The Mongol Objective [Oct 2011]

by David Sakmyster

  “Don’t tell me it’s nothing. He’s young, and his power is being augmented by the tablet in ways we can’t imagine. It must be showing him something important. Or at least something his mind feels he needs to know. So, I need to know it too.”

  Damn, Nina thought. It’s too early for this.

  “Not your father,” Alexander said again. “But I think . . . I think your dad might be . . .” He held his head, rubbing the back. He coughed. A little sob escaped.

  “What?” Montross asked, almost a shriek. “What? Who?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know.” Alexander shook his head. “I see it, but I don’t know what it means.”

  The oars continued paddling, the boat skimming faster and faster ahead. All flashlights were pointed inside at Alexander, almost blinding him.

  “Well,” said Montross gripping the tablet even tighter, “now that I know that something about my heritage is important, I’ll just have my own look-see.”

  “No,” Nina whispered.

  “What?”

  “Don’t. Not yet.”

  Montross faced her as the tablet’s aura sprinkled them both in a sheen of fairy dust. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I—”

  “Uh oh,” Harris said, dropping his oar. He stood, just as the nose of the boat struck something and they all lurched forward.

  #

  “We hit the shore,” Hiltmeyer yelled. He collected himself, leapt to his feet and spun around, hoping Nina had dropped her guns, but in an instant she was there, tripping up his legs and pushing him back down into the belly of the boat.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  Montross grunted, fumbled for the tablet and retrieved it, then held it up to illuminate the boat. “Alexander?”

  He was outside, picking himself up on the shore, right behind Harris who was scrambling to his knees. Suddenly both were caught in flashlight beams probing wildly ahead. They were on a small inlet, a pathway sparkling with gold bending in a thirty-foot S-shaped pattern to the gate.

  Alexander took out his flashlight. “Wow.” His beam stretched out and searched, then struck a wall of immense marble blocks around a huge sealed archway. Above the arch, between two turrets, stood four immense statues.

  Giant terra cotta warriors, each manning huge crossbows.

  “Oh no,” Harris whispered.

  Just as something whistled through the air.

  He grunted, making a surprised choking sound as he clutched at the end of a six-foot iron bolt protruding from his chest. And with the point erupting out his back he looked like game piece on a foosball table. He stumbled backwards, past Alexander. His mouth opened as he fell, arching backwards until the silver point stabbed into the soft earth and his head flopped backwards.

  Alexander opened his mouth, tried to cry out, tried to insist that he hadn’t seen this, knowing that the reason was because he hadn’t asked the right questions. I only asked about the river!

  Desperately, he looked back to the ramparts, to the silent, impassive guardians, three of which had yet to fire.

  8.

  Caleb hadn’t even stepped off the boat before the first scream ripped through the cavern, and suddenly there were gunshots, flashlight beams probing desperately. Men yelling.

  More gunshots, and Phoebe, Orlando and Qara ducked low on the boat just as a sudden volley of arrows whistled past, sailing behind them and plunking into the water.

  “Back!” Chang shouted. “Stop firing!”

  The soldiers formed a semi-circle around Renée, Chang and the boats. Their flashlights swept back and forth, revealing the first rows of terra cotta warriors, many of them now shredded with 7.62mm rounds. No more arrows flew, and the army rested in silence and apparent innocence.

  “What happened?” Renée asked.

  “Someone went scouting ahead.”

  “Who told him to do that?”

  “Procedure.” Chang said. “Sorry.”

  Renée shoved aside two soldiers and looked at what their lights had settled on. One of the soldiers lay face-down about five feet beyond the first row of warriors. His left leg was severed above the knee, lying by itself a short distance away. His back was punctured by three arrows.

  Another soldier came limping back, shrieking for a medic, an arrow in his hip and a gouge cut through his left arm.

  Renée shined her light in the direction he had come from, and saw a statue with a sword held up before his face. The blade was wet. The statue wobbled slightly as it returned to its dormant position.

