by N. J. Croft
They’d ordered food and drinks and were waiting for Eve to join them. John had been regaling them with the incident on the way back from the airport. Zach had the idea the man was playing it down, though he’d said that Eve had been shaken. But why would someone want to harm her? If she was being paid by the terrorists, even unwittingly, what was the point of getting her here just to promptly kill her off. Or had they been trying to harm John?
Could it be Zach’s presence? But he had arrived in the country under an assumed name. There should be no record, and if someone in MI6 was passing on information—as seemed increasingly likely—then there was no trail to follow, because right now, he wasn’t working for MI6.
The day after he had met with Eve, it had been suggested, very politely, that he take a leave of absence. That he was clearly not over the incident from three months ago and should take some time off until he could see things with a level head.
More likely someone wanted him out of the way.
Which meant he was on his own. He’d investigated the organization who was funding Eve’s work—the Mongolian Historic Society. At first glance, it looked exactly like what it was supposed to be, but when he dug deeper, the organization was nothing but a shell, and he’d reached a dead end. So he was following the only lead he had. All the way to Mongolia. Might as well have been the edge of the world.
Eve appeared at that moment. She was dressed the same as she had been at their last meeting, in a navy suit with a blue T-shirt under the jacket. Smart, businesslike, and functional. Her blond hair hung loose about her face, and she didn’t look as though she’d had any sleep since they last met, shadows under her eyes, her skin pale. She was rubbing at her shoulder as she crossed the room, then she caught his gaze and her hand dropped to her side.
They all rose to their feet as she came to a halt in front of their table. Yuri, the big Russian, stepped around and clasped her by the shoulders, kissed her on each cheek. “Welcome to Mongolia.”
She smiled, but it was a little forced. Then she shook hands with Tarkhan and said a greeting in what Zach presumed was Mongolian. He had read up on the scholar. The man was eighty but looked nowhere near that age. Below average height, thin but upright. He’d apparently spent years in a Siberian labor camp for continuing his studies when they were outlawed under the Soviet regime. She nodded at John Chen then turned to him, raised a brow.
“Zach. How…unexpected.”
“I just couldn’t resist finding out more about our friend, Genghis.” He had actually been doing some reading. The man was fascinating.
“I hope you get an interesting piece.”
“I’m sure I will.”
“We ordered food, just sandwiches—the kitchen is closed,” Yuri said. “But I got your favorite. And wine.” He waved her to a seat opposite Zach, between him and Tarkhan.
A frown flashed across her face, but she sat down. She nibbled at her sandwich. Put it down and took up her glass. She sipped for a minute while the rest of them ate, and he could see the tension draining from her. She caught his gaze. “I hate flying.”
The report on her said she suffered from claustrophobia as well as hydrophobia as a result of the kidnapping. He would imagine the former would make flying difficult.
Then she smiled. “But wow, I can hardly believe I’m here. I’ve spent so much time looking at pictures of this place, reading about it, and now I’m actually here. And we’re going to find the Spirit Banner of Genghis Khan. And then we’re going to find his tomb. And we’ll all be famous and get lots of funding for lots more adventures.”
“Why is the tomb such a big deal?” Zach asked. “And why has no one found it before now? I would have thought it would be obvious.”
She picked up her sandwich and waved her free hand at Tarkhan. “You tell him,” she said, then turned her attention back to Zach. “Tarkhan has spent his whole life studying this stuff.”
Tarkhan put down his glass. He was the only one drinking water—a Buddhist thing, he’d told Zach. “Genghis Khan did not want his final resting place to be known and went to incredible lengths to keep the exact site of his burial a secret.”
“Don’t most leaders want to be honored after their death? Why was it so important that no one know where he was buried?”
“It might be as simple as the fact that Mongolians—especially back then—hated the idea of bodies being desecrated.”
“Or it might be something way more exciting.” Eve’s eyes gleamed with a passion he’d only glimpsed when she spoke about her work. She appeared to have shed her fatigue. “There’s a legend that Genghis didn’t want his tomb found because there is an artifact buried with him—a talisman. A magical talisman that he carried into battle and that gave him the power to overcome his enemies.”
“Sounds like a load of bollocks,” he said.
She smiled. “You don’t believe in magic?”
He snorted. “Do you?”
“Sadly, no. But maybe back then they did. You know, something doesn’t have to be real for it to have power. People just have to believe it’s real. Look at religion. Probably the most powerful force in the world today, and I’m guessing you believe in God about as much as you believe in magic.”
“You’d guess right.”
“But it doesn’t matter, as long as Genghis Khan and his followers—and his enemies, of course—believed it. And he did. He believed it was so powerful and so dangerous that he didn’t trust it in anyone else’s hands, not even his heirs. Maybe particularly his heirs. So it needed to be hidden away. It’s said that the soldiers who brought his body back to Mongolia slaughtered everything they met along the way, animals as well as humans. That, after the burial, they slaughtered all the laborers. They stampeded a herd of a thousand horses over the land to hide the actual burial site and diverted a river to flood it. Then the soldiers themselves were slain.”
