Ancient Echoes

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Mongolia

Back in his ger, Michael desperately tried to reach someone on his telecommunications equipment but heard only static.

The loud engine of an old GAZ truck sounded in the distance. He ran out of the ger and watched as it approached.

His assistant, Li Jianjun, jumped out of the truck first. Born in Beijing, he was now a Canadian citizen. Of medium height, with a slim build, his appearance and demeanor were more like that of a college student than a man of 35 years. When he was eight, his family moved from Beijing to Hong Kong, and from there to Vancouver, Canada. He worked at Microsoft in Seattle, bored out of his mind, when he met Michael Rempart. Michael needed someone with Jianjun’s technical abilities, and Jianjun needed someone who would use and appreciate the full capability of his programming skills and computer hacking know-how. They worked together the past seven years.

Right after him, the two field experts, Batbaatar and Ravil Acemgul, exited the vehicle.

“The men, they've run away,” Jianjun said to Michael. “We tried to find them, but couldn’t. They were too scared. Long gone. They stole a truck.”

“I saw the skulls and demon pictures.” Michael folded his arms. “Who did it?”

“We don’t know,” Jianjun answered. “None of us saw or heard anything. When we woke up, we saw that someone had managed to come inside while we slept. Creeped me out!”

“The men can’t be blamed.” Acemgul felt deeply embarrassed. He was responsible for the workers. Middle-aged, he was of Kazakh descent as were many people in the western part of Mongolia. With skin burned dark by the sun, he had broad cheekbones and a high, straight nose. His bearing held all the strength and athletic ability of a master horseman, common among Kazakhs. “They are superstitious, uneducated.”

“People in the mountains did it. People who watch the kurgans. They protect everything here. They want us to leave,” Batbaatar said. An ethnic Mongolian, he stood five-foot five, with a broad and stocky body and a round, flat face. Mongolians used only a single name, and “baatar” was a common ending. It meant “hero.” A recent graduate of the Polytechnic Institute in Ulaanbaatar, the country's capital and only modern city, he operated the equipment, made radio contact with the world beyond Banyan Ölgiy, and handled all things meteorological.

Michael found that hard to believe. “We've been here for weeks mapping, imaging, and now digging. Why didn’t we hear from them earlier? This is crazy.”

Batbaatar continued, “These mountains, this land, are filled with much that makes no sense to you who are not Mongolian. But that does not make it less deadly.” He held his head high as if he enjoyed talking about his strange countrymen. “But what they did doesn’t matter because nature will stop us. A sand storm is heading this way. A huge one. It will hit around noon. We need to take strong cover by that time.”

Despite the strangely colored sky, Michael could see for miles in every direction. The storm wasn't near them yet. “A sandstorm could set us back a week or more.”

“The sky is still clear,” Acemgul said. “I say, let's see how far we can get before it hits.”

“None of you are listening to me!” Batbaatar’s red-tinged, wind-burned face frowned deeply. “This storm is a monster. Even here at camp I don't know how safe we will be.”

Michael made the decision. “That’s all the more reason for us to hurry.” He got into the truck. Reluctantly, the others followed, and soon they reached the dig site.

The dig involved going straight down over a relatively small area. To prevent the earthen walls from collapsing as they dug, Michael’s dig team employed step-trenching, creating a series of large, wide steps heading downward as the hole deepened.

As the dig neared the underground cavity, Michael bored a three-inch hole through the soil and inserted a long tube with a periscope head and a light. It revealed an open area containing a large rectangular object as well as two smaller objects.

He had found something, but what it was could only be learned by physically entering the chamber.

Michael expected to have plenty of time to breach the underground cavity, but they no sooner reached the site when Batbaatar incredulously announced that the storm had grown and picked up speed. Jianjun had rigged up an Iridium satellite connection to Batbaatar's laptop so he could continuously monitor tracking from NESDIS, the National Environmental Satellite Data and Information Service polar orbiting satellites. The storm spanned a full three miles across and would reach them by eleven o'clock rather than noon.

Michael climbed down into the pit with a pick and shovel, determined to find out more about his discovery. Acemgul and Jianjun helped.

Michael and his team had dug within three feet of the tomb when Batbaatar called out, a desperate edge to his voice. “The storm is moving even faster. It's still growing. In one hour, the first wave will hit. We've got to finish up here and leave.”

Michael refused.

The three furiously yet methodically swung the pick in the dry, rocky ground. Twenty minutes later, the moment Michael had dreamed of since first entering Mongolia happened. He broke through an opening.

Flashlight in hand, he lay on his belly and looked down into a secured chamber about eight feet below. He shined his flashlight onto wooden boxes, one of them large and ornate enough to be a coffin.

The group high-fived congratulations all around.

They worked rapidly to shore up the opening so it wouldn't collapse while making it large enough for a man to descend into the chamber.

Batbaatar used an electronic meter to check for carbon monoxide, methane, mold, bacteria, and other contaminants. Given the all-clear, Michael and Acemgul donned hard hats with battery-powered Petzl caver's headlamps, and carried tools, rope, and a digital camera. They lowered an extension ladder into the hole along with ropes to hoist up finds. Jianjun and Batbaatar remained at ground level watching not only weather instruments but also those that gave warning of any sudden shifting of the earth.

Michael descended first. He inhaled stale air with a sharp, rancid undercurrent. He breathed through his mouth, trying to keep the fetid smell from his nostrils, yet feeling as if it were pressing against his face, cutting off his air. Sweat broke out on his forehead as it always did when he went deep underground, loosening terrifying memories of his first significant dig. He had been only twenty-six years old, in Kenya. A cave-in had buried him. When rescued, he appeared dead, his breathing and heartbeat nearly imperceptible. Not until several minutes passed did he regain consciousness.

With those memories, as always, the idea struck that perhaps this time would be his last.

Michael flipped on the light on his hardhat as Acemgul climbed down after him.

The chamber measured ten feet long by eight feet wide. The rapid flashes from Acemgul's camera created a bizarre, almost strobe-light effect. In the center stood a coffin. The ornately carved wood was dry and rotting. Two small lidded crates lay beside it. A wave of exultation filled Michael. They'd done it. The stories and legends were true.

They'd found the tomb and treasures of Lord Hsieh, governor of the wild, uncontrollable northwestern provinces during the ancient Han dynasty.