  “Ballistic vests,” Chang said, pointing to the fallen man. “Help little against arrows. Or swords.”

  Renée lowered her gun. She scanned the shot-up faces of the nearest terra cotta soldiers. “Okay, lesson learned. No one’s going in there until we know what this is. Apparently Temujin has this field rigged as well, with pressure-sensitive plates that trigger the statues into attacking.”

  After testing the air and believing themselves safe for the moment, the soldiers removed their gas masks and started checking their gear. They tightened their flak jackets, still hoping they’d provide some protection, donned their helmets and prepared their weapons, reloading and checking their lights.

  Caleb walked carefully out of the boat, then helped Qara disembark as Phoebe and Orlando got out on the other side.

  Renée scouted ahead with night-vision binoculars. “I see something. Looks to be about four hundred yards, past this field and the army. There’s a gate. That’s the entrance into the city, and where we need to go.”

  Chang nodded, surveying the field. “But direct path is most fortified. See? Largest concentration of soldiers appear to guard way.”

  “So what do we do?” asked one of the men.

  “No one moves ahead,” Renée ordered, “until our seers show us the way.” She glanced back at Caleb, waved her .45 at him. “Come on, Kreskin. What’s the trick this time? A certain path to take, or maybe some tune we all need to sing to let us waltz on by?”

  Caleb shrugged. He took his flashlight and swept it around the shore, along the walls on either side, walls that widened from their river approach, encompassing and enclosing the massive underground field, the army and, eventually, the distant walled city. He blinked, focusing out there, wondering if Alexander had gone around, taking the other passageway with Montross, and if he might even now be up ahead now, looking this way for him.

  “Wait,” said Orlando suddenly. “There! Above us.”

  Phoebe brought her light up as she stepped closer to him, brushing against him and noticing that he trembled, but still leaned in toward her. She gave him a smile, then looked up at the letters hammered into a marble crossbeam overhead. “Nice work. You keep bailing us out like this and my brother will have to give you a bigger bonus this year.”

  Orlando’s voice cracked after the compliment. “So here’s more of those funky letters. Qara, can you do your thing?”

  She stumbled forward, her wrists still tied behind her, the bandages on her side soaked through with fresh blood. She looked pale and weak, but she lifted her eyes and with dried lips, read the inscription: “The Secret of the Way Past is the Secret of the Way In.”

  Renée glared at Qara, then looked at the script, and then to Chang, raising an eyebrow.

  He shrugged. “Pretty close.”

  “The secret of the way in?” Renée asked.

  “What was the secret of the way past?” Phoebe asked, shining her light on Caleb, who blocked it with his hand. It reminded her, for just a moment, of the descent into that tomb in Belize when as kids they joked at blinding each other to ease their fears. What we can’t see can’t hurt us, right?

  Caleb stopped the smile and looked back past Renée and over the field of warriors, the guardians. Thinking. Imagining a course through them, past them. But they covered every square foot, in no particular pattern. The secret of the way past is the secret of the way in. Very symmetrical. Perfect. But no help.

&nb
sp; “I have no idea,” he said.

  “RV it, then,” Renée barked. “All of you. Do it now, before I risk any more of my men.”

  Caleb glanced at Phoebe and Orlando and nodded. The three of them sat cross-legged together on the hard ground away from the mercury-laden water.

  “Shouldn’t we hold hands or something?” Orlando asked, reaching for Phoebe.

  “Keep dreaming, Romeo.” She gave him a look, then relented. “All right, but only because I know that sometimes psychics can chain their powers if they’re touching.” She noticed Caleb and stopped talking.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll kill your mojo if we link up, but if it’s all the same to you—”

  “Just hold our hands,” she snapped.

  Caleb sighed and held up his hands. Orlando took his left, Phoebe his right.

  “No caressing,” Phoebe hissed, a smile breaking free. Then lower, “At least make this look good for prying eyes.”

  Renée glowered at them. “Hurry.”

  Phoebe closed her eyes, squeezing both hands, just as Orlando gasped. But it was Caleb who jerked as if electrocuted, snatching his hands away.

