Rogue Angel - The Spirit Banner Part 16

"Explain that again," Mason said.

"His sulde sulde, his spirit banner. The warrior would take strands of hair from his best stallions and tie them around the shaft of his favorite spear, just below the blade. Each time he would make camp, he would stand the spear upright outside his ger ger or tent. The hair was tossed about by the almost constant wind on the steppes and in doing so it soaked up the power of the sun, the wind and the sky. This power from nature was then transferred to the owner of the or tent. The hair was tossed about by the almost constant wind on the steppes and in doing so it soaked up the power of the sun, the wind and the sky. This power from nature was then transferred to the owner of the sulde sulde, driving him onward, influencing his dreams and helping him live out his destiny."

Annja looked at each of them to be certain they were following her explanation. "When a warrior died, it was said that he and his sulde sulde had become so intertwined that his spirit remained forever in the strands of horsehair." had become so intertwined that his spirit remained forever in the strands of horsehair."

Mason frowned slightly, thinking it through. "So the first two lines of the message are telling us to find the sulde sulde of Genghis Khan and that it will point us in the right direction." of Genghis Khan and that it will point us in the right direction."

"Right," Annja said, smiling as if at a star pupil.

But Davenport broke the moment with a very practical concern. "How on earth are we going to find a spear that has been missing for eight hundred years?"

"We don't have to," Annja replied, a smug expression on her face. "We only have to find a spear that's been missing for a little over seventy years. And I've got a hunch that it never actually went missing at all."

From the confused expressions on their faces, it was clear the others weren't following her logic.

"Genghis Khan had two different spirit banners, actually. One was made with the hairs from black horses, for wartime, and one made with hairs from white horses, for times of peace. The white one disappeared ages ago, but the black one was behlieved to be the repository of his soul and was cherished and protected by his descendants. Until the mid 1930s, it was safely stored in the Shankh Monastery at the foot of the Shankh Mountains."

Davenport leaned back in his chair and looked at her thoughtfully. "What happened in the 1930s?"

Annja shrugged. "Communism. Stalin's thugs slaughtered more than thirty thousand Buddhist monks and destroyed almost every temple in the country inside of just a few years' time. Legend has it that the Khan's sulde sulde was smuggled out of the monastery just before Stalin's troops arrived. It was supposedly hidden somewhere in Ulaanbaatar for a few years and then moved to another, more secret location. No one has seen it since." was smuggled out of the monastery just before Stalin's troops arrived. It was supposedly hidden somewhere in Ulaanbaatar for a few years and then moved to another, more secret location. No one has seen it since."

"But you're confident that you can find it?" Mason eyed her with open skepticism.

She knew it sounded a bit egotistic, but that's exactly what she was. Confident. She'd given it a fair amount of thought and decided that the odds were in favor of her being right about the sulde's sulde's current location. That was good enough for her. But rather than answer him directly, she asked a question of her own. current location. That was good enough for her. But rather than answer him directly, she asked a question of her own.

"Tell me this. If you were going to hide something that important, where would you put it?"

"Hopefully in the last place anyone would think to look," he said.

Annja nodded. "Exactly! That is why our first stop is going to be Shankh. I don't think Genghis Khan's sulde sulde ever left the monastery in the first place." ever left the monastery in the first place."

The other two digested that information for a few minutes and then Mason said, "Okay, let's say you are correct. We go to Shankh, convince the monks to give up the sulde sulde or, at the very least, let us look at it. Then what?" or, at the very least, let us look at it. Then what?"

"We keep following the clues left to us by Father Curran." She pointed at the computer screen. "The second pairing of verses says we should search for the place 'where the blood of the world intertwines.'"

Davenport grunted. "Blood of the world?"

"Yes," Annja replied. "The blood of the world. To the Mongols everything has its own spirits, including the earth. Remember, the Mongols saw rivers and streams as being the lifeblood of the living, breathing world, which is why they never bathed in them."

Mason examined the verse more closely. "So all we have to do is find the intersection of the correct rivers and then 'the earth has its say.' What do you think that last bit is all about?"

This time, Annja didn't have a ready answer. "I'm not one hundred percent sure yet. I'm still working on that. I'm hoping that the discovery of the sulde sulde will provide us with more information to decipher the rest of the clues. After all, the verse says it will point the way." will provide us with more information to decipher the rest of the clues. After all, the verse says it will point the way."

"All right. So we start our search at Shankh." Davenport turned to face Mason. "Is everything ready on the ground?"

Mason nodded. "We've got travel permits and search visas good for at least a month. I've hired local guides to help us negotiate the terrain and our gear has already been shipped to a warehouse in Ulaanbaatar where we will pick it up, along with our transportation. The rest of the team will meet us there on the ground."

They spent some time going over the maps, familiarizing themselves with what lay between the capital and their destination, and then decided to get some sleep.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

16.

Despite the fact that Ransom didn't have a translation of the journal in hand by midafternoon of the next day, he knew that he had to get out in front if he wanted to ultimately beat Davenport to the prize. Time was of the essence and in a case like this just a few hours could make all the difference.

With that in mind, he ordered Santiago to go on ahead to their facility in Russia and begin the preparations they would need to carry out their own search for the tomb. Santiago was authorized to hire a team and to equip them as he saw fit. Transportation would have to be arranged, as well. In keeping with their usual way of doing things, disposable a.s.sets were to be used wherever possible, including the personnel. If they ended up having to cut and run, Ransom wanted no links back to his commercial operations.

