Текст книги "Treasure of Khan"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: Dirk Cussler
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Текущая страница: 31 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

-59-

Pitt placed Theresa in the backseat of the Range Rover as Giordino shoved Tatiana in, then climbed in beside Theresa. Wofford took to the front passenger's seat as Gunn turned the heater up high, quickly roasting the interior. Giordino stripped off Theresa's shoes and outer clothing, as his own shivering finally abated. The warm interior revived them all, and Theresa soon surprised everyone by sitting up and helping bandage Giordino's leg.

"Do we have you to thank for shaking up Borjin's abode?" Pitt asked of Gunn while he stood leaning on the driver's open window.

"Dr. von Wachter, actually. His seismic device is for real, and very user-friendly. I took a gamble and pressed the button and the next thing you know, instant tremor."

"Without a moment to spare, I might add."

"Nice shake, Rudi," Giordino grunted from the backseat, "but we could probably have done without the ice-water bath."

"I can't really take responsibility for the bonus elements of fire and flood," Gunn replied with feigned humility.

Pitt turned toward the laboratory and noticed for the first time a billow of smoke and flames pouring out the second-story windows. Somewhere in the building, a broken gas line had ignited, sending a fireball through the structure. A disheveled band of scientists were desperately pulling out equipment, research materials, and personal belongings before the whole building went up in flames.

Rid of her chill by the car's warm interior, Tatiana suddenly regained her feistiness.

"Get out," she hissed suddenly. "This is my brother's car."

"I thought it a nice choice as well," Gunn replied. "Remind me to thank him for leaving the keys in the ignition."

Gunn opened the door and started to climb out of the driver's seat. "You want to drive?" he asked Pitt.

"I'll climb in back with the wildcat."

"No," Pitt said, gazing toward the residence. "I want Borjin."

"Go ahead," Tatiana cursed, "so he can kill you dead."

Giordino had enough. With a quick jab, he rocked Tatiana's jaw. The screeching died as she melted onto the seat unconscious.

"I've been wanting to do that for some time," he said somewhat apologetically. He then turned to Pitt.

"You'll need backup."

"Not one with a bad wheel," he replied, nodding toward Giordino's bandaged leg. "No, you'd better support Rudi in getting everyone out of here, in case there's more trouble. I just want to make sure that our host hasn't disappeared."

"You can't last much longer in that icy water," Gunn said, noting a shiver from Pitt. "At least take my coat," he offered, slipping off his heavy jacket. "Not that you should cover up that fancy costume." He grinned at the soggy orange delPitt was wearing. Pitt stripped off the waterlogged outfit and gratefully zipped up Gunn's dry jacket in its place.

"Thanks, Rudi. Try to get off the grounds before the whole place slides off the mountain. If I don't find you within an hour, then hightail it to Ulaanbaatar without me."

"We'll be waiting."

Gunn jumped back into the Range Rover and jammed it into drive, sloshing toward the compound entrance. The original gate and a twenty-foot section of adjoining wall had been toppled by the floodwaters, littering the grounds with chunks of concrete and debris. Pitt watched as Gunn guided the Rover to the large gap in the wall, then bounced the four-wheel-drive vehicle over the debris until its taillights vanished outside the compound grounds.

Wading toward the dark and flooded residence, Pitt suddenly felt alone and very cold as he wondered what Borjin might have in store for him.

-60-

Though the worst of the flooding had subsided, there was still a half foot of water seeping though the residence when Pitt waded up the front steps. He stopped in front of the open front door, spotting a body lying facedown in the water, its legs wedged behind a large planter. Pitt moved closer and examined the man. He wasn't one of the gunmen Pitt had shot at but apparently another guard drowned by the floodwaters. Pitt noted that the man still clutched a wooden spear in one hand, his fingers clenched in a rigid grip. Pitt bent down and ripped the orange tunic from the man's body, then pried the spear from his left hand. He drove the spear tip through the armholes of the tunic and let it drape down as if hung from a hangar. A fool's bait, he thought, but it was all he had to counter those lying in wait inside.

Crouching at the doorway, he quickly slipped into the residence, rotating his .45 in an arc around the foyer. The entrance was empty and the entire house quiet, save for the steady rush of water cascading down a distant stairwell. The electricity had long since been extinguished, but a handful of emergency red lights dotted the hallway ceiling, powered by a remote generator. The lights provided little illumination, casting only patches of crimson shadows through the empty corridors.

Pitt peered down the three separate hallways. He could see out the open end of the northern corridor, where the gushing river was continuing to wash away the end of the wing. Borjin couldn't escape that way unless he had a kayak and a death wish, he thought. Pitt recalled Theresa indicating that the study was down the main corridor, so he slowly moved off in that direction.

