Treasure Of Khan Part 69

Pitt turned to make his escape before any more walls toppled, but hesitated as he glanced through the open rear wall at the corral in back. He turned and gazed again at the tomb of Genghis, which had miraculously survived the collapsing sanctuary intact. For an instant, Pitt wondered if he would be the last man to see the tomb. Then it hit him. It was a crazy idea, he thought, and he couldn't help but grin through a cold s.h.i.+ver.

"All right, old boy," he muttered at the tomb. "Let's see if you've got one more conquest left in you."

-62-

THE FEELING WAS just returning to Pitt's feet with a painful tingle as he climbed out the back of the sanctuary and into the corral. He staggered to the side and quickly yanked several timbers off the wooden fence to clear an opening. Tossing boxes and crates aside, he burrowed a wide path through the junk and debris until he reached his objective, the dust-laden old car.

It was a 1921 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost open tourer, with a custom body by the English coachmaker Park Ward. Decades of dirt and grime covered a unique eggplant purple body paint. Long since faded, the color once complemented the car's burnished aluminum hood and wheel covers. More familiar on the streets of London, Pitt wondered how such a grand auto had ended up in Mongolia. He then recalled that T. E. Lawrence had acquired a Rolls-Royce armored car built on a 1914 Silver Ghost cha.s.sis, which he used in his desert campaign against the Turks in Arabia. Pitt wondered if the car's reputation for durability in the desert had reached the Gobi years before. Or perhaps a car built before the Mongolian revolution was the only vehicle of opulence that the Communist Party would allow Borjin's family to own.

None of that mattered to Pitt. What did matter was that the Rolls had a silver-handled crank protruding from its snout. Equipped as a backup for the early electric starters, the crank gave Pitt a small hope that he could start the car, even with a long-dead battery. Provided, that is, that the engine block wasn't frozen solid.

Pitt opened the right-side driver's door and placed the gears.h.i.+ft in neutral, then stepped to the front of the car. Leaning down and grabbing with both hands, he pulled up on the crank, driving with his legs. The crank held firm, but Pitt grunted out a second effort and the handle inched upward. He rested for a second, then gave another heave. The crankshaft broke free with the extra push, driving the six pistons up and down in their cylinders.

With his own small collection of antique cars at home in Was.h.i.+ngton, Pitt was well versed with the intricacies of starting up a vintage vehicle. Climbing back into the driver's seat, he adjusted the throttle, spark, and governor controls, which were set by movable levers mounted on the steering wheel. He then opened the hood and primed a tiny pump on a bra.s.s canister, which he hoped contained gasoline. He then returned to the crank and proceeded to manually turn the engine over.

Each pull of the crank led to a series of rasps as the old motor tried to suck in air and fuel. Zapped by exposure to the cold, Pitt's strength waned on every pull. Yet he willed himself to keep trying in the face of each dying wheeze from the engine. Then on the tenth pull, the motor coughed. Several more pulls produced a sputter. With his feet frozen, yet beads of sweat on his brow, Pitt heaved again on the crank. The crankshaft spun, the air and fuel ignited, and with a put-put-put sound, the engine labored to life.

Pitt rested briefly as the old car warmed up, spouting a thick cloud of black smoke out its rusty exhaust pipe. Rummaging around the corral, he found a small barrel filled with chains, which he tossed in the backseat. Taking his place in the driver's seat, he slipped the car into gear, released the clutch with his numb left foot, and drove the Rolls shakily out of the corral.

-63-

IT'S BEEN WELL OVER an hour," Gunn remarked, looking glumly at his watch.

He and Giordino stood on the rise, watching the scene of devastation below. The laboratory fire burned in a blazing tempest, consuming the entire building and adjacent garage. Black smoke and flames leaped high into the sky, casting a yellow glow over the entire compound. Across the landscaped grounds, a large chunk of the residence was missing, replaced by rus.h.i.+ng water where the northern wing of the house previously stood.

"Let's take a quick drive down," Giordino said. "Maybe he's injured and can't walk out."

Gunn nodded. It had been almost an hour since they heard the automatic fire from inside. Pitt should have made it out long ago.

They started to walk toward the car when a low rumble shook from below. No earthquake this time, they knew, but rather the erosive effects of the flooding waters. They stopped and stared, dreading what they knew was next. From their vantage, it resembled a collapsing house of cards. The northern end of the structure began toppling one wall at a time. The structural failure seemed to build momentum, moving across the residence in a rippling wave of destruction. The central section of the residence simply folded in on itself with a grinding crash, then disappeared under the water. The large white spire over the entrance melted away, disintegrating into a thousand bits under the floodwaters. Gunn and Giordino could only see chunks of debris poking through the water as the bulk of the residence slid off its ledge and washed down the mountain. In just a few seconds, it was gone. Only a small section of the southern wing survived, standing next to a wide flow of water where the rest of the house had once stood.

With the destruction of the house, all hopes for finding Pitt alive had vanished. Gunn and Giordino knew that no one in and around the residence could have survived. Neither man said a word nor made a move. Together, they stood and solemnly stared at the altered river as it glided over the foundation of the house and roared down the cliffside beyond. The rus.h.i.+ng of the wild waters competed with the crackling from the lab fire to disrupt the otherwise quiet late-night hour. Then Gunn's ears detected another sound.