A hastily contrived accident would take care of all their problems, should it come to that.

Confident that his man would handle things appropriately, Ransom went about making his own preparations for the journey. He called his executive a.s.sistant and had her cancel all of his appointments for the next two weeks, letting her know that he would be out of the country and unavailable. He then had her book a first-cla.s.s seat on the next flight to Moscow. She had been trained well; she didn't ask questions, she simply agreed to do what he asked. And he knew that it would get done, right to the letter of his instructions. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone was so efficient? Ransom thought as he hung up the phone.

T HE FLIGHT WAS A BIT b.u.mPY HE FLIGHT WAS A BIT b.u.mPY but otherwise uneventful. Santiago met Ransom upon landing and whisked him away to a private facility they had on the outskirts of the city. As they entered the grounds, Ransom reflected how convenient it had been in the past several years to have a place like this so close to all the turmoil, first in the Soviet Union itself, then in places like Chechnya, Afghanistan and the Middle East. There was money to be made in turmoil, if you were willing and daring enough to go after it. but otherwise uneventful. Santiago met Ransom upon landing and whisked him away to a private facility they had on the outskirts of the city. As they entered the grounds, Ransom reflected how convenient it had been in the past several years to have a place like this so close to all the turmoil, first in the Soviet Union itself, then in places like Chechnya, Afghanistan and the Middle East. There was money to be made in turmoil, if you were willing and daring enough to go after it.

Ransom had more than enough of both qualities.

Santiago brought him to the central hangar, where the men selected to be a part of the a.s.sault force were gearing up. Ransom ignored them; they were just tools, like any other, and he didn't need to get acquainted with any of them in order for the job to be carried out properly.

He was, however, interested in the transportation Santiago had arranged. The Mil-8 Hip was a medium twin-turbine transport helicopter that could double as a gunship, one of the reasons he'd been attracted to it. The fact that it was currently used by more than fifty countries was the other. A quick paint scheme, a change of identification, and the aircraft, like any of the rest of his fleet, could disappear into the woodwork with a minimum of fuss. It was a useful trait, considering the kind of work he did in countries such as Somalia and Iraq.

The Mil-8 had a long, buslike body with a rounded nose and a gla.s.sed-in c.o.c.kpit. This particular model had two fuel pods offset and mounted low on the body at the point just before it swept upward and tapered toward the rear. Santiago also had a Yakushev-Borzov Yak-B 12.7 mm remote-controlled Gatling gun mounted on the nose.

The aircraft stood eighteen feet off the deck and was more than six feet wide, with five rotors on the main shaft and three on the tail. The tricycle landing gear seemed almost too small to support the aircraft's ma.s.sive weight, but Ransom knew from experience that it would do just fine.

The helicopter could climb at a rate of thirty feet per second and had a ceiling of just below fifteen thousand feet. The gunship's maximum range was just over two hundred miles; hence, the additional fuel pods. Santiago had already informed him that he was confident they could find additional fuel once in country, but Ransom believed in being prepared.

The plan was a simple one. Wait until they knew just where Davenport's group was headed, then swoop in before the other team could get under way and grab the prize right out from under their noses.

Oh, the revenge would be sweet, Ransom thought.

Satisfied with all he'd seen, he headed into the office to await the satellite call he was expecting.

17.

They arrived in Moscow around 7:30 a.m. local time. Concerned with drawing too much attention by arriving in Ulaanbaatar in Davenport's private plane, and thereby tipping off Ransom's people that they were in country, Mason had arranged for them to enter the country like any other set of tourists aboard a commercial flight run by MIAT Mongolian Airlines. From there, they would meet up with the rest of their team, who were arriving separately, and continue overland by truck.

Their connecting flight into Mongolia, however, didn't leave until 11:00 a.m., so Mason let Annja and Davenport sleep in while he made certain their cargo was loaded aboard the proper flight. He roused them with plenty of time for them to get cleaned up and then they headed to the terminal to find their gate.

They made it with plenty of time to spare and ended up sitting around the waiting area with the rest of the pa.s.sengers. Annja noted that Davenport actually seemed to be enjoying himself, and it took her a few minutes to realize that it was the sudden absence of attention that had put him in such a good mood. In just about every major industrial nation, Davenport was a recognized public figure and, more than likely, couldn't simply sit in an airport lounge without being noticed and possibly hara.s.sed. Here, in the small departure lounge devoted to Mongolia's national airline, he'd finally found some small sense of anonymity and was enjoying it.

The flight was uneventful and the flight attendants began their landing preparations for an on-time arrival. Annja had been a.s.signed a window seat and she used the opportunity to get a look at their destination from the air.

It was the first time she'd seen Mongolia and she wasn't certain what to expect.

What she got was an industrial city of gray concrete-box buildings mixed with brightly colored shops and multistory modern commercial buildings. Factories belched smoke into the air while tent settlements filled with the traditional round tents known as gers gers lined the city all the way to the foot of the mountains in whose valley Ulaanbaatar rested. lined the city all the way to the foot of the mountains in whose valley Ulaanbaatar rested.

The city was home to some 850,000 people, which wasn't many when one considered the population of New York or Chicago, but was frankly astounding when you found out it had somewhere in the neighborhood of 60,000 inhabitants less than eighty years ago. Its current population was, she knew, about a quarter of the country's total.