Pitt hugged the side wall, his Colt aimed ahead in his right hand. He brought up the spear and tucked it under his elbow, bracing the tip at an outward and forward angle with his left hand. The ripped orange tunic, acting as Pitt's point man, marched a few feet ahead of Pitt, dangling in the center of the corridor.

Pitt moved slowly, shuffling his feet so as not to splash the water and provide an auditory warning of his arrival. He actually had little choice, as his feet were so numb from the frigid river water that he felt like he was walking on stumps. There would be no high-speed foot chases from him, as he fought to maintain a precarious sense of balance.

He moved with measured patience, passing by several small side rooms without entering. He would stop past each doorway and then wait several minutes to ensure no one crept up behind him. A fallen credenza and some broken statuettes blocked his path and he temporarily moved to the center of the hallway. Approaching the residence kitchen, he melded back to the side wall, letting the dangling tunic lead the way down the center of the corridor.

Numbed by the icy water, Pitt concentrated on keeping his visual and auditory senses on high alert.

When his ears detected a faint swishing sound, he froze, straining to determine if the noise was something in his imagination. Standing still, he slightly jiggled the wooden spear back and forth.

The burst came from the kitchen, a deafening blast of automatic gunfire that echoed off the walls. In the faint red light, Pitt could see the orange tunic shredded by the burst, as the bullets continued their path and slammed into the corridor wall just a few feet in front of him. Pitt calmly swiveled his .45 toward the open kitchen door, took aim at the muzzle flash, and squeezed the trigger three times.

As the Colt's booming report receded down the hallway, Pitt heard a weak gurgled gasp wail from the kitchen. It was followed by the metallic clang of a machine gun banging against steel pans, then a loud splash as the dead guard tumbled to the floor.

"Barsijar?" shouted the voice of Borjin from down the hallway.

Pitt grinned to himself as he let the query be met with silence. He had the distinct feeling that there were no more henchmen between himself and Borjin. Dropping the spear and tunic, he moved aggressively toward the sound of Borjin's voice. His deadened feet felt as if they had lead weights tied to them.

Almost hopping through the water, he brushed his free hand along the wall to keep balanced. Ahead of him, he could hear the splashing footsteps of Borjin suddenly dissipate at the end of the corridor.

A loud crash echoed from the side of the house as another chunk of the north wing crumbled under the river's surge. The whole residence shook under the rapid erosion, which ate closer and closer to the center of the house. Perched as it was on the side of a cliff, Pitt knew there was a real danger of the whole structure sliding down the mountain. But he dispelled any notion of turning and heading for the exit.

Borjin was close now and he could take him alive.

Pitt moved quickly past a few small side rooms then hesitated as he reached the fire-blackened study.

He shook off a freezing shiver from the cold and wet and willed himself to focus on the environment around him rather than his own discomfort. A steady murmur of rushing water had grown louder as he neared the end of the hall. Under the dim glow of an emergency light, he saw that it was the floodwaters cascading down a stairwell just past the study. Faint though they were, Pitt could also see a pair of wet prints leading into the dry conference room at the hall's end.

Pitt moved slowly past the stairwell and out of the draining water, thankful to at last remove his feet from the icy runoff. He cautiously approached the jamb of the conference-room door and peered inside. The late-rising moon had crept over the horizon and cast a bright silvery beam through the conference room's high glass windows. Pitt strained to discern Borjin's presence in the cavernous room, but all was still. He quietly stepped in, the muzzle of his Colt moving with his eyes.

Borjin's timing was impeccable. The Mongolian popped up from behind the end of the conference table while Pitt was facing the opposite side of the room. Too late, Pitt turned toward the movement as a loud twang erupted from the spot. Off balance and wheeling around on numb feet, Pitt fired a single shot toward Borjin but missed wide, the bullet shattering the glass window behind him. Borjin's aim was to prove more accurate.

Pitt saw but a fleeting glimpse of the feathered arrow before it struck his chest just below the heart, penetrating with a dull thud. It struck with a powerful impact, knocking him right off his feet. Thrown backward to the floor, Pitt caught a lasting image of Borjin standing with a crossbow cradled in his arms.

The moonlight sparkled off his sharp teeth, which were bared in a satisfied, murderous grin.

-61-

After slogging the four-wheel drive through fallen bits of the entry wall, Gunn turned the Range Rover toward a small rise outside the compound and clawed his way to the top. He swung the vehicle around on the summit, then turned off the headlights. From the elevated perch, they had a perfect view of the disintegrating compound below. The raging mountain runoff pounded through the shattered entrance wall and rippled around the main residence, while smoke and flames grew higher from the laboratory on the opposite side.

"I'd be happy if there's not a cinder left of that place," Wofford remarked, eyeing the destruction with satisfaction.

"Seeing how we're one hundred fifty miles from the nearest fire department, there is probably a pretty good chance of that," Gunn replied. Sweating from the blasting car heater that was drying and thawing the others, he climbed out of the car. Giordino hobbled out behind him, watching the devastation below.

