been banged up during the fall down the stairs. Then Hiltmeyer went, glaring back at Nina with every step. Harris’s foot slid on one spot, almost connecting with another square tile. “Still wet,” he said with a shaky voice.

“We’re not far behind them,” Montross said.

Harris suddenly froze, unable to take another step, glancing in both directions, expecting a hail of spears to rip through him at any moment. He glanced back at Alexander. “Is this it?”

Alexander thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. I can’t tell.”

“A premonition?” Montross asked. “About Harris here? Ah, well if that was the case, the danger may now be passed.”

“You can change fate?” Harris asked hopefully.

“We all can,” Montross said. “We do it every day, every minute. But you’re only conscious of it when you can see the tracks ahead and you know what’s coming. Then, your choices seem to make you all powerful, make you feel almost godlike.”

That seemed to be confusing enough to mollify Harris, and he continued for now, following Hiltmeyer along the red-smeared tiles. Montross waited at the edge of the mosaic floor, staying back with Nina and Alexander.

“What’s up?” Nina asked.

He hugged the Emerald Tablet to his chest. “I just saw a flash of something. A glimpse ahead. Your friend Hiltmeyer… near the last tile, if we were still behind him, he was going to drop to his knees and roll over the wrong tiles, releasing the spikes from both passages-”

“Running us through while he rolled to safety.” Nina’s eyes burned. The Beretta felt lighter in her hand.

“You saw the future again?” Alexander asked Montross, overhearing. “You keep seeing your death, don’t you?”

Montross glanced down. “Observant boy. Yes. Seeing it-and avoiding it.”

“Wow. How many times?”

Montross shrugged. “I’ve racked up more wins against the Reaper than I can count.”

Alexander gave a little laugh. “Yeah, but he only has to win once.”

“So true. Now, let’s get going. Nina, keep your gun on Hiltmeyer until I’m across.”

“With pleasure.”

Alexander followed Montross, matching his steps, finding comfort in the fact that he was also following in his father’s footsteps. Finally, they crossed the map and were past the border of the mosaic, joining Hiltmeyer and Harris, where the colonel refused to make eye contact. Instead, he gazed ahead, into the shadows.

Montross held the tablet in one hand as he waved Nina forward and pulled out Nilak’s Ruger with the other. The tablet’s glow provided enough illumination to see by, but not much more.

When Nina was across, she threw one of her backpacks at the colonel. “Flashlights inside. Also water and food.” She patted the goggles hanging around her neck. “I’m keeping the night-vision goggles.”

“What’s up ahead?” Hiltmeyer asked, finding a flashlight and turning it on. He and Harris advanced, probing the shadows.

Alexander took a light from Nina and shined it straight ahead as he walked, following them. Then left, then right, down the newly revealed passageways.

“I smell something,” he said.

Montross wrinkled his nose. “Something toxic.” He pointed left. “From that direction.”