The Lost Tomb

by N. J. Croft

  Zach sank down onto the seat opposite him and took a gulp of beer. Giving himself time to think? Time to lie?

  “About four months ago, my partner and I were caught up in a terrorist attack in Paris.”

  “I remember it,” Noah said. He’d seen the reports. “A suicide bomber.”

  “Yes. My partner was injured—fatally, it turned out. The only lead I had was a payment made out of an account in the Cayman Islands to the daughter of the suicide bomber. Then nothing until about a month ago, when I traced another payment from the same account to a U.K. bank. To a Dr. Eve Blakeley.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Yeah, my thoughts exactly. While Eve at first seemed an unlikely terrorist, when you looked deeper, perhaps not so unlikely. There was the kidnapping, but there was also you.”

  Yes, she had more ties than most.

  “I went to see her,” Zach continued. “It turned out the money was a payment from a group who funded her research, the Mongolian Historical Society. They wanted her to lead an expedition to Mongolia to hunt for the Spirit Banner of Genghis Khan.” Zach must have seen something in his face, because he shrugged. “Yeah, I know. I was the same. What the hell could that have to do with terrorism?”

  “And she agreed to go?”

  “No. She told me she didn’t do field work. I persuaded her otherwise, and believe me, I regret it. Look, my partner had been dying a slow death for three months, and Eve was my only lead.”

  “The partner you supposedly killed?”

  “Is that what you were told? Well, it’s a lie. Though maybe I was responsible for her death.” He considered Noah for a moment. “Remember that thing we talked about? The global conspiracy?”

  “I do.”

  “The day after my partner and I had gone to my boss with what I believed to be a pretty convincing argument, we were caught up in the Paris attack. It was a deliberate attempt to take us out.”

  “So MI6 is infiltrated.”

  “Every-fucking-where is infiltrated.”

  That was a whole other conversation, and right now, he wanted to understand what had happened with Eve. “So what went down in Mongolia? And why?”

  Zach pursed his lips and then took a gulp of beer, obviously not entirely happy with what he was about to say next. “I think you need to suspend disbelief a little for the next part and just hear me out. I didn’t believe it when I first heard, yet it makes a strange sort of sense.”

  Christ, nothing would surprise him with this. It was all fucking crazy. “Just get on with it.”

  “Okay, so Genghis Khan died around eight hundred years ago. And on his deathbed, he apparently made some sort of prophecy that one day someone would come along and complete his destiny of a unified global empire. And that day would only arrive when his soul was reunited with the Talisman.”

  “The Talisman?” From what Star—or whoever she was—said, that was the object buried with Khan, but he wanted to hear confirmation.

  “I was putting off that bit because that’s when things get really iffy. The Talisman is this artifact that Khan carried on campaigns with him. It had some sort of magical shit and guaranteed that he’d win every battle. It’s buried with him.”

  “So whoever finds the tomb finds this Talisman and becomes the ruler of the whole world.” This was just confirming what Don had told him, and Noah didn’t like it any more the second time around. He emptied his beer and got up. He needed more to drink. “Another?”

  “Yeah. It has that effect.”

  At the bar, he held up his beer and then two fingers and took the bottles back to the table. He wasn’t sure what to make of Zach’s story. While it was definitely far-fetched, it also corresponded with a lot of what he had learned so far. So he’d keep an open mind. For now. Did he trust the other man? Not entirely. He stared out the window like Zach had, imagining Eve standing in this exact same spot. And hours later, she was dead.

  He slid back into his seat. “So Eve was looking for a magical talisman.”

  “You’re getting hung up on the magic thing. Don’t you see? The magic part doesn’t have to be real. It just needs enough people to believe. Bloody hell, most terrorist attacks are motivated by religious beliefs, some of them crazy as shit. Yet people believe them.”

  “Never underestimate the power of human stupidity.”

  Zach raised his beer. “Yeah, to that. But Tarkhan—he’s the scholar working with Eve—believed it was true. That there’s a secret organization, the Descendants of Genghis Khan, and they’ve been around for every one of those eight hundred years, spreading out across the world, infiltrating organizations and governments, putting things in place for the day when they take over.” He cast Noah a look. “Does that sound familiar?”

  It was exactly what they had talked about when they’d met two years ago. The theory he had discussed so many times with Peter.

  That wasn’t what he was struggling with, though. He’d always considered that if they found his spider, it would be something new, something born out of the aftermath of 9/11. Maybe even with an ultimate goal of stabilizing a world that was teetering on the edge of chaos.

  Not some ancient organization searching for a magic talisman.

  He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “So you believe this is the group Eve was working for?” Unknowingly, he imagined. Eve would never have willingly worked for terrorists.

  “I believe so. When I looked into it, the Historical Society was nothing but an empty shell set up to fund Eve’s research. There was no trail to follow.”

  Of course it was a shell. The reasons why people did things often made no sense to outsiders. As with most extreme groups who used terror to get their message across, their reasons and beliefs looked like nonsense to those brought up to a contrary belief. Posing as a historical society would eliminate any questioning.

