Текст книги "Treasure of Khan"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Dirk Cussler
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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

-32-

Good-bye, Dirk. And good-bye to your friend Al."

Noyon bounded up the steps and bowed. Pitt stood up and shook the boy's hand, marveling at the maturity of the ten-year-old.

"So long, my friend," Pitt replied. "I hope that we shall meet again."

"Yes. Next time, you ride the camels," the boy grinned, then ran down the path toward the waiting school bus at the edge of the monastery. The doors closed behind him and the old bus roared off up the ridge toward the setting sun.

The rumble woke Giordino from his nap and he padded onto the porch, stretching his arms to awaken.

"Noyon and the kids headed home from school?" he asked, catching a glimpse of the bus before it disappeared over the hill.

"He just came by and said farewell. Wanted me to tell you that his best camel is available for riding excursions at any time." Pitt stuck his nose back into Hunt's diary with a mesmerized look on his face.

"How's the kiss-and-tell saga of our petrified archaeologist?"

"One that you won't believe," Pitt said.

Giordino saw the serious look in Pitt's eyes and took a seat on the steps.

"What did you find?"

"Dr. Hunt, his Mongolian assistant, and a team of Chinese laborers were excavating the remains of a vanished city in northern China named Shang-tu."

"Never heard of it."

"You might know it by its more romanticized Western name ... Xanadu."

"Not another one," Giordino said, shaking his head. "Did it really exist?"

"Most definitely. It was the summer palace of Kublai Khan. He built the joint about one hundred twenty miles northwest of Beijing to get out of the summer heat. It was surrounded by a walled hunting ground and an adjacent village of upwards of one hundred thousand people. By the time Hunt came along, it was no more than a pile of rock and dust on an empty plain."

"So the artifacts on the plane date from Kublai Khan's reign? They must be worth a small fortune. That is, the few items not broken into a thousand pieces during the plane crash."

"Quite possibly. Though Hunt himself was disappointed with the haul. He writes that there was really nothing of significance uncovered until the very last day of the excavation. That's when your wooden box and the cheetah skin were dug up."

Pitt had the open wooden box sitting on the porch, the cheetah skin and bronze tube sitting inside. He pulled out the animal skin first.

"Hunt made little mention of the cheetah skin, but look at this," he said, laying out the fur, then flipping it over. On the skinned side was a series of eight small paintings in separate boxed panels. The first image showed a large Chinese junk sailing down a river trailed by two smaller vessels. The subsequent paintings showed the ships at sea, then anchoring in a small bay. The final panel showed the large ship on fire in the bay. A rippled banner of a blue dog fluttered in flames from the ship's foremast. On the shore, some boxes were stacked near the ship, but they, too, were surrounded by fire. Flames and smoke consumed the land all around the bay.

"Seems to relay a voyage that ended in a firestorm," Giordino said. "Perhaps they ran into some adversaries who were skilled with Greek Fire. Or it looks like they might have moored close to a forest fire ashore and were caught by blowing embers. There was no interpretation by the British archaeologist?"

"None. I wonder if he even examined the back side of the skin before he died."

"Any significance to the box?"

"It wasn't the box that was noteworthy but the bronze tube. Or, rather, something that was inside the bronze tube. A silk scroll of some sort was apparently rolled up inside. Painted on it was a treasure map to an unbelievable find."

"The canister was empty when we found it. Do you suppose it's still with Hunt on the plane?"

"Here, read Hunt's last entries," Pitt said, passing the diary to Giordino. Three brief passages were written on the last page of text.

August 5, 1937.En route to Ulaanbaatar by aircraft. With a heavy heart, I must write of a dreadful discovery. Tsendyn, my loyal associate, partner, and friend, has betrayed me in the end. The silk scroll is gone, stolen from its canister, which I carefully guarded since its excavation. Tsendyn was the only person who could have removed it, striking a dagger in my back before the plane left the ground. With it, the trail to G.K. is lost. I shall endeavor to recall the clues and reconstruct the map by memory. Then I will outfit a small party in U.B. and make the search attempt. Perhaps if nothing else, I will run into Tsendyn on the slopes of Burkhan Khaldun and obtain fair retribution. My only hope The entry ended midsentence, resumed later in a shaky hand. Giordino noted that the dusty page was stained with drops of blood.

