Treasure of Khan

The lama with the thick glasses set down his drum and approached Pitt and Giordino. He was nearly eighty-five yet moved with the strength and grace of a much younger man. His deep brown eyes shined with warmth and intelligence.

"The Americans who wander the desert," he said in heavily accented English. "I am Santanai. Welcome to our temple. We have included a prayer for your safe travels in our worship today."

"Please excuse our intrusion," Pitt said, startled at the lama's knowledge of their arrival.

"The path to enlightenment is open to all," the lama smiled. "Come, let me show you our home." The old lama proceeded to guide Pitt and Giordino around the temple, then led them outside for a walk around the grounds.

"The original monastery dates to the 1820s," he explained. "The occupants were more fortunate than most during the great purge. Government agents destroyed the living quarters and the food stores, then drove away the faithful. For reasons unknown, the temple was left untouched, abandoned to stand empty for many decades. The sacred texts and other articles of worship were secured by a local herdsman and buried in the sands nearby. When the ways of tolerance were resumed by the government, we reopened the temple as the centerpiece of our monastery."

"The buildings look hardly the worse for wear after all those years," Giordino noted.

"Local herdsmen and underground monks secretly maintained the temple during the years of repression.

The remote location helped keep the site out of the prying eyes of the most troublesome government atheists. But we have much work yet to do to restore the compound," he said, motioning toward a stack of lumber and building materials. "We live in the gers now, but will someday have a permanent residence structure."

"You and a dozen disciples?"

"Yes, there are twelve monks here plus a visiting aspirant. But we hope to provide housing for an additional ten young men before long."

The lama led Pitt and Giordino to one of the smaller buildings beside the main temple. "I can offer you accommodations in our storeroom. The Western archaeological team visiting us is working at a nearby site for several weeks. They have left behind several cots that you may use. You wish to catch a ride on the supply truck tomorrow?"

"Yes," Pitt replied. "We are anxious to return to Ulaanbaatar."

"It shall be arranged. I must return to the temple for a tutoring session. Please make yourself comfortable, then join us for our evening meal at sunset."

The lama quietly turned and strode to the temple, his loose red robe flapping in the breeze. Pitt and Giordino climbed a short flight of steps and entered the storeroom, which was a narrow windowless structure with a high ceiling. They had to step around a giant iron bell just inside the doorway, a weathered relic in need of a bell tower. Past the bell, they found flour, noodles, tea, and other foodstuffs stacked along one wall. On the opposite side were bins of blankets and furs, stored for the frigid winter months ahead. In the back, they found several canvas cots beneath a painted image of Sakyamuni, the Buddha sitting cross-legged on a lotus-flower throne.

"Odd, that he knew we were in the neighborhood," Pitt said.

"It's a small desert," Giordino replied. "Look on the bright side. We don't have to sleep on the ground and we have plenty of time to relax until our ride shows up. As a matter of fact, I think I'd like to test out our new accommodations straightaway," he said, stretching out on one of the cots.

"I've got some reading to do first," Pitt replied, making his way toward the door before the snoring began.

Taking a seat on the front steps of the storeroom, he gazed in thought at the ancient temple and the dust-strewn valley stretching beyond. Then he pulled open the rucksack and began reading the diary of Dr. Leigh Hunt.

-32-

Good-bye, Dirk. And good-bye to your friend Al."

Noyon bounded up the steps and bowed. Pitt stood up and shook the boy's hand, marveling at the maturity of the ten-year-old.

"So long, my friend," Pitt replied. "I hope that we shall meet again."

"Yes. Next time, you ride the camels," the boy gri

The rumble woke Giordino from his nap and he padded onto the porch, stretching his arms to awaken.

"Noyon and the kids headed home from school?" he asked, catching a glimpse of the bus before it disappeared over the hill.

"He just came by and said farewell. Wanted me to tell you that his best camel is available for riding excursions at any time." Pitt stuck his nose back into Hunt's diary with a mesmerized look on his face.

"How's the kiss-and-tell saga of our petrified archaeologist?"

"One that you won't believe," Pitt said.

Giordino saw the serious look in Pitt's eyes and took a seat on the steps.

"What did you find?"

"Dr. Hunt, his Mongolian assistant, and a team of Chinese laborers were excavating the remains of a vanished city in northern China named Shang-tu."

"Never heard of it."

"You might know it by its more romanticized Western name ... Xanadu."

"Not another one," Giordino said, shaking his head. "Did it really exist?"

"Most definitely. It was the summer palace of Kublai Khan. He built the joint about one hundred twenty miles northwest of Beijing to get out of the summer heat. It was surrounded by a walled hunting ground and an adjacent village of upwards of one hundred thousand people. By the time Hunt came along, it was no more than a pile of rock and dust on an empty plain."

"So the artifacts on the plane date from Kublai Khan's reign? They must be worth a small fortune. That is, the few items not broken into a thousand pieces during the plane crash."

"Quite possibly. Though Hunt himself was disappointed with the haul. He writes that there was really nothing of significance uncovered until the very last day of the excavation. That's when your wooden box and the cheetah skin were dug up."

Pitt had the open wooden box sitting on the porch, the cheetah skin and bronze tube sitting inside. He pulled out the animal skin first.

"Hunt made little mention of the cheetah skin, but look at this," he said, laying out the fur, then flipping it over. On the ski

"Seems to relay a voyage that ended in a firestorm," Giordino said. "Perhaps they ran into some adversaries who were skilled with Greek Fire. Or it looks like they might have moored close to a forest fire ashore and were caught by blowing embers. There was no interpretation by the British archaeologist?"

"None. I wonder if he even examined the back side of the skin before he died."

"Any significance to the box?"