Ancient Echoes

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Mongolia

Michael opened the closet door and peeked out onto an empty, dimly lit corridor. Electricity was an expensive and valuable commodity in Mongolia, and the state didn't waste it.

He made his way to the laboratories and picked the old-fashioned door lock. He stepped inside when the overhead lights came on, bright and harsh.

Two men, one on each side, lunged at him. Instinctively, he crouched, deflected the outstretched arm of the first one, caught and twisted it so the man went head over heels. Simultaneously, he swung his leg around, bent the knee, and then straightened it, jabbing into the second man’s solar plexus. The opponent was lifted into the air and then sprawled across the floor.

In a shao-lin stance, knees bent, hands guarding his heart and chest with fingers pointed upward, Michael poised for another attack.

“Stop, please!” a voice called. “We are not here to attack or arrest you, Doctor Rempart, but to see you safely from this country. Although with your martial arts knowledge, my men may be the ones who need protection.” With that he barked orders in Mandarin to the two attackers, who struggled to their feet and backed away.

Michael remained on guard as a tall, lean Chinese, his head shaved, walked toward him from a side room. “I knew you would come here,” he said, self-assured and impressive, “seeking your treasure.”

“Who are you?” Michael demanded.

“Zhao Yin, Director of the Fourth Chinese Institute for the Preservation of Cultural Heritage under China’s Ministry of Culture.” With that, he gave a proud, slight nod.

Michael knew the top archeologists and historians in China staffed the Ministry of Culture, and its directors possessed serious pull in the nine-member Politburo Standing Committee, the CCP’s inner circle. But right now, he didn’t care. “Under international law, and agreed to by Mongolia, any archeological discovery becomes the property of—”

“None of that matters, Doctor Rempart,” Zhao snapped. “The contents of a Chinese tomb are not Mongolia’s to give away. I am here to assure their safe return to my homeland.”

“You have them?” Michael asked.

Zhao’s expression turned arch.

“Are they so valuable to China that they were worth taking two men’s lives?” Michael practically spat the question out.

Zhao didn’t react, didn’t flinch. “My task was to be sure nothing happened to the artifacts.” He withdrew papers from his breast pocket. Michael saw that he wore Buddhist prayer beads on his wrist. He also recognized that Zhao neither confirmed nor denied murdering Michael’s assistants. “I have passage for you and Li Jianjun, nonstop, from Beijing to San Francisco.” He handed the papers plus Air China tickets to Michael.

“Beijing? But how—”

“You will travel there on one of our planes.” Zhao led Michael from the room toward an exit at the end of a corridor. “No questions will be asked. The Mongolians want you out of their country as much as we do. They don’t want the mysterious death or disappearance of a famous archeologist to cause the foreign press to descend on them. People have been watching you, Michael Rempart, since you began your excavation. In fact, they helped pave the way.”

“What do you mean? Who are ‘they’?” Michael demanded.

Zhao’s gaze was frigid. “Batbaatar was not who you thought. If you were successful, he was to make contact with people who wanted the contents of that tomb. He set up the skull and candles that made the workers run off. He wanted you alone, unprotected, so that his bosses could come and steal the findings in the tomb.”

“I don’t believe it. Batbaatar was loyal to a fault!” Michael said.

Zhao shrugged. “The radio equipment he used did more than pick up NESDIS. The Chinese government has been monitoring it for some time. But the sandstorm made everything go wrong for those he worked for, which gave me and my men time to mobilize.”

“It makes no sense,” Michael said. “Who did he contact?”

“Someone who had enough money to bribe his way into Mongolia, find Batbaatar and others to do his bidding, and then plan to steal the contents of the tomb and remove them from Mongolia. That person has remained well-hidden ... perhaps by your own government.”

“The U.S. government has no interest in ancient Han tombs.” Michael grew more furious with each word Zhao spoke. “Besides, why should I trust you to tell me the truth? Especially when you’ve all but admitted your men killed Batbaatar and Acemgul.”