  “Holy crap,” Orlando said, still holding onto Phoebe. “What was that?”

  Caleb frowned, staring at his hands as if expecting them to be covered with second-degree burns. “I don’t know. I saw something, though.”

  “What?” Phoebe asked, leaning over.

  “Lydia. It was like she was here. In our circle, holding both my hands. Like she had taken your places.”

  “How the hell does that help us?” Renée asked.

  “It doesn’t,” Caleb said. “But it might help me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Orlando coughed. “Wait! I saw something. Honestly I did. A trail. Glowing, weaving through the soldiers.”

  Renée cocked her head. Chang moved in, listening intently.

  Phoebe gave Orlando a subtle look to ask if this was just a ploy, but he didn’t even look at her. He stood, releasing her hand, and headed through the Chinese soldiers to the front of the shore. Nodding, he pointed ahead. “I saw it in my vision, a glowing pathway, highlighting the trail we need to take.”

  “How wide?” Chang asked.

  “Four or five feet.”

  “Can you still see it?”

  Orlando rubbed his temples, stuck his neck out and stared. Nodded. “I can lead you, just like Caleb led us before on the mosaic floor. I see it.”

  “Okay,” Renée said. “Let’s go.”

  “I don’t know,” said Caleb. “Why would there be something such as a trail? The clue was that the way past these soldiers must in some way mirror what we did to find the entrance above.”

  “I’m not into riddles,” Renée said. “Let’s just test it out. Your boy here thinks he’s seen the way. Let him go a few steps. See how far he can get. If he makes it, then who cares what the clue means? You’re psychics. You don’t need logic.”

  Orlando stopped. His gaze swept over the first five rows of warriors lurking in the shadows. He turned and met Phoebe’s eyes. “Um, maybe not. Maybe we should think this through a little more.”

  “Did you see it, or didn’t you?” Renée waved him on with her gun.

  “No, Orlando!” Phoebe reached out, but two soldiers blocked her way.

  “Go,” said Chang, more than happy he wasn’t risking his own men.

  Orlando swallowed hard, his raw throat burning with the effort. A dozen flashlights led the way. He tried to look back and catch Phoebe’s eyes, but could only see a swarm of bright lights, blinding him. “Can I get one of those bullet proof jacket things?”

  Renée laughed and her voice came back. “Didn’t you say that they won’t help?”

  #

  It took a minute for the blind spots to wear off, and then he started to move forward. Lifted his foot and set it ahead, between two infantry men, the hilts of their swords gripped in both hands, the points directed up and inwards, making an inverted V that Orlando had to walk beneath.

  His foot touched the ground and he closed his eyes, praying before he put weight on it. He could see it again—the aurora-like trail misting under the feet of the warriors, starting here and then twisting left, then extending forward, around a great bend and then circling up again around the chariots, through the horsemen and in between two largest catapults.

  Please work.

  “Orlando,” Phoebe called out. “Please be careful.”

  A deep, clear breath filled his lungs. And with renewed confidence and trust, he bent under the swords and took one step, then another, following the trail, approaching another warrior, this one with a curved sword over its shoulder, poised as if preparing for a decapitating swing.

  His right foot touched down, he put all his weight on it, moved his left foot ahead. But before he picked up his right foot again, the statue moved. Its head swiveled, blank white eyes fixing him with a deadly stare.

  #

  “No,” Caleb whispered. Then, “NO! Orlando, don’t move!”

  All the flashlights converged on Orlando, dancing around, then hitting the statue, the one that had twisted, the sword rising, trembling.

  “Don’t lift your feet!”

  Orlando turned his head, trying to balance on the bridge of this foot. His hands were outstretched, reflexively reaching for something to hold until he managed to pull himself back without grabbing another statue, one holding two daggers at the ready. “I think I’m on a pressure plate.”

  The lights danced on his face, bringing out tears in his eyes as he refused to close them, hoping to get one last look at Phoebe.