Date unknown.We have crashed in the desert, shot down by a Japanese warplane. Both pilots dead. I fear my back and legs are broken. Am unable to move. Waiting for help. I pray we will be discovered soon. Pain is unbearable.

Then later, in a crude scribble:

Last entry.All hope is gone. My sincere regrets to Leeds at the British Museum, and my love to my dear wife, Emily. God save our souls.

"Poor bugger," Giordino said. "That explains why he was lying atop the debris in the plane. He must have lay there several days before dying."

"His pain must have been all the worse, knowing what he lost."

"So what was the treasure on the silk map? Who or what is G.K.?"

"Hunt describes the silk scroll in an earlier entry, after its discovery. He was convinced, as was his aid Tsendyn, that it depicted the map to a lost tomb. The location in the Khentii Mountains of Mongolia, the royal markings, even a legend about a weeping camel all fit the historical records. The silk map indicated the final burial place of Genghis Khan."

Giordino let out a low whistle, then shook his head. "Genghis Khan, eh? Must have been sold a phony map. Old Genghis has yet to be found. His grave still rates as one of the biggest archaeological mysteries on the planet."

Pitt gazed at a swirling cloud of dust on the horizon, a thousand images running through his mind. Then it was his turn to shake his head.

"On the contrary. His tomb has indeed been found," he said quietly.

Giordino stared at him with a blank look on his face but knew better than to question Pitt's assertion. Pitt flipped through the diary to a page near the beginning and held the passage open for Giordino to see.

"Hunt's assistant from Mongolia, Tsendyn. His last name is Borjin."

"It can't be. His father?"

"If I'm not mistaken, we recently visited the marble tomb of the late Tsendyn Borjin."

"If that was Borjin's father in the stone chapel, then the sarcophagus in the center of the chamber ..."

"That's right," Pitt said ruefully. "The tomb of Genghis Khan is sitting in Tolgoi Borjin's backyard."

***

They joined the lama and monks at sunset for dinner in one of the gers.Like all their meals of late, it was a simple affair, consisting of a vegetable broth with noodles, washed down with some earthy black tea.

The monks ate in silent reverence, nodding only in reply to the lama's occasional spoken word. Pitt casually studied the faces of the wizened monks who moved with stoic grace. Most were older than sixty, their studious brown eyes peering from crevice-lined faces. All wore their hair shaved close to the head but for one younger man with a thick build. He quickly gulped down his meal, then turned and grinned incessantly at Pitt until the others were finished.

After the meal, Pitt and Giordino observed an evening prayer in the temple, then retired to the storeroom.

The revelation about Genghis Khan in Hunt's diary consumed Pitt's thoughts, and he was more anxious than ever to return to Ulaanbaatar. As they prepared to turn in, he dragged one of the cots over near the entryway.

"Can't sleep under a closed roof anymore?" Giordino chided.

"No," Pitt replied. "Something's bothering me."

"The lack of a decent meal in nearly a week is bothering me," Giordino said, crawling under a blanket.

Pitt pulled down an open box from the shelf that contained incense, beads, and other accoutrements of Buddhist prayer. After rummaging around a few minutes, he turned out the kerosene lamp and joined Giordino in counting sheep.

***

The prowler came after midnight, silently opening the storeroom door just enough to let himself and a sliver of moonlight through the crack. Hesitating a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dark interior, he moved slowly toward the cot near the entry. Stepping toward the bed, his foot grazed a small prayer bell left on the floor. As the soft metallic ring echoed through the still room, the intruder froze, halting even his breathing. As the seconds ticked away, his ears strained to detect movement or stirring in the room, but all remained quiet.

