Treasure of Khan (Dirk Pitt 19)

"You can't last much longer in that icy water," Gunn said, noting a shiver from Pitt. "At least take my coat," he offered, slipping off his heavy jacket. "Not that you should cover up that fancy costume." He grinned at the soggy orange del Pitt was wearing. Pitt stripped off the waterlogged outfit and gratefully zipped up Gunn's dry jacket in its place.

"Thanks, Rudi. Try to get off the grounds before the whole place slides off the mountain. If I don't find you within an hour, then hightail it to Ulaanbaatar without me."

"We'll be waiting."

Gunn jumped back into the Range Rover and jammed it into drive, sloshing toward the compound entrance. The original gate and a twenty-foot section of adjoining wall had been toppled by the flood-waters, littering the grounds with chunks of concrete and debris. Pitt watched as Gunn guided the Rover to the large gap in the wall, then bounced the four-wheel-drive vehicle over the debris until its taillights vanished outside the compound grounds.

Wading toward the dark and flooded residence, Pitt suddenly felt alone and very cold as he wondered what Borjin might have in store for him.

-60-

THOUGH THE WORST of the flooding had subsided, there was still a half foot of water seeping though the residence when Pitt waded up the front steps. He stopped in front of the open front door, spotting a body lying facedown in the water, its legs wedged behind a large planter. Pitt moved closer and examined the man. He wasn't one of the gunmen Pitt had shot at but apparently another guard drowned by the floodwaters. Pitt noted that the man still clutched a wooden spear in one hand, his fingers clenched in a rigid grip. Pitt bent down and ripped the orange tunic from the man's body, then pried the spear from his left hand. He drove the spear tip through the armholes of the tunic and let it drape down as if hung from a hangar. A fool's bait, he thought, but it was all he had to counter those lying in wait inside. Crouching at the doorway, he quickly slipped into the residence, rotating his .45 in an arc around the foyer. The entrance was empty and the entire house quiet, save for the steady rush of water cascading down a distant stairwell. The electricity had long since been extinguished, but a handful of emergency red lights dotted the hallway ceiling, powered by a remote generator. The lights provided little illumination, casting only patches of crimson shadows through the empty corridors.

Pitt peered down the three separate hallways. He could see out the open end of the northern corridor, where the gushing river was continuing to wash away the end of the wing. Borjin couldn't escape that way unless he had a kayak and a death wish, he thought. Pitt recalled Theresa indicating that the study was down the main corridor, so he slowly moved off in that direction.

Pitt hugged the side wall, his Colt aimed ahead in his right hand. He brought up the spear and tucked it under his elbow, bracing the tip at an outward and forward angle with his left hand. The ripped orange tunic, acting as Pitt's point man, marched a few feet ahead of Pitt, dangling in the center of the corridor.

Pitt moved slowly, shuffling his feet so as not to splash the water and provide an auditory warning of his arrival. He actually had little choice, as his feet were so numb from the frigid river water that he felt like he was walking on stumps. There would be no high-speed foot chases from him, as he fought to maintain a precarious sense of balance.

He moved with measured patience, passing by several small side rooms without entering. He would stop past each doorway and then wait several minutes to ensure no one crept up behind him. A fallen credenza and some broken statuettes blocked his path and he temporarily moved to the center of the hallway. Approaching the residence kitchen, he melded back to the side wall, letting the dangling tunic lead the way down the center of the corridor.

Numbed by the icy water, Pitt concentrated on keeping his visual and auditory senses on high alert. When his ears detected a faint swishing sound, he froze, straining to determine if the noise was something in his imagination. Standing still, he slightly jiggled the wooden spear back and forth.

The burst came from the kitchen, a deafening blast of automatic gunfire that echoed off the walls. In the faint red light, Pitt could see the orange tunic shredded by the burst, as the bullets continued their path and slammed into the corridor wall just a few feet in front of him. Pitt calmly swiveled his .45 toward the open kitchen door, took aim at the muzzle flash, and squeezed the trigger three times.

As the Colt's booming report receded down the hallway, Pitt heard a weak gurgled gasp wail from the kitchen. It was followed by the metallic clang of a machine gun banging against steel pans, then a loud splash as the dead guard tumbled to the floor.

"Barsijar?" shouted the voice of Borjin from down the hallway.

Pitt grinned to himself as he let the query be met with silence. He had the distinct feeling that there were no more henchmen between himself and Borjin. Dropping the spear and tunic, he moved aggressively toward the sound of Borjin's voice. His deadened feet felt as if they had lead weights tied to them. Almost hopping through the water, he brushed his free hand along the wall to keep balanced. Ahead of him, he could hear the splashing footsteps of Borjin suddenly dissipate at the end of the corridor.