  But even if Noah suspended disbelief and told himself yes, this group existed and they believed in magical Genghis Khan artifacts—strongly enough that they paid or coerced his ex-wife into hunting for this spirit banner and tomb—it still made no sense. “If she was working for them, why shoot her?”

  “Well, that’s where it gets interesting. When Genghis Khan died, he was buried in secret, like really secret. And then everyone who was involved and who knew the location was killed. They went to incredible lengths to hide the location. One of those lengths was a tribe of people—fifty families at the start—who were to guard the area.”

  “Wait? There’s an area?”

  “It’s known as the Great Taboo, and until recently, no one was allowed to visit. These families guard the place. They’re called the Darkhats, and their one function is to ensure the tomb is never found.”

  “So they shot Eve.”

  “When she got close to finding the Spirit Banner, yes. One of their members, Yuri Vasiliev—”

  “The Russian archaeologist working with Eve?”

  “That’s the one. He shot her.”

  He’d kill the bastard. Or would if he knew where the hell he was. “What happened to him?”

  Zach grinned. “Eve stabbed him with the banner. He’s dead. Hidden depths.”

  Noah couldn’t help but smile at that. “She found the Spirit Banner?”

  “She did. Then it was taken from her, and she was pissed.”

  “Who took it?”

  “A John Chen.”

  “The translator?” Christ, was no one who they seemed? Didn’t Eve have more sense than to go off into the fucking wilderness with a group of people she obviously knew nothing about?

  “We believe he worked for the Descendants. He tried to kill her, but she stayed his hand. Told him she had information that would lead to the tomb. That kept her alive long enough for me to turn up and save the day.”

  Great. “Where the fuck were you while she was being shot?”
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  “That’s another story, and it can wait.”

  Not for fucking long, but he didn’t want to risk pissing Zach off before he’d gotten all the relevant information. “So what happened next?”

  “Eve was in hospital. She was supposed to fly back to the U.K. Instead, she vanished.”

  Noah gritted his teeth. “Why the hell didn’t you stay with her? Make sure she got back? You shouldn’t have left her!”

  “I know. But I didn’t have a choice. I was about to be arrested by the Mongolian police, who weren’t too happy about the number of dead bodies piling up. I was also pretty much under arrest by my own people, who took me back to London for debriefing. I did what I could. Got her some protection.”

  “For all the good it did.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. I believe the Descendants got to her, threatened her, or more likely threatened your children, and made her finish the search for the tomb.”

  “So you think the Darkhats killed her? To stop her from finding it?”

  “I don’t know. Except it was John Chen she saw that night.”

  A Descendant, then. Had they somehow found out that she had received the final image from Star—the real Star—and decided they didn’t need her anymore? Sent this guy in to kill her and pick up the image? If that was the case, he had killed Eve but obviously failed to recover the image, and someone, somewhere must be pissed off. Unless they had gotten a copy off the real Star—she had been tortured, after all—and that’s why they didn’t need Eve. His Star had said that there were no copies, that she’d destroyed all the records once she had sent the original to Eve. But that could be a total fabrication. How could he believe anything she had said?

  His head hurt.

  “Before we go any farther,” Noah said, “let me ask you something. Do you believe this stuff?”

  “I don’t believe in magic. The rest—yes, I believe it. I didn’t want to at first. It seemed too far-fetched. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it fits. If I presume the terrorist attack in Paris was a response to my taking my theory to the next level, then there’s a direct link to Eve’s research. They were funded by the same source. I can’t think of any other explanation. This central group orchestrated Paris to get me out of the picture, and they funded Eve’s search for the tomb.”

  It did fit. And Noah had often found that the most obvious answer, however unbelievable, was the right one. “Which means this group is out there and they’ve been out there for centuries, putting the pieces in place. And once they’re in place, and they find the banner and the tomb, in their minds, they can and will take over the world.”

  “They already have the banner.”

  Shit. If the fake Star was working for them, they were close to finding the tomb. He needed to tell Zach about Star, but that was information he wasn’t willing to part with just yet. Not until he was sure he could trust the man. For now, he had to get back to the hotel and find out if there had been any contact from Harper’s kidnappers. What they wanted and how he could give it to them. He stood up. “I have to go.”

  “Just one more thing. I think this is happening soon. I’ve been following the patterns. I was heading to Germany before I came here. You heard about the attack?”

  “The poisoned water supply?” He frowned. “You were there? Coincidence?”

  “No. I told you I’d been following the patterns—same as you, I expect. I guessed the next attack would be in Germany, but I was too late to do any good, and no one would listen to me. I think the attack was to force the Germans to attend the—”

  “The Global Terrorism Summit,” Noah finished for him.

  Zach smiled. “So you have been following. Yes, Germany was the only important nation not attending. They are now. And I think the big move is happening at the summit. I think they’re planning something. Maybe taking out all the world leaders. They’ll have people ready to replace them, and they’ll be in control of the world’s biggest nations.”