Steady on his feet, the man knelt to the floor, locating the bell with a soft hand and gently sliding it out of his path. His knuckles grazed a second bell, which he cautiously moved before inching closer to the cot.

He could just make out the sleeping body that lay still under a blanket. Standing above it, he raised a glistening double-edged sword toward the rafters with both hands, then swung the blade down in a lethal slash. The razor-sharp blade struck just below the pillow, where the sleeper's neck would be.

But something was wrong. There was no knotty resistance of the blade cutting through bone, no splash of blood or gasp of breath from the dying victim. The sword instead cut through without resistance down to the cot, the blade driving deep into the wooden frame. A startled confusion came over the would-be assassin before the sudden realization that he'd been had. But by then it was too late.

Pitt was already charging from his cot at the back of the room. The sliver of light creeping through the open door perfectly backlit the would-be killer hunched over the entryway cot, giving Pitt a clear target.

In his hands, Pitt carried a wooden-handled shovel that he had borrowed from the excavation area and stashed under his bed. A step away from the cot that was stuffed with pillows, he pulled the shovel over his shoulder and swung at the black silhouette.

The intruder did his best to recover. Hearing Pitt's footsteps approach, he pulled the sword out from the cot and wielded it over his head. Feeling rather than seeing Pitt draw near in the dark, he thrust the sword toward him in a wide arc.

But Pitt's movements were already ahead of him. The blade of the shovel materialized out of the darkness and smashed into the intruder's hand as he started his downswing. The crunching sound of knuckles mashed on metal was quickly followed by a bloodcurdling cry of agony that echoed across the compound.

The sword flew out of the assassin's hand and clattered across the hardwood floor. Not interested in a duel, he grasped his mangled hand and staggered back toward the doorway. Pitt made another swing with the shovel from his left side but the intruder lurched out of harm's way. The cot was situated between the two men and Pitt made one more lunge across the empty bed. He swung hard and low as he saw the intruder turn toward the door. The shovel head clipped the back of the man's leg just below the calf.

Another shot of pain seared through the assassin's body as he lost all balance and tumbled hard to the floor. Still clutching his mashed hand, he failed to brace himself as he fell. Unseen in the dark, the heavy iron bell clipped him at the hairline as he went down. Pitt heard a cracking sound like a shattering baseball bat, followed by the secondary thud of the man's body hitting the floor.

Giordino materialized at Pitt's side, then stepped around the cot and kicked the door fully open. Under the full glow of the moon, they could see the intruder's lifeless body lying on its side, the head tilted at an unnatural angle.

"Snapped his neck," Giordino said, bending over the still form.

"A kinder treatment than he had in mind for us," Pitt said, leaning his shovel against the wall and picking up the sword.

Lights appeared on the porch, then the lama and two monks entered the room, each carrying a kerosene lantern.

"We heard a scream," the lama said, then looked down at the body near his feet. The bright red robe worn by the victim shined brightly under the lanterns. Even Giordino was startled by seeing that the intruder was dressed in attire associated with the nonviolent Buddhist monks. The lama looked at the short black hair and youthful face with immediate recognition.

"Zenoui," the lama said without emotion. "He's dead."

"He tried to kill us," Pitt said, holding up the sword and displaying the sliced blankets on the cot. "I tripped him with the shovel, and he fell on the bell and broke his neck. I suspect you will find additional weapons on his body."

The lama turned to one of the monks and spoke in Mongolian. The underling knelt down and patted the robes on the corpse. Lifting a section of red cloth, he revealed a belt that held a dagger and a small automatic pistol.

"This is not the way of the dharma," the lama said with shock.

"How long has he been at the monastery?" Pitt asked.

"He arrived just the day before you. He said he hailed from the northern state of Orhon but that he was crossing the Gobi in search of inner tranquility."

"He's found it now," Giordino said with a smirk.

The lama contemplated an earlier conversation, then gazed suspiciously at Pitt and Giordino. "He asked about two foreigners crossing the desert when he arrived. I told him we knew nothing of you but that there was a good chance you might appear here, as the weekly supply truck is the most reliable means to Ulaanbaatar in the vicinity. After telling him this, he expressed the desire to prolong his stay."

