The Mongol Objective [Oct 2011]

by David Sakmyster

  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.

  7.

  Erdos City, 5 P.M.

  Renée 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 Renée 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 Renée 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 Renée?”

  “On her way. She’ll catch them soon.” His voice tapered and faded in a shrill hiss. “But, you should be more concerned about our third party.” A scarred and bandaged hand emerged into the cone of light, a hand with two fingers free of wrappings, revealing a single large black ring on the ring finger. A ring with a familiar design. The hand pressed a button on the table-top remote and the scene with the mausoleum switched to another view, zooming down in increments until focusing on a gap in a pine forest where four jeeps were parked, the occupants outside.

  “Rest stop for Montross?” Calderon asked.

  “Probably the boy,” said the voice. “They’ll be on the move again soon. Intel from Agent Wagner seems reliable. Confirmed by the Montross team as well, after their initial mistake.”

  “Xanadu,” said Calderon. “Amazing. So, now we take them out?”

  “No.” The shadows deepened as the cigarette went out. “Finding Genghis’s mausoleum was the easy part. Getting inside, through the surprises he’s got waiting for us, will be hell. So no, we need them. Caleb and Phoebe, and their talents. See that Agent Wagner doesn’t start shooting right away.”

  Calderon’s hands clenched into fists. “It was too risky putting her in the middle of their group when they were still so paranoid after Waxman. Just one probe and that kid got pretty close to us. Lucky he was too preoccupied and distracted to focus his abilities. But we don’t know. What if they’ve figured out who we are?”

  “Doesn’t matter what they know. Caleb’s preoccupied with saving his son. He’ll get those keys.”

  “Or Montross will. And who knows what he’ll do with them?”

  “He’ll do exactly what we fear he’ll do,” said the voice. A raspy sigh. “So he dies first. Tell Renée. Remove him as soon as he’s no longer of use.”

  “What about Hiltmeyer? Do they suspect him?”

  The bandaged hand waved in the air, scattering the lingering smoke. “I would think Nina suspects everyone, but Hiltmeyer’s ready. He’ll keep up his guard.”

  “This is a dangerous game, playing with people who can see your best-kept secrets as if you’ve stapled them to your forehead. I don’t like it.”

  “We have no choice.”

  Calderon stared at his feet. “Don’t we? The tablet is there, with Montross and our man. We can get it any time. We could work at our own method of translation.”

  “The thought has crossed my mind. But no, I don’t think even the NSA computers would succeed with this. We need the sacred box.”

  “And your scrolls, the ones you Keepers recovered from the Pharos? They can’t tell us anything?”

  A spark and another cigarette was lit, briefly highlighting a gruesome face burnt and blackened, oozing with pus, one eye scarred shut, the other fiercely blue.

  “I have learned all I can from them. Found further verification, focusing the time now, here at the end of the Age of Pisces. One of Three Brothers will open the great sealed box of Thoth.”

  “Yes. We know two, but who is the third?”

  The man stood, easing himself out of the shadows. His scorched face and bandaged neck emerged into the dim light.

  Robert Gregory offered a lipless smile. “If we depend on a loose reading of the prophecy, I believe it’s me.”

  8.

  “Fifty miles to go,” Orlando said, noting the mileage on the GPS.

  C
aleb relaxed his hold on the gun. Qara seemed to be playing along, at least for now, following the route and keeping quiet. He could only imagine what she was thinking.

  “Plenty of time to do a little recon.”

  “What are you thinking, big brother?” Phoebe asked, stretching in the seat beside him.

  “Thinking about our brush with death, about how I hate surprises and have had enough double-crosses for my life. I want to know about Renée.”

  “Like who the hell she really is?”

  “I can tell you what I saw,” Orlando said, glancing back. “What set her off.”

  “Oh,” Phoebe said, “now I see. This was all your fault?”

  He grinned. “Yep. I think she would have just been content to have us lead her to it, until I blew it by asking her about a necklace I saw in my vision.”

  “Start from the beginning, please,” Caleb said. He might not be able to help with first-hand psychic visions, but his knowledge of history and the arcane facets of myth might just provide the help they needed.

