The Eye of God (Sigma Force 9)

As he stared out at the spread of nomadic tent-homes, Duncan imagined the countryside had changed little since the time of Genghis Khan. As they climbed out of the valley, though, he saw evidence of the modern world encroaching upon this ancient way of living. A satellite dish sprouted from a yurt. Next to it, a small Chinese-made motorbike had been secured to an oxcart.

Winding their way slowly higher, they aimed for the mountains rising ahead, the most distant to the north capped with snow. Under them, the road changed from asphalt, to gravel, eventually to dirt. The gers grew less frequent, more authentic, with goats in pens and small horses tethered outside. As their SUV trundled past, a few short-framed, sun-wizened folk in sheepskin jackets and fur-flapped hats came out to watch.

At the wheel, Duncan offered them a curt wave, which was returned with genuine enthusiasm. According to Sanjar, hospitality was a highly esteemed virtue among the Mongols.

In the front passenger seat, Monk played copilot and navigator. He had a map unfolded on his lap and a portable GPS in hand. “Looks like you should take the next left turn. That road should take us into the search zone.”

The word zone was rather generous. The search parameters placed the debris field in a box one hundred miles on each side. Still, that was down from five hundred miles yesterday.

Duncan made the next left turn and headed at a grinding pace into the mountains. The terrain challenged the SUV’s four-wheel drive. It was mostly broken rock and patches of grassland, crisscrossed by forests of larches and pines. Rains had washed out parts of the road, requiring a careful traverse.

“I’m not sure this region needs special protection by the government,” Duncan said. “I think Nature is doing a pretty good job of it herself.”

Sanjar leaned forward from the backseat, which he shared with Jada. “It is why our ancestors chose these mountains for our grave sites. You’ll find them throughout this area. With tombs often stacked atop other tombs. And, unfortunately, grave robbing is a real problem. Locals will often search these old sites, then middlemen from the city drive through and purchase anything scavenged from these tombs to resell in China.”

He pointed ahead to a rounded peak higher than the others. “That is Burkhan Khaldun, our most sacred mountain. It is rumored to be the birthplace of Genghis, and where most people believe he is buried. Some say he is entombed in a large necropolis under the mountain, believed to hold not only his body and treasures, but also that of his descendants, including his most famous grandson, Kublai Khan.”

“That’s a mighty big prize for whoever finds it,” Duncan said.

“People have hunted for his tomb for centuries. Which has led to much looting and vandalism. To protect the environment and our heritage, the government restricts access here, even by air.”

That was one of the reasons their team was driving. But they had another motive, too. Satellite imaging of the region had failed to pick up any trace of the crashed spacecraft, so it was unlikely that a search by helicopter or airplane would have fared any better.

It was even possible the satellite had entirely burned up during reentry. All this might be a wild-goose chase. But they had to make the attempt.

“I should warn you that there is another reason for these restrictions, too,” Sanjar said.

Jada turned to him. “What reason?”

“It is said that Genghis himself declared this area sacred. Many locals believe that if his tomb is ever found and opened, the world will end.”

Duncan groaned. “Great. If we find his tomb, the world will end. If we don’t find his tomb, the world is doomed.”

“Damned if we do, damned if we don’t,” Jada mumbled.

Duncan caught her eye in the rearview mirror, and she offered a small smile.

“Something Director Crowe said before I set off on this trip,” she explained. “Seems he was right.”

Monk stirred, his nose still in his map. “Never bet against Painter.”

2:44 P.M.

An hour later, Jada half drowsed in the backseat when Duncan loudly declared, “End of the road, folks!”

Jada sat straighter, rubbing her eyes, realizing he wasn’t speaking metaphorically. The dirt track ended at a cluster of five gers. Free-ranging goats ran from their path as the SUV rolled toward the tents. Farther back, a group of horses roamed a large paddock.

After reaching the perimeter of the search zone, Sanjar had recommended this detour off the main road. It wasn’t on any map. But he said that the best bet to find the satellite was to question the locals.

They know every movement of twig and shift of breeze up here, he had declared. If something large crashed in the area, they would know.

As the Land Cruiser drew to a stop, Sanjar hopped out. “Follow me.”

They all clambered free of the vehicle into the chilly day. Jada stretched circulation back into her stiff limbs. Once they were all moving, Sanjar headed straight for the closest ger.

“Do you know these people?” Monk asked.

“No, not personally. But this is a fairly established encampment.”

Sanjar strode up to the stout wood door and pulled it open without knocking. He had warned them that this was tradition, another hallmark of Mongol hospitality. It would be considered an insult to the family inside if you knocked, as if you doubted their good manners and generous disposition.

So in he strode, as if he owned the place.

They had no choice but to follow him. Jada obeyed his prior instructions, careful not to step on the threshold and to turn right as was traditional as she entered the circular tent.

She found the place surprisingly spacious and warm. The roof was supported by ribs of wood; the walls were framed by lattice. It was all sealed against the winds and cold by thick layers of sheepskin and felt.

Faces greeted them with smiles, as if expecting them. It was a family of four, with two children under five. The husband formally buttoned the collar of his del robe and waved them to stools.

Before she knew it, she had a cup of hot tea warming her hands. Apparently an early dinner had been under way, judging from the boiling pots on a central hearth. She smelled curry and steaming mutton. A bowl and plate landed in front of her. The wife encouraged her to eat, smiling broadly, pantomiming with her hands.

“It’s boortz soup,” Sanjar said. “Very good. And those bits on the plate that look like broken pottery are aruul cheese. Very healthy.”

Not wanting to be rude, Jada tried a chunk of the cheese and found it to be as hard as pottery, too. She ended up sucking on it like candy, which the locals also seemed to be doing.