"That explains your knowledge of our arrival," Pitt said.

"But why the attempt on your lives?"

Pitt briefly explained their visit and escape from Borjin's compound while in search of the missing oil survey team. "This man was likely an employee of Borjin."

"Then he is not a monk?"

"I would say that was not his primary calling."

"He was indeed ignorant of many of our customs," the lama said. His face burrowing, he added, "A killing at the monastery, I fear, may cause us great trouble with the state authorities."

"His death was in fact an accident. Report it as such."

"We can certainly do without a state inquisition," Giordino muttered.

"Yes," the lama agreed, "if that is the truth, then it will be reported as an accident. After you have departed." The lama had the other two monks wrap the body in a blanket and move it to the temple.

"I regret your lives were placed in peril while visiting our enclave," he said.

"We regret attracting such trouble to your monastery," Pitt replied.

"May the rest of your stay be enjoyed in peace," the lama said, then he drifted off to the temple, where a brief prayer was held for the dead intruder.

"Nice bit of detective work," Giordino said, closing the door and bracing the damaged cot behind it.

"How did you know there was a phony monk in the deck?"

"Just a hunch. He didn't seem to have the ascetic air of the other devout monks, plus he kept looking us over at dinner like he knew who we were. It didn't seem a stretch that Borjin would still have someone on the prowl for us, even someone disguised as a monk."

"I hope he didn't bring any friends with him. I guess that means I owe you now," Giordino said.

"Owe me what?"

"Shovel duty for the rest of the night," he said, sliding the dented spade under his cot before burrowing under the covers.

***

The supply truck arrived late the next morning, offloading several crates of vegetables and dry goods into the storeroom. After helping unload the truck, the monks congregated in the temple for a period of meditation. The lama lagged behind, chatting with the truck driver as Pitt and Giordino prepared to depart.

"The driver welcomes your company in the cab. He says it will be a five-hour trip to Ulaanbaatar."

"Our sincere thanks for your hospitality," Pitt said. He gazed toward the temple, where the wrapped body of the assassin lay on a bench. "Has anyone come looking for your other visitor?"

"No," the lama said, shaking his head. "He will be cremated in four days, but his ashes will not remain in the compound. He did not carry the spirit of Sakyamuni in his heart," he said, referring to the historical Buddha. The old lama turned back toward Pitt and Giordino. "My heart tells me that you are men of honor. Travel in wisdom and strength of spirit and you shall find what you seek."

The lama bowed deeply, and Pitt and Giordino returned the gesture before climbing into the truck. The driver, an old Mongolian with several missing front teeth, smiled broadly, then started the truck and drove slowly out of the compound. The lama stood motionless, his head down, until the truck was out of sight, its settled trail of dust coating the old man's robe and sandals.

Pitt and Giordino sat silently as the truck bounced over the desert, both reflecting the parting words of the lama. It seemed as if the wizened old man knew what they were after, and had given them the green light.

"We have to go back," Pitt finally muttered.

"To Xanadu?" Giordino asked.

"To Xanadu."

Part Three
Tremors

-33-

The blue-spotted grouper cast a steely eye at the large figure swimming toward him. It moved too slowly to be a shark, and the neon-blue skin was too dazzling to be a dolphin. And it propelled itself in an odd manner by yellow appendages where the tail should be. Deciding the figure was neither friend nor foe, the grouper eased out of the way and headed for another section of the reef to scour for food.

Summer Pitt paid scant attention to the big fish as it darted into the blue murk. Her focus was on a yellow nylon line stretched across the seafloor that she followed like a marked trail. Her lithe body moved gracefully through the water at a steady pace, skimming just a foot or two above the gnarled heads of the coral reef. A digital video camera was clasped in her hands, capturing the colorful images of the reef on either side of the yellow line.