  “Okay, so I saw Renée. A bit younger, at an initiation-kind of ceremony. One of those things where there’s lots of people in black robes, and she, well . . .” He blushed and looked away from Phoebe. “Well, she wasn’t really wearing much. Some old dude gave her a necklace with a charm that looked like the one on his ring, and then some other guy took her on an altar while the others watched.”

  “Sure this wasn’t just one of your sick fantasies?” Phoebe asked.

  “Close, but no. I saw it, and when I asked her about the necklace, she unleashed hell on me and went after you guys.”

  “Cover blown,” Caleb thought out loud. “Okay, so what was the image on the charm?”

  “A dragon, run through with a spear.”

  “Not a sword?”

  “No, not really St. George-like. I looked at some images of him online, but it wasn’t a match. It’s different, it’s—”

  “More ancient,” Caleb said, catching Qara’s eyes darting to his in the mirror. “It could be a number of symbols, but I have a theory.”

  “Of course you do,” Phoebe said with a smile. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Tiamat,” he said. “An ancient Sumerian goddess. She took the shape of a dragon or sea serpent. She represented the primeval chaos before creation, and she and her consort Apsu were credited with creating all the deities. In the Babylonian epic of creation, the Enuma Elish, the world, including humanity, is created around her remains after she is destroyed by the storm god, Marduk, whose symbol is the lance.”

  “Ah,” said Orlando, searching for it on the Internet, “got it! Found a symbol, and it looks pretty much spot-on. And wait! It says Tiamat possessed something called the Tablet of Destiny! With it, she was given the power over the universe. Wow, that sounds familiar.”

  “What else does it say?” Phoebe asked.

  “Well, her offspring rose up against her to fight in some great primordial battle, and Marduk was chosen to be their hero. He bested Tiamat with arrows of the winds, a net and a powerful magic lance. But first, knowing they were coming, she had given the tablet to her son, Kingu, who somehow merged it with his armor, hoping to become invincible. But it didn’t help. Marduk went after him. With the power of his lance he overthrew Kingu, then took the tablet for himself.”

  Caleb nodded. “But later, if I recall, he was forced to give it back to the eldest god, Anu, the lord of heaven.”

  Phoebe leaned forward. “And what, dare I ask, did Anu do with it?”

  “Well, he was part of a triad of gods, with Enki, lord of the waters, and Enlil/Marduk, lord of the sky. Anu was sometimes called their father, because he was the oldest. In any case, it was Enki who got the tablet. Anu must have trusted him more. And Enki, as he was known in Babylon, had another name in Egypt.”

  “Oooh,” said Phoebe, raising her hand. She promptly put it down after a scowl from Caleb. “Of course, it’s got to be Thoth.”

  “Bingo.”

  “Here we go,” said Orlando. “So where does that leave us? What is Renée a part of? Some Marduk-lovers cult, jilted after doing all the work of beating Tiamat, wresting the tablet from her, only to have his daddy take it away and give it to his no-good brother?”

  “Seems that way,” Caleb said. “And now they want it back.”

  “Wait,” said Orlando. “Was Marduk ram-headed by any chance?”

  Caleb nodded. “As Amun-Ra in Egypt, he was ram-headed during the Zodiacal age of the Ram. Why?”

  “Oh, just because Renée’s boyfriend-lover in my dream wore a ram’s mask.”

  Caleb scratched his chin. “Qara? You’ve been rather silent. Does any of this make sense?”

  She was silent for a long time, merely staring ahead at the dusty road and the glimmering, hazy horizon. “It seems,” she said, turning her eyes on Caleb in the mirror, “there are two ancient forces contending for that tablet and the keys to unlock its power. Which side are you on?”

  #

  One hundred fifty miles to the northeast, Montross stretched his legs and stared at the road ahead. He sucked in a deep breath of air so pure and crisp it was as though his lungs were bared to the outside, directly absorbing every molecule.

  While Colonel Hiltmeyer called in their location on his secure satellite phone, Nina stood by the back of their jeep, cleaning her guns and checking their equipment. Montross noticed she still kept a motherly eye on Alexander, off in the nearest set of bushes, busy relieving himself.

