Rogue Angel - The Spirit Banner Part 19

He listened to the explanation, then asked, "And nothing with regard to the monastery? You're certain?"

"Yes, sir. I'm certain." There was no hesitation in her voice, no doubt. She was being a truthful as she could be.

"Very well. Keep me informed."

"Of course, sir."

He hung up the phone and leaned his head back against the seat behind him, his thoughts full of unanswered questions. Just what are you up to, Davenport? What had Annja Creed discovered in the text that his people could not? He looked through the windshield at the destruction his men were causing all around him. What did you expect to find here? He wondered.

He stayed like that, thinking, until Santiago came over fifteen minutes later to report that, despite his best efforts, the monks had not given up a single clue to the tomb's location.

Ransom nodded to show that he'd heard, but didn't answer right away. He spent a minute or two looking around him, trying to figure out what he had missed, but there wasn't anything obvious. So be it, he thought. At least I'll know that Davenport and his set of flunkies have no way of finding it.

"Burn it. I don't want anything left for Davenport to search through," he said.

"What about the monks?" Santiago asked

"Kill them all" was Ransom's disinterested reply.

20.

The men in the lead vehicle saw the smoke first. Jeffries radioed the sighting back to Mason in the middle car, and seconds later the rest of them saw it, as well. It drifted up into the sky in a thick column, ominously dark against the clear blue. Knowing there was nothing else in that direction but the monastery left little doubt as to where it was coming from.

Someone had been there before them and it wasn't hard to guess who.

"d.a.m.n! How did he know?"

Annja didn't have to ask who Mason was referring to, but she thought it best not to jump to conclusions.

They drove closer, their hearts heavy in their chests, and found no relief from their fears when, fifteen minutes later, they were finally close enough to see what had happened.

A vast funeral pyre burned in the center of the compound, just in front of the steps leading to the main hall. The bodies of the monastery's former inhabitants could be seen in the midst of the vast flames, the occasional arm or leg jutting from the pile of wood and brush. Behind it, the once-beautiful buildings had been vandalized so badly that in some places they were hardly recognizable. Planks and beams had been torn down to make the pyre. The smoke it gave off had stained the vibrant colors-the brilliant reds, the stately gold, the mossy green-dark with soot.

The place looked dead. Nothing living moved in the ruins.

"Christ..." Davenport said, staring, appalled at the destruction in front of them, through the windshield of their vehicle.

"Wrong savior," Annja quipped sourly, but she knew exactly how he felt. Whoever had done this had intended to get results. As she opened her door and got out, the heavy stench of burning flesh and hair a.s.saulted her nostrils. It was an unmistakable smell; once you've encountered it, you never forgot it, and Annja knew it would be implanted in her memory for years to come.

Whoever had done this was absolutely ruthless.

Mason and Davenport got out of the vehicle and came up to stand beside her.

"Think anyone made it out alive?" Mason asked.

"Only one way to find out," she replied.

Mason turned and signaled to his men in their trucks. The six security personnel quickly got out, drew their weapons and headed into the complex to search for survivors and any trace of whoever had done this.

Annja stood still and let the feel of the place wash over her. Since accepting the sword, and the adventures that came with it, her danger sense seemed to have heightened. Fear, pain and sorrow washed over her, but she didn't get a sense that the killers still lurked in the ruins.

She followed the others into the ruins of the monastery compound. The first few buildings they encountered were small outer buildings that looked as if they had been used as meditation chambers or meeting places. It was hard to tell exactly, since many of them had been torched and only the ruined sh.e.l.ls remained. The larger, communal hall that served as the main meeting and meditation area still stood, though its walls were pockmarked with bullet holes and its door was partially smashed from its frame.

It was toward this that Annja headed.

She climbed the steps and went inside.

It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. Once they had, she could see that the building consisted of one large room with a raised dais at the far end. Candles had once lined the walls, it seemed, but were now scattered across the floor. Blood stained the polished wood flooring in various places and had even splashed across one of the Buddha statues that filled the corners of the room.

Annja walked to the center of the room, trying to piece together what had happened. The presence of so much blood told her that more than one lama had met his end in this room; the idea that blood had been shed in a place that devoted itself to serenity and higher value infuriated her almost as much as the death of the innocent monks did.

She walked over to one bloodstain and reached out to touch it with the tip of her finger. It was still tacky, which meant it wasn't too old. A few hours at best, was her guess, though she wasn't a trained forensic examiner and couldn't be certain.

"Ayyeeeeee!"

The shrill cry came from behind her and Annja whirled in response, her hand already reaching into the otherwhere for her sword.

A small, dark form hurtled at her from across the room. Annja's mind registered the details, which allowed her to react in time to avoid the sudden thrust of the knife as the boy closed in on her. Rather than slashing him with her sword, which had been her first intention, she left the weapon where it was and, instead, caught hold of his arm as the knife slid past her. She used his momentum against him, twisting back in the other direction and taking him with her in a perfectly executed judo throw.

His back hit the floor with an audible thud and Annja moved in quickly, kneeling on his chest and applying a wrist lock to maintain control of his knife hand.

A boy of no more than ten or twelve stared up at her from a face stained with soot and fresh tears. He struggled to free himself, but grimaced in pain when Annja applied a bit more pressure to his wrist.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Annja told him, but the scared expression on his face told her that he didn't understand.

She looked up to call for help, only to see Mason hurrying toward her from the front entrance with Nambai in tow.

"We heard a scream," he said. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Rambo here decided I made a good target."

Mason looked down at the boy she still held securely in the wrist lock. "Does he speak English?"

Annja looked at the boy. "What's your name?"

The youth stared at her with anger in his eyes.

"Come on, we're not going to hurt you. We're here to help."

The boy said nothing.

Nambai stepped forward and spoke softly in Mongolian. The boy looked between them for a moment, then answered his countryman in a voice sharp with anger. The two talked for a few minutes more. The sound of a friendly voice speaking his language must have helped, for the boy quit struggling and Annja was able to let go of his arm and help him sit up.

Nambai turned to the others. "He says his name is Chingbak and he only recently came here as an apprentice to Master Daratuk."

"Ask him what happened here," Annja told Nambai.