“Is the key in there?” Orlando asked.
Agent Wagner came to a skidding halt, leading two agents from the eastern passage. She held a gun with both hands and wore a bullet-proof vest. “You find it?”
Caleb showed her his palm, which held only a single rolled up piece of paper. He tugged at the edge and flattened it out. Then his heart sunk, along with his hopes to save Alexander, as he saw the words written there in fresh red ink.
No prize for second place.
10
“They were here,” Caleb told her. “We missed them.”
Renée holstered her gun, a black Walther .45 with a walnut grip, a weapon Caleb had noticed earlier and thought was a little flashy for an FBI agent. “So,” she said, “Montross managed to do in minutes what Alexander the Great failed to do all his life?”
Caleb offered a weak smile. “The Great Conqueror didn’t have our gifts.” Well, at least Phoebe and Orlando still have access to those gifts.
Renée led Caleb back to the dead body. Her men had removed the assassin’s mask. “Recognize him?”
“You mean by what’s left of him.”
She shrugged. “Sorry. He’s Asian. We can tell that much, but he’s got no ID.”
“Nothing but that tattoo,” another agent pointed out.
“Wait,” Caleb said. He took out his phone, brought up the photo and sent it as a picture message to Phoebe’s phone. Then he called her.
Renée frowned. “What are you doing?”
Caleb held up a hand. “Following a hunch.”
“Another one?”
“Yeah. This thing looks familiar, and I’ve got a weird feeling that it’s important. Phoebe?”
The phone crackled. “Yeah, we’re packing up here. Did you get it?”
“We got screwed. Again. Montross and Nina beat us to it. But listen, I just sent a picture to your phone. Load it into Orlando’s tablet and have him do his magic on it. Find a match.”
“We’re on it,” she said. “Call you right back.”
“What are you thinking?” Renée asked as they walked back to the room with the weaponry and the ancient ship reproductions. “Isn’t this guy just another one of Montross’s thugs, like those he used back at Sodus?”
“I don’t think so,” Caleb replied. “There was just something about the killer’s demeanor. He actually bowed to me before he attacked.”
“He what?”
“It was reminiscent of how someone else treated me when I was trying to uncover the secret of the Pharos. Someone who had been sworn to protect it. It was the same. Like he admired my efforts, but couldn’t let me get any closer.”
“Okay, but why would he have been protecting something that Montross had already taken?”
Caleb thought for a moment. “Maybe he didn’t know it was gone. Montross might have done it quickly, using diversion or just blending in earlier with the other tourists, and this guy — its protector — would have been on the alert only for a direct attempt.”
Renée rubbed her forehead. “Like what we did just now.”
Caleb’s phone rang and he answered at once, putting the call on the speaker. “Orlando, what do you have?”
“An itching for a raise, boss.”
“Just tell me.”
“All right, but are you sure you don’t want to guess first?”
Caleb groaned. “Okay, it’s an ancient symbol. Something Chinese, or…” He blinked, suddenly the emblem on a flag, a waving flag on a pole, or a spear, one spear among hundreds, thousands, massed on a battlefield.
“…Mongolian.”
“Bingo!” Orlando cried with impatience, bridling in his voice. “It’s the banner of the nine ox tails, the standard symbol of the one and only…”
Caleb mouthed it just as Orlando said the name.
“…Genghis Khan.”
“So if I was confused before, now I’m certifiable,” Renée said. “What does Genghis Khan have to do with any of this?”
Keeping the speakerphone connection on, Caleb started pacing, aware that he was treading on the same stones the knights had walked on during the Crusades. “It could have a lot to do with all this. Genghis Khan, whose real name was Temujin, surpassed even Alexander the Great’s conquests by ruling a territory four times as large, creating a vast empire across Asia, sweeping through the Middle East, marching even to the doorstep of Europe. But what many don’t know was that he wasn’t just a savage tyrant; he was a seeker of truth, much like Alexander. And also like both Alexander and Cyrus, he was tolerant of all religions, respecting that in their hearts all faiths were driven by the quest to understand the will of heaven.” He thought for a moment. “And there are myths, legends that Temujin even sought out relics of Alexander’s legacy, artifacts that would solidify his hold on power and on life itself.”
The phone crackled with Orlando’s voice. “But he didn’t get too far in that respect. In his old age he fell off a horse or something and never recovered from his injuries. Died like all rulers and tyrants — just like the rest of us.”
“Knock it off,” came Phoebe’s voice. “We don’t need your anarchy speech here.”
“I’m just saying, in the end we’re all the same: dead meat.”
“It’s a good point,” Caleb said, “and where I was going next. He died on a way to another battle, a campaign to put down a revolt at Xi-Xia in 1227 CE. But his passing left behind one of the greatest archaeological mysteries of all time.”
Renée blinked at him, waiting. “Which is…”
Caleb gave her a weak smile. “Where is he buried?”
Noting her impatience, he continued. “His body was taken somewhere in secret, as was the custom with all Mongolian rulers. Different theories about the whereabouts of his tomb have circulated ever since. There was a cryptic anecdote from Marco Polo, then some observations from visiting dignitaries decades later. And then some subtle clues surfaced, based on the Mongolian epic work written shortly after his death: The Secret History of the Mongol People.”
“Well, does any of it help us here?” Phoebe asked.
“I honestly can’t say how much we can rely on. The more colorful legends state that all those who labored on his crypt were massacred, and any unfortunate souls who had come across the funeral procession were put to the sword. And when his procession finally arrived, returning back across the Gobi Desert to his ancestral home in northeastern Mongolia, another force of soldiers were waiting to kill those who had escorted the Khan’s body. Some estimates put this burial-related death toll at over twenty thousand, all to ensure Temujin would have an undisturbed afterlife. Archaeologists and treasure-hunters have sought his resting place for centuries, certain there would be tremendous wealth buried inside his crypt with him.”
On the other end of the line, Orlando made a choking sound. “How tremendous are we talking?”
Caleb shrugged. “The spoils of all the conquests he had made, all the treasure acquired from the kingdoms he conquered. None of it has ever been found, so the speculation is that it’s all still there somewhere, with him or his descendents, whose graves are also unaccounted for, but rumored to be in the same area.”
“Like the Valley of the Kings in Egypt,” Phoebe said, and then giggled. “Only it’s the Valley of the Khans.”
“Okay,” Renée snapped. “But if no one knows where this place is…”
“Well, there is a mausoleum for him.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she sighed. “Another mausoleum?”