  That was it. That was the last puzzle piece. “Christ, that’s less than a week away.” It made perfect sense. He needed to contact Peter. Warn him. And he needed to get to the hotel.

  Save Harper.

  His head was spinning.

  “Who is at the center of it all?”

  “I don’t know. I’d planned on following the banner, but it didn’t happen that way. I lost it. But the answer is in Mongolia. In the Great Taboo.”

  Noah agreed. But right now, he had calls to make. “I have to go.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you’re not. The hotel might be watched, and I’d rather we weren’t seen together. I’ll meet you back here in thirty minutes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The receptionist gave him a strange look as she handed over a new key card. Had she been on duty when Noah had been hauled off in handcuffs two days ago? He hadn’t been paying that much attention.

  He took the stairs two at a time. Now that he was alone, a sense of urgency filled him.

  A woman with a cart was entering the room Star—no, Sara…or was that name a lie, too?—had used. Noah went and peered in through the open door, but all trace of Star was gone. Clearly she had packed up when she left two days ago.

  Where was she now?

  He went back to his own room, stood inside the door, and scanned the area. At first sight, it was exactly as he had left it. He did a second sweep, and his gaze snagged on a piece of paper on the coffee table. The hotel stationery. He picked it up; a single line was printed across the page. “Look in the fridge.”

  His gaze flashed to the small fridge under the TV.

  His heart started a slow thud, and his skin prickled. He crossed the room slowly and stood for a moment staring down. Finally, he reached out and opened the door. A narrow black box, about six inches in length lay on the top shelf.

  He didn’t want to pick it up. Didn’t want to look inside. And he had to force his hand to move forward. The box was light. Maybe it was empty. His breathing sounded harsh, loud in his ears, as he fumbled with the lid. It fell to the floor, and he stared at the contents.

  A pale severed finger lay on a bed of red velvet.

  For a moment, his mind went mercifully blank then filled with a rage he’d never encountered before. Someone would die for this. His vision clouded, and he had to force himself to examine the finger.

  Small. Just the size of an eleven-year-old girl. The nail was short, unpainted. It had been severed cleanly just below the knuckle. Really, there was nothing to show that the finger belonged to Harper. How sad was it that he didn’t even recognize his own daughter’s finger?

  He bent down and picked up the lid, covered the box, and stood, taking deep breaths. At that moment, across the room, his phone beeped. It was on the table beside the bed where he had left it two days ago, and he moved toward it, each step slow and deliberate as he wrapped himself in a cloak of control.

  It was a text message.

  You have five days to find the lost tomb. After that, your daughter dies. Tell no one or we’ll send her back a piece at a time.

  A video was attached, and he forced himself to press the play button and watch to the end, to listen to his daughter’s screams. It was the least he could do. This was his fault. He’d failed to keep her safe, and now she was paying the price.

  He swayed, light-headed, then sank down onto the mattress and lowered his head to his knees, gritting his teeth against the scream that welled up in his throat.

  He’d seen worse things before, and always he’d managed to stay detached.

  But this was Harper.

  They’d cut off her fucking finger.

  For a brief moment, he allowed the anger to wash over him, a red burning rage that filled his mind. Then he straightened, slowed his breathing, forced the anger down, and his mind cleared. He c
ould do this. He had to. Right now, she was still alive, and he needed to keep her that way.

  The Descendants were the ones who had her; he was sure of it. Who else would want him to find the tomb? Were they watching the hotel? Had someone seen him arrive and sent the text? Or maybe one of the hotel workers had been paid to make a call when he returned.

  He read the rest of the messages on his phone. They were all from Peter, asking him to call. He didn’t want to talk to Peter right now, but he needed to warn him about the summit, in case something happened to him—someone needed to know. He hit reply and sent a text message.

  You need to check out the Global Terrorism Summit. Something big is going down there. Maximum security required.

  He stripped off his clothes as he headed to the bathroom. The bandage on his shoulder was dark with blood, and a sharp pain jabbed him if he raised his arm. There wasn’t a lot he could do now, but Star’s first aid kit still sat on the table. He would take that, and Zach could check it out later.

  He had to find Star and the image, and that would take him to the tomb. Except he had no clue where to start. So he was heading for the Great Taboo, because the tomb was somewhere in that area. He had five days to find it.

  Or Harper died.

  After dressing quickly, he shoved his things into his bag, including the box with the finger. He tucked Zach’s pistol down the back of his pants, and he was ready to go.

  The reception area was empty as he stepped out of the stairwell, except for the receptionist seated behind the counter. He walked toward her, dropped his bag on the floor, and drew the pistol in one fluid move. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t move.

  He pointed the gun at her face. “Did you just make a call about me?”

  Her eyes were glued to the gun. Then they flicked over his shoulder toward the door, looking for a means of escape.

  “Whatever they paid you, it’s not worth dying over.”

  She gave a jerky nod.

  “Did you see them?”

  She cleared her throat. “No. They called.”

  “Write down the number for me.”