“They did a thorough job, then?”
“They did. And then they assigned fifty loyal families as guardians to keep people away from the area.”
“So they do know which part of Mongolia he’s buried in. Where exactly is this?”
“It’s believed to be in an area known as the Great Taboo in the northeastern part of the country. But finding the tomb is for another time. First, we need to find the spear. Tomorrow we’ll head to the Shankh Monastery.”
“Why there?”
“It’s the last place the Spirit Banner was seen.”
“So Genghis Khan was a Buddhist? You know that doesn’t line up with what I’ve read about the man. He seemed a little…violent.”
“Khan wasn’t a Buddhist. Back then, the Mongolian tribes practiced a form of Shamanism called Tengriism. They prayed to Tengri, the Eternal Blue Sky. Though apparently, Khan was very tolerant of other religions. The country became predominantly Buddhist in the sixteenth century, and the Spirit Banner passed into the care of the monks.”
“You think you’ll find new information?” Yuri asked. “That the monks haven’t already given up all they know or all they are willing to share.”
“Ah, but I have a new source. A monk who was a young boy living at the monastery when the Soviets attacked and the spear disappeared. He was one of the few who got away with their lives. He fled to China and has been living in a monastery near Beijing since then. But he’s retired—he’s actually in his nineties now and has come home. I’ve been corresponding with the monastery for years, and this monk said he would like to speak to me. I’m meeting him tomorrow.” She yawned. “I think we’ll have to carry on this conversation another time. It’s been a long day.”
Yuri stood. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
She smiled but shook her head. “No need. Finish your drink. I’ll see you all in the morning. It’s a five-hour drive. We leave at nine.”
As she got to her feet, she cast Zach a glance. He had an idea if he offered to walk her to her room, she’d jump at the chance. At a guess, she had a few questions for him, but he didn�
�t feel like answering them right now. He raised his glass.
“See you in the morning.”
Chapter Eight
John was driving the SUV he’d picked her up in last night. It didn’t seem to have sustained any serious damage from the incident on the way from the airport. Just a slight dent on the bumper.
Eve had lay in bed last night, attempting to convince herself that John was right. That it hadn’t been a targeted attack on her, just an unlucky coincidence. Carjackers or kids. But she’d done a crappy job at that—her twisted mind coming up with increasingly unlikely conspiracy theories—so she’d changed her strategy and was trying not to think about it at all.
If she ever got a moment alone with him, she would get Zach’s take on what happened. Along with asking him what the hell he was doing here and why hadn’t he told her he was coming. She’d sent him a text last night, but he still hadn’t answered.
In the end, after much tossing and turning, she’d taken another sleeping tablet and consequently had slept in, finally waking at quarter to nine and had kept them all waiting. She’d foregone breakfast so she wouldn’t be late for her appointment, and her stomach rumbled.
Yuri, sitting in the seat behind her, next to Zach, tapped her on the shoulder. When she turned, he handed her a bag. “I kept some breakfast for you.”
“Thanks.” He was being so…solicitous. It was grating on her nerves. She had a feeling he would like to continue the relationship they’d started—and ended—last summer. But she didn’t want to complicate matters during this expedition. Maybe choosing him as the second archaeologist on the team was a mistake. But he was the best “digger” she knew, and they worked well together, complemented each other. Eve did the research and analysis—the detective work—while Yuri had extensive field experience.
Much of what she was doing now was confirmation. She already had a good idea of what she was looking for and what she would find out today.
She nibbled on the bread roll and stared out the window of the SUV. Flat grasslands reached for miles in all directions, though in the far distance she could see mountains rising up from the plains. Occasionally they passed herds of goats and sheep, and small Mongolian horses, rough-coated and wild-eyed. Genghis Khan must have ridden over this very land. The sky overhead was a deep, overarching blue. This was the same Blue Sky that Genghis Khan had prayed to all those years ago. A shiver ran through her at the thought, and she sent up a prayer of her own.
Help me overcome my fears.
The road behind them was clear. No other vehicles to ram into them. Relaxing back in her seat, she cleared her mind and managed to gain the first measure of peace she’d had since Mr. Tuul had visited her two weeks ago.
Four hours later, John said, “There’s the monastery.”
A long wooden wall grew up out of the flat green plains with nothing around for miles. Behind it, the mountains, closer now, formed a hazy, gray backdrop.
John pulled to a halt outside the gates, and a moment later they opened from inside and he drove through. She’d seen pictures of this place, but what struck her most were the vivid colors—reds and blues and ochers. The building ahead of them was two stories with a curved roof, a terrace held up by red pillars, and red and blue walls. She got out of the car and stretched. They were in the courtyard with a scattering of sheep nibbling the short grass. The air was crisp and fresh, unexpectedly cold against her skin, considering it was the end of May.
The others had also exited the vehicle, and Zach came up beside her. Unfortunately, Yuri was right behind, so she didn’t have privacy to ask him what the hell he was doing here.