Summer was documenting the reef as part of a NUMA project assessing the health of coral reefs in the Hawaiian Islands. Sedimentation, overfishing, and algae outbreaks due to pollution and global warming had wreaked a slow and steady degradation of coral reefs around the world. Though the reefs of Hawaii had mostly been spared, there was no guarantee they would not succumb to the severe bleaching and mass mortality that had been witnessed in reefs surrounding Australia, Okinawa, and Micronesia. By monitoring the health of the reefs, the influence of man-made activities could be detected and addressed proactively.

The methodology was remarkably simple. Video frames from a surveyed reef were compared with sample images taken months or years earlier at the same locale. A count of the fish and "benthic," or seafloor, organisms provided a scientific snapshot of the reef's relative health. Dozens of reefs around the islands were targeted by the NUMA project to provide an assessment of the entire region's waters.

Summer kicked lazily along the track line until reaching the end point in a sand gully, marked by a stainless steel pin driven into the seafloor. A plastic card marked in grease pen was attached to the pin.

Summer reached down and turned the card toward the camera, filming the designated line and waypoint before turning the camera off. As she let go of the placard, something in a nearby burrow of sand caught her eye. Kicking her yellow fins in short scissors kicks, she glided over to a cluster of small rocks. A small octopus was sliding about the rocks, puffing its body up and down as it drew water through its gills.

Summer watched the intelligent invertebrate as it changed color, turning nearly translucent as it expanded its mantle before squirming away toward the reef. Gazing back at the rocks, she noticed a small round object protruding from the nearby sand. A miniature face seemed to smile up at Summer, as if happy to be discovered. Summer fanned away a light layer of sand, then plucked up the object and held it in front of her mask.

It was a tiny porcelain figurine of a maiden, wearing a flowing red robe, her black hair rolled high in a bun. The statuette's plump cheeks were tinged with red like a cherub while the narrow eyes were unmistakably Asian. The artistic handiwork was somewhat crude, and there was an ancient look to the dress and pose. Just to assure herself, Summer flipped the figurine over, but found no made in Hong Kong stamp on the bottom. Sifting her free hand through the soft sand, she found no other buried objects nearby.

A few yards away, the silvery air bubbles from another diver caught her attention. It was a man, kneeling on the edge of the reef taking a sediment sample. Summer swam over and hovered in front of the other diver, then held up the porcelain figure.

The bright green eyes of her brother Dirk glistened in curiosity as he studied the object. Lean and tall like the father he shared names with, Dirk secured the sediment sample in a dive bag, then stretched out his legs and motioned for Summer to show him where she found it. She led him away from the reef and across the sandbar to the gravelly patch where she had spotted the smiling face. Dirk pulled alongside, and the two of them swam in a wide circle around the sandbar, gliding a few feet off the bottom. The undulating field of sand abruptly ended in a gnarled bed of lava as they circled toward the shore. Moving away from the shoreline, the sand bed dropped away in a steep incline that didn't reach bottom for another fifteen thousand feet. A small patch of coral appeared in the middle of the sand field, which Dirk swam down to examine.

The coral stretched in a linear path for ten feet before disappearing under the sand. Dirk noticed the sand appeared darker along a continuing line before meeting the lava wall. Summer swam toward a small round clump that rose from the bottom, then waved Dirk over to take a look. Dirk kicked over to what appeared to be a large rectangular stone nearly six feet across. He dove down and felt its hard growth-encrusted edge with a gloved hand, then probed along its surface. The hardness gave way as his fingers pressed into a dense growth of sea urchins at its center. Nodding his head with interest, Summer moved in with her video camera and filmed a close-up shot of the object. The two divers then abandoned the item and completed their circular sweep, finding no other objects. Reaching a drop line near where they started, they kicked to the rippling surface thirty feet above.

Their heads bobbed up in the sapphire blue waters of a large cove near Keliuli Bay on the southwest shore of Hawaii's Big Island. A few hundred yards away, the surf crashed into a rocky shoreline, which rose steeply to encircle the cove in high cliffs of black lava. The crash of the waves striking the rocks reverberated off the steep walls in a thunderous roar as a ring of white foam settled on the surface.