The sound of gunfire echoed from somewhere inside the residence, and then, a few minutes later, a single gunshot was heard.

"He shouldn't have gone back alone," Giordino said, cursing. "Nobody could have stopped him," Gunn said. "He'll be all right." But a strange feeling in his stomach said otherwise.

***

Borjin placed the medieval crossbow back among his collection of antique weaponry, then stepped to the cracked window and took a hurried look outside. A torrent of water rained down in back of the house, gathering on the rear ledge before tumbling over the cliffside in a wide waterfall. Of greater concern to Borjin was the growing pool of water accumulating in the courtyard and approaching the sanctuary. He gazed with distress at the stone structure. The main edifice was still intact, but the arched entryway had been shaken to bits during the earthquake.

Ignoring Pitt's prone body on the opposite side of the room, Borjin rushed out of the conference room and waded down the adjacent stairwell. The cascading water surged at the back of his legs, and he hung tightly to the banister as he moved down the steps. He stopped only momentarily to gaze at the dark portrait above the midlanding, nodding faintly at the painting of the great warrior khan. The rising water was nearly waist-high on the lower level, until he unbolted the side door and released an icy torrent onto the courtyard. Stumbling like a drunken sailor, he staggered across the flooded yard to the shattered entrance of the sanctuary. Stepping over a pile of fallen stones, he entered the torchlit interior and was relieved to find only a few inches of water running across the built-up floor.

After checking to see that the tombs were undamaged, he surveyed the walls and ceiling. Several large cracks stretched across the domed ceiling like a giant spiderweb. The old structure was in a perilous state from the rattling earthquake. Borjin nervously gazed from the ceiling to the center tomb, considering how best to protect his most prized possession. He never noticed a shadow flickering by one of the torches.

"Your world is crumbling down around you, Borjin. And you with it."

The Mongolian spun around, then froze as if he had seen a ghost. The specter of Pitt standing on his feet across the room, the crossbow arrow protruding from his chest, was unearthly. Only the Colt .45 in his hand, held rock steady and aimed at Borjin's chest, dispelled any notion of supernatural rejuvenation.

Borjin could only stare back in disbelief.

Pitt edged toward one of the marble tombs at the side of the chamber, pointing at it with the barrel of his gun. "Nice of you to keep the relatives around. Your father?" he asked.

Borjin silently nodded, trying to regain his composure at the sight of a talking dead man.

"It was your father who stole the map to Genghis Khan's grave from a British archaeologist," Pitt said,

"but that still wasn't enough to locate it."

Borjin raised a brow at Pitt's comment. "My father acquired information as to the general location. It required the use of additional technologies to find the specific grave site."

"Von Wachter's acoustic seismic array."

"Indeed. A prototype discovered the buried grave. Additional improvements to the instrument have proven most remarkable, as you have witnessed." The words dripped with irony, as Borjin's eyes scoured the room for a means of defense.

Pitt moved slowly to the center of the room and placed his free hand on the granite tomb displayed on the pedestal. "Genghis Khan," he said. Weary and frozen as he was, he still felt an odd reverence in the presence of the ancient warlord. "I suspect the Mongolian people won't be too thrilled to learn you've been keeping him in your backyard."

"The people of Mongolia will revel in a new dawn of conquest," Borjin replied, his voice rising in a shrill cry. "In the name of Temujin, we will rise against the fools of the world and take our place in the pantheon of global supremacy."

He barely finished the raving when a deep rumble echoed through the floor. The rumble grew for several seconds until resounding in a loud crash as the entire north wing of the residence, or what was left of it, broke free of its foundation and slid unceremoniously down the hillside.

The resulting impact shook the grounds all around the estate, jarring the remaining residence structure as well as the sanctuary. The mausoleum floor visibly vibrated under the feet of Pitt and Borjin, throwing them off balance. Wobbly and exhausted from the cold, Pitt grabbed hold of the tomb in order to keep his gun trained on Borjin.

Borjin fell to a knee, then stood as the rumble and shaking subsided. His eyes widened as a sharp cracking sound rippled from overhead. He looked up to see a huge chunk of the ceiling come hurtling toward the ground beside him.

Pitt flattened himself against the side of the tomb as the rear of the sanctuary collapsed on itself. A barrage of stones and mortar smashed to the ground, raising a thick cloud of blinding dust. Pitt could feel chunks of the ceiling smack the top surface of the tomb beside him, but none of the stones struck him directly. He waited several seconds for the dust to clear, as he felt the cool night wind rustling on his skin.

Standing in the remains of the now-darkened sanctuary, he could see that half the ceiling and the entire back wall had collapsed under the shifting ground. Through the piles of stones, he could see cleanly to the corral in back and the old car parked inside.