"What's that?" he asked. He pointed a finger toward a small chunk of the southern wing, which stood on dry ground and had survived the collapse of the main residence. The whirring pitch of a high-revving engine rumbled from the hillside behind. The motor sporadically coughed and stuttered but otherwise sounded like it was operating at its redline. The roar grew louder until it was matched with a pair of lights that slowly crept over the hill.

Through the smoke and flames of the burning laboratory, the object appeared like a giant primordial bug crawling out of a hole in the ground. Two round but dimly illuminated lamps probed the night like a pair of large yellow eyes. A s.h.i.+ny metallic body followed behind, clouded by dirt and dust kicked up by its clawing rear appendages. The living beast even breathed vapor, a white cloud of smoke rising from its head.

The creature, lurching with great effort, finally clamored over the hill, seeming to fight every step of the way. A sharp gust of wind suddenly blew the smoke and dust away, and, under the light of the burning fire, Gunn and Giordino could see that it was no overgrown insect but the antique Rolls-Royce from the corral.

"Only one guy I know would be driving an old crate like that at a time like this," Giordino shouted with a whoop.

Jumping into the Range Rover, Gunn charged the car down the hill and stormed back into the compound. s.h.i.+ning their headlights onto the Rolls, they saw that the old car was still struggling to lurch forward, and had a line of chain stretched taut off the rear b.u.mper. The old beast was trying desperately to pull something up the side of the hill.

Inside the Rolls, Pitt threw a thankful wave toward the approaching Range Rover, then turned back to coaxing the old auto forward. His numb right foot held the accelerator to the floor while the gears.h.i.+ft lever was still locked in first gear. The rear wheels spun and clawed at the ground, the worn, airless tires gamely trying to find a grip. But the weight behind was too great, and the big car seemed to be losing the battle. Under the hood, the overworked engine began to protest with loud knocks. What little coolant that existed in the block and radiator had nearly all boiled away, and Pitt knew it wouldn't be long before the engine seized.

With a surprised look, he suddenly saw Giordino appear and grab hold of the doorpost with a wink and a smile. Bandaged leg and all, he threw his weight into pus.h.i.+ng the car forward. Gunn, Wofford, and even Theresa appeared, taking up spots around the vehicle and pus.h.i.+ng with all their might.

The extra manpower was just enough to propel the car in its last gasp. With a sudden lunge, the big car lurched forward. Thirty feet behind, a large block of granite teetered over the edge of the hill, then skidded forward easily under the car's newfound momentum. Chugging forward to a safe, dry spot, Pitt killed the engine under a whoosh of white steam.

As the vapor cleared away, Pitt saw that he was surrounded by a dozen scientists and technicians, along with a guard or two, who had given up fighting the lab fire to investigate his appearance. He cautiously climbed out of the Rolls and walked to the rear of the car. Giordino and the others had already gathered around and confirmed that the chained item had survived Pitt's tow intact.

Fearing for their safety, Pitt gripped his .45 as the crowd surged close to them. But he need not have worried.

At seeing that the sarcophagus of Genghis Khan had been rescued from the flood, the guards and scientists broke into a cheer and applauded him.

Part Four:

A Voyage

to Paradise

-64-

THE U.S. NAVY CRUISER Anzio turned north from her station off the United Arab Emirates, a hundred miles inside the Strait of Hormuz, and headed on a dissecting path across the Persian Gulf. Though far from being the largest s.h.i.+p in the gulf, the Ticonderoga-cla.s.s Aegis cruiser was easily the most deadly. With its phased array radar system housed in the s.h.i.+p's boxy superstructure, the s.h.i.+p could detect and target enemy craft on land, sea, and air within a two-hundred-mile radius. At the push of a b.u.t.ton, one of one hundred twenty-one Tomahawk or Standard missiles could be dispatched from its vertical launch system housed belowdecks, obliterating the offending target within seconds.

The high-tech a.r.s.enal was managed by the Combat Information Center, a dark control room in the depths of the s.h.i.+p. Under its dim blue overhead lights, Captain Robert Buns studied one of several large projection screens mounted on the wall. The surrounding region of the gulf was displayed in multiple colors, overlaid with various geometric shapes and symbols that danced across the screen in slow motion. Each symbol represented a s.h.i.+p or aircraft tracked by the radar system. One shape, a highlighted red ball, was inching toward the Strait of Hormuz from left to right across the s.h.i.+p's path.

"Twelve miles to intercept, sir," reported a nearby sailor, one of several electronics experts seated at computer stations around the bay.

"Steady as she goes," Buns replied. A studious but witty line officer highly admired by the crew, Buns had enjoyed his current tour of duty in the gulf. Aside from missing his wife and two children, he found gulf duty to be an invigorating challenge, enlivened with occasional danger.

"We'll cross Iranian waters in three miles," warned a youthful tactical operations officer standing at his side. "They are clearly tracking the Iranian coast for safety."

"After Kharg Island, I don't think the Iranians are up for harboring these guys," Buns replied. "Pat, I think I'll watch the show from the bridge. You have the CIC."

"Aye, Captain. We'll be dialed in just in case."

Buns made his way out of the darkened command center and up to the bridge, which was bathed in bright sunlight reflecting off the gulf's waters. A dark-haired officer stood near the helm with a pair of binoculars to his eyes, observing a black vessel on the water ahead.

"Is that our target, commander?" the captain asked.

Commander Brad Knight, the Anzio's chief operations intelligence officer, nodded in reply.