But something was wrong. There was no knotty resistance of the blade cutting through bone, no splash of blood or gasp of breath from the dying victim. The sword instead cut through without resistance down to the cot, the blade driving deep into the wooden frame. A startled confusion came over the would-be assassin before the sudden realization that he'd been had. But by then it was too late.
Pitt was already charging from his cot at the back of the room. The sliver of light creeping through the open door perfectly backlit the would-be killer hunched over the entryway cot, giving Pitt a clear target.
In his hands, Pitt carried a wooden-handled shovel that he had borrowed from the excavation area and stashed under his bed. A step away from the cot that was stuffed with pillows, he pulled the shovel over his shoulder and swung at the black silhouette.
The intruder did his best to recover. Hearing Pitt's footsteps approach, he pulled the sword out from the cot and wielded it over his head. Feeling rather than seeing Pitt draw near in the dark, he thrust the sword toward him in a wide arc.
But Pitt's movements were already ahead of him. The blade of the shovel materialized out of the darkness and smashed into the intruder's hand as he started his downswing. The crunching sound of knuckles mashed on metal was quickly followed by a bloodcurdling cry of agony that echoed across the compound.
The sword flew out of the assassin's hand and clattered across the hardwood floor. Not interested in a duel, he grasped his mangled hand and staggered back toward the doorway. Pitt made another swing with the shovel from his left side but the intruder lurched out of harm's way. The cot was situated between the two men and Pitt made one more lunge across the empty bed. He swung hard and low as he saw the intruder turn toward the door. The shovel head clipped the back of the man's leg just below the calf.
Another shot of pain seared through the assassin's body as he lost all balance and tumbled hard to the floor. Still clutching his mashed hand, he failed to brace himself as he fell. Unseen in the dark, the heavy iron bell clipped him at the hairline as he went down. Pitt heard a cracking sound like a shattering baseball bat, followed by the secondary thud of the man's body hitting the floor.
Giordino materialized at Pitt's side, then stepped around the cot and kicked the door fully open. Under the full glow of the moon, they could see the intruder's lifeless body lying on its side, the head tilted at an unnatural angle.
"Snapped his neck," Giordino said, bending over the still form.
"A kinder treatment than he had in mind for us," Pitt said, leaning his shovel against the wall and picking up the sword.
Lights appeared on the porch, then the lama and two monks entered the room, each carrying a kerosene lantern.
"We heard a scream," the lama said, then looked down at the body near his feet. The bright red robe worn by the victim shined brightly under the lanterns. Even Giordino was startled by seeing that the intruder was dressed in attire associated with the nonviolent Buddhist monks. The lama looked at the short black hair and youthful face with immediate recognition.
"Zenoui," the lama said without emotion. "He's dead."
"He tried to kill us," Pitt said, holding up the sword and displaying the sliced blankets on the cot. "I tripped him with the shovel, and he fell on the bell and broke his neck. I suspect you will find additional weapons on his body."
The lama turned to one of the monks and spoke in Mongolian. The underling knelt down and patted the robes on the corpse. Lifting a section of red cloth, he revealed a belt that held a dagger and a small automatic pistol.
"This is not the way of the dharma," the lama said with shock.
"How long has he been at the monastery?" Pitt asked.
"He arrived just the day before you. He said he hailed from the northern state of Orhon but that he was crossing the Gobi in search of inner tranquility."
"He's found it now," Giordino said with a smirk.
The lama contemplated an earlier conversation, then gazed suspiciously at Pitt and Giordino. "He asked about two foreigners crossing the desert when he arrived. I told him we knew nothing of you but that there was a good chance you might appear here, as the weekly supply truck is the most reliable means to Ulaanbaatar in the vicinity. After telling him this, he expressed the desire to prolong his stay."
"That explains your knowledge of our arrival," Pitt said.
"But why the attempt on your lives?"
Pitt briefly explained their visit and escape from Borjin's compound while in search of the missing oil survey team. "This man was likely an employee of Borjin."
"Then he is not a monk?"
"I would say that was not his primary calling."
"He was indeed ignorant of many of our customs," the lama said. His face burrowing, he added, "A killing at the monastery, I fear, may cause us great trouble with the state authorities."
"His death was in fact an accident. Report it as such."
"We can certainly do without a state inquisition," Giordino muttered.
"Yes," the lama agreed, "if that is the truth, then it will be reported as an accident. After you have departed." The lama had the other two monks wrap the body in a blanket and move it to the temple.
"I regret your lives were placed in peril while visiting our enclave," he said.
"We regret attracting such trouble to your monastery," Pitt replied.
"May the rest of your stay be enjoyed in peace," the lama said, then he drifted off to the temple, where a brief prayer was held for the dead intruder.
"Nice bit of detective work," Giordino said, closing the door and bracing the damaged cot behind it.
"How did you know there was a phony monk in the deck?"
"Just a hunch. He didn't seem to have the ascetic air of the other devout monks, plus he kept looking us over at dinner like he knew who we were. It didn't seem a stretch that Borjin would still have someone on the prowl for us, even someone disguised as a monk."
"I hope he didn't bring any friends with him. I guess that means I owe you now," Giordino said.
"Owe me what?"
"Shovel duty for the rest of the night," he said, sliding the dented spade under his cot before burrowing under the covers.
***
The supply truck arrived late the next morning, offloading several crates of vegetables and dry goods into the storeroom. After helping unload the truck, the monks congregated in the temple for a period of meditation. The lama lagged behind, chatting with the truck driver as Pitt and Giordino prepared to depart.
"The driver welcomes your company in the cab. He says it will be a five-hour trip to Ulaanbaatar."
"Our sincere thanks for your hospitality," Pitt said. He gazed toward the temple, where the wrapped body of the assassin lay on a bench. "Has anyone come looking for your other visitor?"
"No," the lama said, shaking his head. "He will be cremated in four days, but his ashes will not remain in the compound. He did not carry the spirit of Sakyamuni in his heart," he said, referring to the historical Buddha. The old lama turned back toward Pitt and Giordino. "My heart tells me that you are men of honor. Travel in wisdom and strength of spirit and you shall find what you seek."
The lama bowed deeply, and Pitt and Giordino returned the gesture before climbing into the truck. The driver, an old Mongolian with several missing front teeth, smiled broadly, then started the truck and drove slowly out of the compound. The lama stood motionless, his head down, until the truck was out of sight, its settled trail of dust coating the old man's robe and sandals.
Pitt and Giordino sat silently as the truck bounced over the desert, both reflecting the parting words of the lama. It seemed as if the wizened old man knew what they were after, and had given them the green light.