Treasure of Khan

"So be it. Those are my terms." Borjin rose to his feet. "I look forward to a long and fruitful relationship, Minister Shinzhe." Borjin bowed graciously, if insincerely.

Shinzhe rose and bowed stiffly in return, then left the room with his entourage. Borjin and Tatiana followed the Chinese delegation to the door and watched as they staggered through the howling dust storm to their cars. As the taillights blinked past the guard gate, Borjin closed the door and turned to Tatiana.

"The plum is ours for the taking," he said, walking back down the corridor.

"Yes, but the risks are many. They will not find it easy to give up the lands of I

"Nonsense. The Chinese can appreciate the cultural desire of Mongolia to seek unification with its prior territory. A perfect cover story. And a rich irony, that they will give us the lands that we will in turn exploit to sell them oil."

"They will not be happy once they learn the truth. They might nullify the agreement, or worse. And they won't want to pay prices above the market rate."

"The latter point is a simple matter. With our newfound technology, we can keep the entire market unstable for years and profit richly. We have already proven that in the Persian Gulf, and will do so again."

They reached the conference room and stepped inside, moving to the small bar that was surrounded by dozens of shelved liquor bottles. Borjin reached for a bottle of cognac and poured two glasses.

"My dear sister, we have already won. Once the oil starts flowing, we will have the Chinese by the throat and they dare not renege. Should they have a change of heart, we simply accelerate the pipeline to Siberia and link up with the co

"Yes, thanks to our brother's fire ship incident at Ningbo the Chinese are in a desperate bind."

"Temuge has been working miracles, hasn't he?"

"I need not remind you that he nearly caused my death in Baikal," she said irritably.

"An unforeseen side effect, the large wave. But no matter, you are here safe now," he said with a slightly patronizing tone. "You must admit, he has been most effective. Coordinating the pipeline destruction in Siberia, then setting fire to the Chinese port when a suitable fault line could not be found. And the Persian Gulf team he assembled has been most effective. After the next demonstration in the Middle East, the Chinese will be crawling to us on their knees."

"And Temuge is proceeding across the Pacific to North America for the final strike?"

"They are already at sea. The Baikal equipment arrived in Seoul two days ago, and they departed shortly thereafter. I sent the Khentii excavation team with Temuge, since we had to cease operations after the incident with the Russian survey team."

"Their search efforts have produced nothing anyway. It is apparent from the empty crypt we found near Genghis that the other tomb was ransacked or else never interred. It is a mystery why the associated riches have never come to light."

"No matter, as the Chinese will soon provide us a healthy cash flow. We'll have to wait a week or two for the next oil shock," he said and smiled, "then they will be agreeably inclined."

Stepping out of the conference room, he walked to the adjacent staircase, his sister following close behind. Stopping at the head of the stairs, he raised his glass to the huge portrait of the ancient Mongol warrior that hung on the facing wall.

"The first step is complete. We are well on our way now to restoring the riches and glory of the Golden Clan."

"Our father would be proud," Tatiana said. "He has made it possible."

"To father and to our lord, Chinggis," he said, swallowing a gulp of the cognac. "May the conquests begin again."

-24-

Behind the residence, the head of security refastened a handheld radio to his belt. A bear-sized man by the name of Batbold, he had just received word that the Chinese delegation had left the compound. If the two marauders were still alive in the corral, they could be finished off with the rifles now.

The swirling dust obscured the interior of the corral, but the earlier rain of lead and arrows must have taken the two spies down. There was no longer the futile attempt to fling field implements at the surrounding forces. And, in fact, there had been no sight of either man for several minutes. They were surely dead by now, he surmised. Just to be sure, he ordered three more volleys of rifle fire into the center of the corral, then halted the shooting.

Removing a short sword he carried at his waist, Batbold dismounted and led three other men on foot toward the corral to examine the bodies. They marched to within ten feet of the wooden fence when they heard the sound of a wooden crate being smashed inside. As Batbold and his men froze in their steps, a new sound emerged, that of a metallic whirring that slowly died away. The security head took a tentative step forward, finally seeing movement behind one of the wagons as the whirring noise repeated itself again and again.

"There!" he shouted, pointing toward the wagon. "Aim and fire."

The three guards raised their carbines to their shoulders as a loud pop reverberated from inside. As the gunmen tried to take aim, a wall of boxes suddenly erupted from the side of the corral, knocking out a section of the wooden fence. An instant later, a low-slung object came bursting toward them accompanied by a screeching din.

Batbold stared wide-eyed as he watched a faded red motorcycle with attached sidecar racing straight toward him. The motorcycle appeared riderless, with a wooden crate propped on the seat, next to another crate atop the sidecar. Sidestepping its path, Batbold realized his eyes were deceiving him and quickly hoisted his sword in defense of the approaching machine. But it was too late.

As the motorcycle brushed by, Al Giordino popped through the crate on the sidecar like a crazed jack-in-the-box. In his hands he gripped a square-bladed shovel, which he swung at Batbold. The blunt face of the blade struck the security chief on the side of his jaw with a hard smacking sound. Batbold quickly melted to the ground, a look of stu

The motorcycle charged toward the three guards behind Batbold, who scattered in panic without firing a shot. One man slipped and fell, his legs run over by the sidecar's wheels. The second man dove to safety, while the third got whacked in the back of the head by Giordino's shovel, sending him sprawling.

Peeking through a slot in the wooden crate draped over his shoulders, Pitt gu

"Keep down, the heat's about to turn up," he shouted to Giordino.

An instant later, a flurry of arrows began pinging into the sidecar and ripping into their makeshift wooden armor. Pitt felt a stinging in his left thigh from an arrow nick, and would have noticed a trickle of warm blood ru

The aged motorcycle ripped toward the line of horsemen, trailing a cloud of black smoke from its overrich carburetion. As Pitt had hoped, the riflemen behind him had held their fire for fear of shooting the archers. But the archers themselves had no such qualms and let loose with a flurry of flying arrows.