Two monks in red and purple robes, and yellow hats on their heads, walked serenely toward them. She’d never been a religious person, but she’d studied Buddhism for her work and she’d always been drawn to its tenets.
Do no harm.
If everyone lived by that belief, the world would be a better place. John walked toward the monks, gave a small bow—which they returned—and then spoke to them in Mongolian. She could speak greetings and say thank you, but anything more and she was lost.
She hoped the old monk hadn’t changed his mind. Or dropped dead on her. But John was smiling as he came toward her. “Batbayar is ready to see you but would prefer we kept it to just the two of us.”
“That’s fine with me.”
“They’ve offered to show the others around the monastery while you meet with him.”
She turned to Zach and Yuri. “You good with that?”
“I think I should be at the meeting,” Yuri answered with a scowl.
“I’ll tape it if he has no objections, and you can listen later.”
He still didn’t look happy but gave a short nod.
“I’m good,” Zach said. “I’ll take some pictures, if that’s okay?”
Of course, he was supposed to be a journalist. She’d almost forgotten. John spoke to the monks, and they nodded.
She fell in step beside John as they followed one of the monks across the courtyard into what looked like the main building. A huge airy room took up most of the ground floor. Eve toed off her shoes, as instructed, and stepped across the threshold. The ceilings were high and held up by wooden pillars painted dark red. The floors were polished wood, and the yellow and blue walls were decorated with colorful paintings. Inside, the air was warm and heavy with the scent of spicy incense. The sounds of the outside world were muted, and as she traversed the expanse of floor, a feeling of calm washed over her.
At the far end of the room, a man sat cross-legged on a woven mat, his head, in its yellow hat, was lowered, and for a moment she thought he was sleeping. But as they came to a halt in front of him, he straightened.
He didn’t look ninety; the skin of his face was unlined, his eyes clear. He spoke a greeting. She returned it and gave him a small bow.
“Thank you for meeting with me.” She took her phone out of her bag. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”
John translated her words, but Batbayar smiled. “I speak English. I spent a number of years, a long time ago, in your country. And I have been looking forward to speaking with you. Please be seated, and yes, you may record my words.”
She sank to the floor, with John beside her. She supposed she didn’t need him now, but he didn’t seem inclined to leave.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she considered where to begin. “Why did you decide to speak with me now?” she asked.
“The time is right. I will not last many more years. Death comes to all of us, and I decided I needed to speak of the past to someone before I go. That way, my memories will not be forgotten.”
“But why me?”
“I have read all your papers with interest. You write of our country with love and you have a passion for the truth.”
“You know I’m looking for the Spirit Banner of Genghis Khan, but I assure you it will be returned to the people of Mongolia, when found.”
“It will go where it is needed.”
Very cryptic. She smiled. “So you were here in 1937 when the Soviets attacked the monastery?”
“I was ten years old. I’d lived in the monastery since I was five, when my parents were sent to a labor camp for some perceived crime against the state. The monks took me in. I was there the day the soldiers came. They killed the monks and assaulted the nuns. I remember I wanted to be brave, but instead I hid beneath the table in the kitchen and listened to the screams. They found me and I expected to die, but they let me live.”
“And you remember what happened to the Spirit Banner?”
“I do. It was taken from the monastery hours before the attack. The keepers of the Spirit Banner were different from the other monks. I didn’t understand back then, but later I saw that they were warrior monks. Protectors.” He glanced at John. “Your friend here could tell you about the warrior monks.”
“He could? Why?”
John shook his head. “Later.”
“When we got word
that the soldiers were close, they took the Spirit Banner and left. I heard the monks talking. They were supposed to go to the monastery in Ulaanbaatar.”
“But we know now that it never arrived,” Eve said. “Have you any idea what happened? Why they didn’t get it there?”
“Maybe they never planned to go. Maybe they had another destination. I hid and watched them leave in the darkness before dawn. They headed north on horseback.”
She latched onto that point. She’d been searching along the direct route to the capital city, pretty much the route they had driven that morning, presuming that was the way they would go. Maybe she’d been looking in the wrong place. She’d also presumed they would be on foot. “Directly north?”
“Yes.”
“So the Soviets sent people after them?”
“The Soviets wanted the Banner. They saw it as a threat, a symbol the people of Mongolia would rally to, and they meant to destroy it. When they didn’t find it, they tortured the head monk, but he would not give them answers. But someone must have talked. Soldiers were sent after them. What happened next, I don’t know.”
“What do you think happened?”
“Perhaps the soldiers found them and the Spirit Banner was destroyed. Or perhaps it was hidden when the protectors realized they could not prevail. I do believe the warrior monks would have died protecting the Banner.”
Could that be the case? The soldiers had found them and destroyed the Banner. But she wouldn’t believe that. She much preferred his second theory.
“Do you believe the Spirit Banner is the embodiment of Genghis Khan’s soul?” she asked.
Batbayar snorted. “Of course not. But if enough people believe, then the truth becomes unimportant. There are certainly many secrets tied to the Banner. Secrets passed down from one protector to the next.”