  “Sorry,” he said glumly. “I screwed up. I don’t know how, but I must have. I know this is right, I see the trail, but—”

  “You didn’t screw up,” Caleb said. “I did.”

  “What?” Phoebe was at his side, clutching his arm.

  Renée turned toward him. “How is this your fault? Other than not seeing it for yourself and trusting this crucial task to a junior member.”

  “Nothing junior about him,” Caleb said. “And he’s seeing the right trail.”

  “I am?” Orlando asked, his voice cracking. He looked down at his feet, even as his knees started wobbling.

  “It’s the right trail,” Caleb continued, “just at the wrong altitude.”

  “Huh?”

  “The riddle,” he said. “I figured it out. Unfortunately, a little late.”

  “The way past,” Renée intoned. “Same as the way in?”

  “Yeah. The secret of the entrance. Remember?”

  Phoebe slapped her hand against her forehead. “They moved the river!”

  “Exactly.” Caleb pointed down. “I’m guessing there’s an entrance or a tunnel back here somewhere, where the river we just came down continues under this section in another subterranean tunnel. Weaving its way under the warriors.”

  “Damn it!” Orlando hissed. “I should’ve figured that out. I even saw what looked like water, glowing water, but I thought it was just part of the vision.”

  “Don’t worry, you did good.” Caleb sighed. “Now we’ve got to get you out of there.”

  “Impossible,” Renée said. “He takes his chances. Just duck, roll and run back. With any luck, he’ll make it.”

  The other soldiers had taken wary steps back, and were spreading out, ducking their heads.

  “Get some cover if you can,” Renée barked. “I suspect the arrows might be flying any second.” She turned to Phoebe. “Sorry about your boyfriend, but at least we don’t have to worry about his untrustworthy visions anymore.”

  Caleb had to hold Phoebe back as she squirmed. “You bitch!”

  “Stop,” he said. “Just wait. We need to think.”

  “No time. Chang, find that entrance. Check the walls and the ground back by the water.”

  As Chang busied himself with that task, Caleb moved ahead, scanning around. He put his hands down, then slip
ped off his backpack. Turned around. “Get supplies off that dead man. The heaviest things he’s carrying.” He dropped to his knees and began digging, prying out rocks and chunks of earth and stuffing them in the pack.

  Phoebe knelt beside him and started helping. “Good idea.” Her eyes were red and heavy.

  “We’ll save him,” Caleb whispered.

  Phoebe tried to smile. “I’m not so sure.”

  #

  As they filled the pack as much as possible, then zipped it up, Qara, who had been standing mutely near the shore, came closer. “Maybe,” she said quietly, so only Caleb and Phoebe could hear, “this is an opportunity.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “To free yourselves.”

  “If you’ve got any secrets, spill ’em now,” Phoebe said.

  “I believe,” she said, “your friend has a chance. Not only to save himself, with the help of your counterweight here, but also perhaps to set off an attack by these warriors. A volley of arrows that would surely injure most, if not all, of Agent Wagner’s men.”

  “And not us?” Caleb asked.

  “Not if we’re lying flat at the right moment.”

  “What are you talking about?” Renée spun away from Chang and came in close.

  “Do you want to survive this or not?” Qara said, holding her head up.

  Renée studied her. “I don’t trust you. But for now, you live. Just move back, away from Caleb.”

  “I have it!” Chang yelled. Two men were on their knees, brushing away the earth in a section just a few yards ahead of the prow of the second boat. Lights converged on the area, illuminating a rounded outline cut into a marble-like surface.

  While they went about clearing out the handle and prying it open like a manhole cover, Caleb dragged the backpack toward the field of warriors, where Orlando stood teetering on the balls of his feet, ten yards out. Surrounded by warriors poised to strike both high and low, he looked terrified and miserable.

  “Please hurry, boss. Don’t want to get all cliché on you, but I don’t want to die just yet. So much left to do and all.”

  “Hang in there, Orlando. I’m coming.”

  “I could tell you, but you probably won’t believe me. I’ve never even—”