Sanjar thundered back to them, trailed high by his falcon. “We’ve reached the Wolf Fang!”
“See, the ride here wasn’t so bad,” Duncan reassured her. “The worst is over. It should be smooth sailing from here.”
3:34 P.M.
“We found them,” Arslan reported over the phone.
Batukhan sat in his office in the parliament building and waved his secretary out, a young thing in a tight dress and jacket. While her outfit was distinctly of the West, not traditional in the least, he appreciated its form-hugging cut. Some customs of the West would be welcome in the new Mongolia, an empire he planned to create with the treasures of Genghis Khan.
He already envisioned what he would do when that tomb was found. First, he would handpick and smuggle out the most valuable items, treasures that could be melted down or stripped of gems and sold on the open market. Then he would announce his discovery to the world, turning that fame into power. He wanted to be the wealthiest man not only in Mongolia, but in all Asia. He would conquer the world like his ancestor had in the past, creating an empire of wealth and power, with himself at the helm.
But there were a few loose ends to clean up first.
After the storm had blown over in Kazakhstan, a member of Arslan’s crew had returned to the Aral Sea to confirm the deaths and salvage the abandoned helicopter—only to find the aircraft gone.
No one knew if the pilot had escaped alone or if anyone else had survived. Batukhan had no fear of repercussions personally—as only Arslan knew his identity. Still, as a precaution, he had planted spies throughout the lower steppes between Ulan Bator and the Khentii Mountains. He wanted all roads into the region watched, in case any survivors attempted to continue their search for Genghis’s tomb by heading into those sacred mountains.
Truthfully, he had not expected to catch anything with this net. The spies were placed mostly to guard those mountains—where he still believed Genghis was buried—until such a time that he could study the stolen relics and discern the tomb’s location.
It was a shame Father Josip had to die before Batukhan could question him. Genghis abhorred torture. Batukhan considered this to be the khan’s biggest fault.
Now came this news.
“What do you wish me to do?” Arslan asked.
“How far ahead of you are they?”
“They have an hour’s lead, but so far, they make no effort to hide their passage.”
“Then another thirty minutes will make no difference. Gather your most loyal men, those who show the most skill with sword and arrow. Form a full mounted battle group. I will join and lead you.”
“Very well, Borjigin.”
Desire rang loudly in Arslan’s voice.
It sang to Batukhan’s own bloodlust. In the past, the clan’s practice skirmishes out on the steppes had been with props and stand-ins. The worst injury sustained had been a broken arm when someone fell from a horse. Batukhan found it fitting that his ascendancy to the throne of the new Mongol Empire would require bloodshed.
But more important, he had also always wanted to put an arrow through someone’s chest. Now was his chance.
“I should also inform you,” Arslan said, “the traitor Sanjar is among them.”
Ah, now I understand the fiery hatred in your tone.
Batukhan pictured Arslan’s face after the man had returned from Kazakhstan. His scalp had been ripped down to bone, a cheek punctured clean through by a talon. The man clearly wanted revenge for his disfigurement.
And he would get it.
Traitors must be taught a lesson.
His intercom buzzed. “Minister Batukhan, I have the two representatives from the mining consortium here for their four o’clock appointment.”
“Hold them there a moment.”
He finished with Arslan and considered canceling this meeting, but this could be a very lucrative contract, one that could pay off handsomely and be yet another brick in his road to a new empire.
He buzzed back and said, “Send them in. And bring us tea.”
These were Westerners, so they would probably prefer coffee, but he had never acquired a taste for that brew, preferring traditional tea.
It is high time Americans grew accustomed to our traditions.
The door opened and a tall man with storm-blue eyes and a hard face entered. Batukhan felt the twinge of a challenge, sensing a worthy adversary in this one. Behind him came his aide, a handsome Eurasian woman in a prim suit. Normally he felt no threat from the softer sex, but with her, his hackles rose even higher.
Interesting.
He waved them to a seat.
“How may I help you?”
20
November 19, 3:50 P.M. ULAT
Ulan Bator, Mongolia
Gray knew an enemy when he faced one.
On the far side of the desk, Batukhan put on a friendly face, showing all the common courtesies. He seemed a pleasant enough fellow, fit and hard for someone in his late fifties. But Gray caught peeks of someone else, cracks in his mask: a hungry glint in his eyes, an overlong and dismissive glance down Seichan’s form, an unconscious clenching of a fist on his desk.
During their discussion of mineral rights, oil futures, and governmental restrictions, the man was on edge the entire time. Gray caught him glancing at his watch once too often.
Seichan had already planted a wireless bug on the underside of his desk, so they could track any conversations following this meeting. But for that bug to attract the spider, they needed to tweak its web.
Gray shifted in his seat, noting a cabinet of Mongolian artifacts to the left of Batukhan’s desk. It held pottery, weapons, and a few small funerary statues. He also noted a pair of carved wooden wolves.
“Excuse me,” Gray said, cutting the minister off in midsentence, irking him purposefully. He pointed to the cabinet. “May I take a closer look?”
“Certainly.” His adversary puffed out his chest a bit with pride at his collection.
Gray stood and crossed to the glass case. He bent his nose close to the small carvings. “I see wolves all over the city. Lots of places carry the name Blue Wolf.”
In the reflection in the glass, he saw a sly tightening of the corner of the man’s lips, someone savoring a secret.
Hmm . . .
“What’s the significance?” Gray asked, straightening and facing the man.
“It goes back to the creation mythology of our people, where the Mongol tribes are said to be descended from the mating of Gua maral, a wild doe, and Boerte chino, a blue wolf. Even Genghis Khan took the clan title of Master of the Blue Wolf.”
He heard the telltale catch in the other’s voice.