Zhao smiled. “You really don’t know what happened out there, do you? We believe someone from your country wanted to study Lady Hsieh. To determine if alchemy worked. They were the ones who raided the tombs, killed your men and should have killed you. After Batbaatar finished his part of the assignment, he needed to be eliminated, and Acemgul was merely an unfortunate witness. The mercenaries were to take the contents of the tomb. We stopped them as they were removing sand from the tomb, and they fled. We then continued the job. We didn’t open the coffins until they were in a safe environment in the museum laboratory.”

Michael sucked in his breath. “You must have some idea who was behind all this.”

“My answer would only be speculation,” Zhao said, then stepped out to the loading dock.

Michael followed. A truck stood at the end of the dock. As the doors shut, he saw large crates inside, crates the size of the coffins he had found.

Past the dock, a limousine waited for them. Michael saw Jianjun inside, his face scrunched with worry and fear.

Michael, Zhao, and his two bodyguards got into the limo. As soon as it drove off, Zhao said, “Now it is time for you to answer my questions. What was in the coffins?”

Michael wondered if this was some sort of trap. How could Zhao not know? “Lord Hsieh’s skeleton and the beautiful Lady Hsieh,” he said cautiously.

Zhao’s dark eyes flashed with suspicion. “You saw Lady Hsieh?”

“Yes. Perfectly, incredibly preserved.” When Zhao said nothing, a chill pulsated through Michael. “Didn’t you see her? What was in her coffin?”

“Nothing but ash.” Zhao’s calm tone made his words all the more jarring. “She was gone. As she would have wanted. The symbol outside Lady Hsieh’s coffin proved she was an alchemist.”

“You’re talking about the circle-and-triangular symbol?” Michael asked.

“Yes.” Zhao drew in his breath. “Archeologists and historians laugh about alchemy. I wonder if they’ll laugh now.”

“You and I both know alchemy is no more than superstition,” Michael said. “Whatever happened out there, wasn’t supernatural. Someone opened the coffin and stole her body. We’ve got to find whoever did it.”

As the limousine drove through Ulaanbaatar to a small, private airport on its outskirts, Zhao waited until Michael’s anger quieted a bit, and then said softly, “History is filled with proof of alchemy working. It is we who refuse to accept what others saw with their own eyes.” His fingers touched the prayer beads, one by one, as he continued. “During the Han dynasty of Lady Hsieh’s time, a great warrior named Bo Yi Kao fought the barbarian hordes of the north, the Mongols. He possessed an invincible body that no spear, arrow, or sword could penetrate. A Chinese Achilles if you will. He bore a mark on his chest which became his crest, the same symbol as on Lady Hsieh’s coffin. We call it the symbol of immortality. One day, an enemy archer struck him in the chest, on the black circle. Only then did Bo Yi Kao die. That was the only vulnerable spot on his immortal body.”

“That’s nothing but a folk tale.” Michael had no patience for stories now.

“Yet someone paved the way for you to come here, to find Lady Hsieh’s body.”

“That’s ridiculous. It was my idea to come to Mongolia,” Michael said.

“Oh? Are you so sure your brother didn’t begin it all?” The limousine stopped, and the driver opened the door for Michael and Jianjun to leave. Zhao didn’t get out. “Remember that your government could have stopped you, or stopped the people watching you. They are more involved than you know. And so are others. The reason for their involvement is something you might ponder if you want to stay alive.” His gaze shifted to the runway. “That small plane is yours. Once in Beijing, simply show the papers I gave you, and you will be granted passage. I suggest you do not tell anyone about any of this. Also, do not deviate from the plans you have been given and attempt to stay in Beijing. Such actions will not be healthy for you or”—cold eyes leaped to Jianjun—”your cohort.”

The driver shut the door.

As Michael walked to the Cessna 172, he noticed Mongolian soldiers holding Russian Dragunov rifles with bayonets attached watched him. He decided not to argue about leaving the country.

But as he got into the Cessna, Zhao’s words about his brother reverberated in his head.