Dirk swam over to a small inflatable boat tethered to the drop line and bellied himself over the side.

Unfastening his tank and weight belt, he reached over the side and helped pull his sister aboard. Summer spat out her regulator, barely catching her breath.

"What do you make of that coral outcropping in the middle of the sandbar?" she asked.

"It showed some linearity."

"I thought so, too. I'd like to excavate some of the sand around its fringes and see if there's anything there not devoured by the coral."

She pulled the porcelain figurine from her dive bag and studied it under the sunlight.

"You think you've got a shipwreck in the coral, eh?" Dirk chided, releasing the bowline and starting a small outboard motor.

"This had to come from somewhere," she said, holding up the figurine. "How old do you think it might be?"

"I haven't a clue," Dirk replied. "For my money, the rectangle stone is much more intriguing."

"You have a theory?"

"I do," he said, "but I don't think I'll make any outlandish claims until I've had a chance to peruse the ship's research computers."

Dirk gunned the throttle and the small boat leaped over the waves toward a ship moored in the distance.

The NUMA research vessel was painted a bright turquoise blue, and as they approached from the stern the black-lettered MARIANA EXPLORER could be read on the transom. Dirk idled the boat to the port side, drifting beneath a small crane that hung over the water dangling a strand of cables. As Dirk and Summer attached the cable ends to Dhooks mounted to the rubber boat, a man's torso leaned over the rail. With a muscular build, thick mustache, and steely blue eyes, the man could have been the incarnate of Wyatt Earp, reborn with a Texas accent.

"Hang on to your pants," he shouted, pressing the controls on the hydraulic winch. In an instant, Jack Dahlgren raised the boat out of the water and deposited it on the ship's deck. As he helped rinse off and stow the dive equipment, he asked Summer, "Did you capture the final reef here? The captain wants to know if he can pick up and move to the next survey area, Leleiwi Point, on the east side of the island."

"The answer is yes and no," Summer replied. "We've completed the data collection, but I'd like to make another dive on the site."

Dirk held up the porcelain figure. "Summer thinks she has a treasure wreck on her hands," he grinned.

"Cultural treasure would be just as fine with me."

"What signs of a wreck did you find?" Dahlgren asked.

"Nothing obvious, but Summer did find an interesting stone object," Dirk offered. "We need to go look at the videotape."

Dirk and Summer showered and dressed, then met Dahlgren in one of the research ship's laboratories.

Dahlgren had hooked the video camera to a monitor and was replaying the images over the large screen.

When the rectangular stone appeared, Dirk reached over and pressed the PAUSE button.

"I've seen something like that before," he said, then sat down at an adjacent computer and began tapping the keyboard. "It was at an underwater archaeology conference, from a paper presented on a wreck discovered in Malaysia."

After a few moments of searching, he located a website that contained a copy of the scientific paper, along with photographs of the excavation. Dirk scrolled through the images until he stopped at an underwater photograph of a stone slab. It was a rectangular piece of granite, tapered on one end, with a pair of holes carved through the center.

"Clear away the growth and I'd say you have a close match to the object in Summer's video," Dahlgren asserted, comparing images.

"Yes, not only the same shape but the same relative size," Dirk noted.

"Okay, I'll bite," Summer said. "What is it?"

"An anchor," Dirk replied. "Or, rather, the stone weight that fitted into a wooden grappling anchor.

Before the days of lead and iron, it was a lot simpler to construct an anchor from wood and stone."

"You're talking the ancient days of sail," Dahlgren said.

Dirk nodded. "That's why it is intriguing. Summer's anchor looks to be an identical match for this one,"

he said, pointing to the screen.

"We all agree on that," Summer said. "But what's it from? What kind of wreck did they excavate in Malaysia?"

"Well," Dirk said, scrolling down the screen to a computerized drawing of a four-masted sailing ship.

"Would you believe a thirteenth-century Chinese junk?"