  It was time. He opened his pack, reached down and touched the tablet. Caressed its impossibly smooth angles, felt its power as his index finger lingered over symbols that seemed to react to his touch. His heart rate increased, his eyes grew heavy, his legs weak. He reluctantly closed the flap, stumbled back to the jeep, then slid into the back seat.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Nina asked, gliding over at once and ducking her head inside.

  Montross held up a hand. “Nothing I didn’t ask for.”

  “What, are you trying for a vision? Now?”

  “Need to snoop on our friends. See how far they’ve gotten.”

  “Okay fine. But do you”—she reached over, touched his face seductively, turned his chin toward her as she leaned in, placing her lips inches from his—“need any help?”

  “Ordinarily, I might say yes. But now that I’ve got the tablet, I have what I need. And you, my dear, ought to keep an eye on our guest.”

  “The boy’s not going anywhere. He’s just . . . Oh shit!” She stared out the window, incredulous. “The little brat’s actually making a break for it.”

  “For what? We’re in the middle of nowhere. Just go get him.”

  Montross knew she was still speaking, but there was no sound in the jeep. It was as if the world had fallen away, dissolving around him into an absence of color, pure white like a blank canvas, one that he longed to fill. He moaned, then opened his eyes and pushed his face forward, through what felt like a thick, gelatinous curtain, to pry this vision free—except it did more than that. Just as once before, down in Caleb’s lighthouse vault, it plucked his very psyche from his body and hurtled it across time and space, until . . .

  . . . in a field of stones, weeds and grass. Broken pillars, moss-eaten stones that once ran in some kind of pattern.

  Ruins.

  Xanadu.

  Shimmering, the landscape, the dying sun, the sickly grouping of nearby oak trees, oddly translucent, the bark glistening in the twilight, reflecting the dim glow of approaching headlights.

  Headlights brighten, the engine coughs and the lights go out. A Hummer stops near the main archway, the only significant standing feature left of Xanadu. Without making any physical effort, Montross is closer, with just a directed thought.

  Doors open. Two women get out. Two men.

  One of them . . . Caleb!

  In that instant, Caleb looks around, and Montross pulls back, trying to disappear, to reel himself back. The sudden fear of discovery leads to t
he panic of being non-corporeal, of being unable to make it back. Could he be trapped like this? Far from his body, so distant, slumped in the back seat of a jeep? Vulnerable.

  Caleb turns toward him, mouth open.

  He knows! He can see!

  Frowning, Caleb takes a step toward him, then another, reaching out. Now he is running.

  Montross tries to get away as Caleb’s image flutters, breaks into pieces and scatters like a million multicolored leaves blowing all around him, spinning, circling, then reforming into the interior of a jeep.

  Nina’s face . . .

  . . . bent over his, Alexander thrust into the seat beside him, Nina’s hand still clutching his hair. “You, sit still!” Then to Montross, “You okay? I thought we’d lost you.”

  Montross, taking deep gulps of air, wiped the sweat from under his tangled red hair, turned to Nina and smiled at Alexander.

  “Just saw your dad. He’s waiting for us at Xanadu.”

  #

  Hiltmeyer let Private Harris drive while he sat in the front passenger seat and reviewed the site. “Remote, no tourist centers, guards or anything. Sounds like the annual visitors are pretty much nil, a bunch of backpackers maybe, but that’s it.”

  “So much for their national treasure,” Nina said.

  “Just the way the Darkhad wants it,” Montross added. “They couldn’t have been too happy with Kublai Khan’s decision to build his summer palace right over the secret mausoleum.”

  Alexander stirred, squeezing his shoulders free. “But I get why he did it, don’t you?”

  “What?” Nina asked.

  “A palace and a city, right over the underground caverns. And then another city.” Alexander beamed. “As Above, so Below!”

  Montross shrugged, then let a smile form. “Still, the Darkhad didn’t like it and were happy to let the place go to hell after Kublai died. They probably helped to scatter the remnants and encourage the focus to shift to Beijing.”

  “So,” said Hiltmeyer, “the top, the ‘Above’ as the kid puts it, is a piece of cake. Assuming Crowe and his team find the entrance for us, what can we expect in the ‘Below’?”