It took him a few moments to spot Borjin in the debris. Only his head and part of his torso were exposed from a mound of stones. Pitt walked near as Borjin's eyes fluttered open, dull and listless. A trickle of blood streamed from his mouth, and Pitt noticed the Mongol's neck seemed unnaturally distorted. His eyes gradually focused on Pitt and flashed with a glint of anger.

"Why ... why won't you die?" Borjin stammered.

But he never heard the answer. A muted choke grumbled from his throat and then his eyes glazed over.

His body crushed by his own monument to conquest, Tolgoi Borjin died quickly in the shadow of Genghis Khan.

Pitt stared at the broken body without pity, then slowly lowered the Colt still gripped in his hand. He reached down and unzipped the large pocket on the front of his jacket, then used the moonlight to peek inside. The heavy seismic array operator's manual with metal clipboard was right where Gunn had placed it. Only it was now perforated by a crossbow arrow that penetrated each and every page. The arrow had even dinged the metal clipboard, which had prevented it from ripping into Pitt's heart and killing him instantly.

Pitt walked over to Borjin and looked down at the lifeless body.

"Sometimes, I'm just lucky," he said aloud, answering Borjin's final query.

The collapse of the residence's northern wing had funneled more water into the courtyard. A heavy rush of water now flowed along the perimeter of the sanctuary and threatened to pour into the disintegrating structure. It was just a matter of time before the floodwaters would weaken the ground beneath the sanctuary and wash it down the mountainside. The tomb of Genghis Khan would be destroyed in the carnage, his bones lost for good this time.

Pitt turned to make his escape before any more walls toppled, but hesitated as he glanced through the open rear wall at the corral in back. He turned and gazed again at the tomb of Genghis, which had miraculously survived the collapsing sanctuary intact. For an instant, Pitt wondered if he would be the last man to see the tomb. Then it hit him. It was a crazy idea, he thought, and he couldn't help but grin through a cold shiver.

"All right, old boy," he muttered at the tomb. "Let's see if you've got one more conquest left in you."

-62-

The feeling was just returning to Pitt's feet with a painful tingle as he climbed out the back of the sanctuary and into the corral. He staggered to the side and quickly yanked several timbers off the wooden fence to clear an opening. Tossing boxes and crates aside, he burrowed a wide path through the junk and debris until he reached his objective, the dust-laden old car.

It was a 1921 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost open tourer, with a custom body by the English coachmaker Park Ward. Decades of dirt and grime covered a unique eggplant purple body paint. Long since faded, the color once complemented the car's burnished aluminum hood and wheel covers. More familiar on the streets of London, Pitt wondered how such a grand auto had ended up in Mongolia. He then recalled that T. E. Lawrence had acquired a Rolls-Royce armored car built on a 1914 Silver Ghost chassis, which he used in his desert campaign against the Turks in Arabia. Pitt wondered if the car's reputation for durability in the desert had reached the Gobi years before. Or perhaps a car built before the Mongolian revolution was the only vehicle of opulence that the Communist Party would allow Borjin's family to own.

None of that mattered to Pitt. What did matter was that the Rolls had a silver-handled crank protruding from its snout. Equipped as a backup for the early electric starters, the crank gave Pitt a small hope that he could start the car, even with a long-dead battery. Provided, that is, that the engine block wasn't frozen solid.

Pitt opened the right-side driver's door and placed the gearshift in neutral, then stepped to the front of the car. Leaning down and grabbing with both hands, he pulled up on the crank, driving with his legs. The crank held firm, but Pitt grunted out a second effort and the handle inched upward. He rested for a second, then gave another heave. The crankshaft broke free with the extra push, driving the six pistons up and down in their cylinders.

With his own small collection of antique cars at home in Washington, Pitt was well versed with the intricacies of starting up a vintage vehicle. Climbing back into the driver's seat, he adjusted the throttle, spark, and governor controls, which were set by movable levers mounted on the steering wheel. He then opened the hood and primed a tiny pump on a brass canister, which he hoped contained gasoline. He then returned to the crank and proceeded to manually turn the engine over.

Each pull of the crank led to a series of rasps as the old motor tried to suck in air and fuel. Zapped by exposure to the cold, Pitt's strength waned on every pull. Yet he willed himself to keep trying in the face of each dying wheeze from the engine. Then on the tenth pull, the motor coughed. Several more pulls produced a sputter. With his feet frozen, yet beads of sweat on his brow, Pitt heaved again on the crank.

The crankshaft spun, the air and fuel ignited, and with a put-put-put sound, the engine labored to life.

Pitt rested briefly as the old car warmed up, spouting a thick cloud of black smoke out its rusty exhaust pipe. Rummaging around the corral, he found a small barrel filled with chains, which he tossed in the backseat. Taking his place in the driver's seat, he slipped the car into gear, released the clutch with his numb left foot, and drove the Rolls shakily out of the corral.