A loud crash echoed from the side of the house as another chunk of the north wing crumbled under the river's surge. The whole residence shook under the rapid erosion, which ate closer and closer to the center of the house. Perched as it was on the side of a cliff, Pitt knew there was a real danger of the whole structure sliding down the mountain. But he dispelled any notion of turning and heading for the exit. Borjin was close now and he could take him alive.

Pitt moved quickly past a few small side rooms then hesitated as he reached the fire-blackened study. He shook off a freezing shiver from the cold and wet and willed himself to focus on the environment around him rather than his own discomfort. A steady murmur of rushing water had grown louder as he neared the end of the hall. Under the dim glow of an emergency light, he saw that it was the floodwaters cascading down a stairwell just past the study. Faint though they were, Pitt could also see a pair of wet prints leading into the dry conference room at the hall's end.

Pitt moved slowly past the stairwell and out of the draining water, thankful to at last remove his feet from the icy runoff. He cautiously approached the jamb of the conference-room door and peered inside. The late-rising moon had crept over the horizon and cast a bright silvery beam through the conference room's high glass windows. Pitt strained to discern Borjin's presence in the cavernous room, but all was still. He quietly stepped in, the muzzle of his Colt moving with his eyes.

Borjin's timing was impeccable. The Mongolian popped up from behind the end of the conference table while Pitt was facing the opposite side of the room. Too late, Pitt turned toward the movement as a loud twang erupted from the spot. Off balance and wheeling around on numb feet, Pitt fired a single shot toward Borjin but missed wide, the bullet shattering the glass window behind him. Borjin's aim was to prove more accurate.

Pitt saw but a fleeting glimpse of the feathered arrow before it struck his chest just below the heart, penetrating with a dull thud. It struck with a powerful impact, knocking him right off his feet. Thrown backward to the floor, Pitt caught a lasting image of Borjin standing with a crossbow cradled in his arms. The moonlight sparkled off his sharp teeth, which were bared in a satisfied, murderous grin.

-61-

AFTER SLOGGING THE four-wheel drive through fallen bits of the entry wall, Gunn turned the Range Rover toward a small rise outside the compound and clawed his way to the top. He swung the vehicle around on the summit, then turned off the headlights. From the elevated perch, they had a perfect view of the disintegrating compound below. The raging mountain runoff pounded through the shattered entrance wall and rippled around the main residence, while smoke and flames grew higher from the laboratory on the opposite side. "I'd be happy if there's not a cinder left of that place," Wofford remarked, eyeing the destruction with satisfaction.

"Seeing how we're one hundred fifty miles from the nearest fire department, there is probably a pretty good chance of that," Gunn replied. Sweating from the blasting car heater that was drying and thawing the others, he climbed out of the car. Giordino hobbled out behind him, watching the devastation below. The sound of gunfire echoed from somewhere inside the residence, and then, a few minutes later, a single gunshot was heard.

"He shouldn't have gone back alone," Giordino said, cursing. "Nobody could have stopped him," Gunn said. "He'll be all right." But a strange feeling in his stomach said otherwise.

• • • •

Borjin placed the medieval crossbow back among his collection of antique weaponry, then stepped to the cracked window and took a hurried look outside. A torrent of water rained down in back of the house, gathering on the rear ledge before tumbling over the cliffside in a wide waterfall. Of greater concern to Borjin was the growing pool of water accumulating in the courtyard and approaching the sanctuary. He gazed with distress at the stone structure. The main edifice was still intact, but the arched entryway had been shaken to bits during the earthquake. Ignoring Pitt's prone body on the opposite side

of the room, Borjin rushed out of the conference room and waded down the adjacent stairwell. The cascading water surged at the back of his legs, and he hung tightly to the banister as he moved down the steps. He stopped only momentarily to gaze at the dark portrait above the midlanding, nodding faintly at the painting of the great warrior khan. The rising water was nearly waist-high on the lower level, until he unbolted the side door and released an icy torrent onto the courtyard. Stumbling like a drunken sailor, he staggered across the flooded yard to the shattered entrance of the sanctuary. Stepping over a pile of fallen stones, he entered the torchlit interior and was relieved to find only a few inches of water running across the built-up floor.

After checking to see that the tombs were undamaged, he surveyed the walls and ceiling. Several large cracks stretched across the domed ceiling like a giant spiderweb. The old structure was in a perilous state from the rattling earthquake. Borjin nervously gazed from the ceiling to the center tomb, considering how best to protect his most prized possession. He never noticed a shadow flickering by one of the torches.

"Your world is crumbling down around you, Borjin. And you with it."