He stabbed his thumb down on the disconnect b.u.t.ton and then tossed the phone into the river.

"Come on. We've got to tell the others," he said.

They gathered the water bottles and headed back to camp.

I N THE COURTYARD N THE COURTYARD of the abandoned Soviet base where he had ordered his pilot to land a half hour before, Ransom turned to his communications specialist in the back of the helicopter. "Did we get it?" of the abandoned Soviet base where he had ordered his pilot to land a half hour before, Ransom turned to his communications specialist in the back of the helicopter. "Did we get it?"

The other man did not disappoint.

"Yes, sir. I used Keyhole 5 to lock it in within a ten-yard radius." The technician pointed at the laptop screen resting on his knees that was showing a topographical satellite map of the surrounding landscape. "They are right here, sir," the technician said, using his finger to circle the spot on the map. "It's the same location that Jeffries called in from last night. As of now, they haven't moved on. And even if they do, they won't get far."

Ransom stared at the point on the map near the base of Burkhan Khaldun, where his man's finger currently rested. The helicopter would get them that far, but if Davenport and his team went any farther up the mountain they would have to follow them on foot.

That was just as well.

Ransom preferred his killing to be up close and personal.

33.

Once the rest of the group was informed of Jeffries's treachery, the decision was made to get under way as swiftly as possible. They had no idea just how much information the insider had relayed to Ransom, so the farther they got from their position the better off they were likely to be. The group packed up quickly. They sealed off the entrance to the map chamber by tripping the hidden lever in the same way Annja had opened it, and headed out.

That morning's travel was the hardest yet. Their route took them higher into the mountains, along narrow trails that Nambai said were made by argali, the wild mountain sheep whose curved horns were prized for their supposed magical properties. Annja secretly hoped they wouldn't run into one, for they were known to be fiercely territorial.

The air grew colder as they climbed higher and Annja found herself wishing for the warmer temperatures of the steppes. While they didn't encounter any argali, they did see their fair share of rodents, squirrels and pikas. Nambai told them how the pikas, which were part of the rabbit family, were also known as whistling hares due to the high-pitched sound they made when threatened, and then proceeded to demonstrate by cornering a few of them against the trunk of a downed tree. He was right; the little things screeched like banshees. The fresh meat they'd have for dinner that night would more than make up for it, though.

The forest grew thicker as they climbed. The trees rose around them like silent guardians, watchful and aware. Mixed through the evergreens were patches of white birch, bringing flashes of white to all that green, and heightening the sense that they weren't alone, that out there among the trunks some ancient guardian was keeping score, and Annja almost expected one to come strolling out of the shadows between the deeper trunks.

Annja waited until she and Mason had dropped back a bit behind the others and then asked, "You okay?"

"Compared to what we used to do in the SAS, this is a Sunday walk in the park," he replied, without looking at her.

The lack of eye contact said it all. He was avoiding the real question.

"Not what I meant at all and you know it," she said quietly.

Mason stopped and turned to face her.

"You're right. I do know what you meant. But what, exactly, do you want me to say?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought you might need to get some of it off your chest."

Mason looked away. "I knew the guy for almost ten years, Annja. He was part of my squad in the regiment. He saved my life half a dozen times and I returned the favor just as often. I'm having a hard time believing any of it really happened, to tell you the truth."

Annja could feel her anger creeping up. "But it did happen," she said firmly.

"Oh, I know. I'm not doubting that at all. But what I can't figure out is why he would do something like that. What would motivate him to sell us, or rather me, out like that?"

Now it was Annja's turn to look away. The shiny look in Mason's eyes told her just how deep the knife had cut. "People do things we don't understand all the time. It's not our place to figure it out. We have a hard enough time just living with the consequences."

"Ain't that the truth," he muttered, and the dark cloud that had been hanging over them moments before seemed to break up and move on.

Their conversation turned to lighter things as they hustled to catch up with the others.

In the early afternoon they found their first indication that they were not alone. They emerged from a particularly thick copse of trees to find Nambai standing in the middle of a trail cutting its way northward through the forest.

In the middle of the trail were fresh horse tracks.

"What do you think?" Mason asked their guide as he stood frowning down at the tracks.

"Not good," he said, as he lifted his gaze to the trees around them. "Could be the Darkhats." The name fell from his lips like a curse and sent him off into a half-whispered ramble in Mongolian.

Annja had been around the wiry old guy long enough to recognize that he was saying a prayer, no doubt to ward off evil and keep his enemies far, far away.

"What are you talking about?" Mason asked. 'Who, or what, are the Darkhats?"

Nambai remained silent, refusing to say anything more, so Annja answered for him.

"Legends say that after Genghis Khan's body was returned from China and hidden away forever from the sight of man, a small group of warriors were designated to keep watch over the Great Khan's tomb for all time. When one died, the duty fell to his son and that man's son and so on down through the centuries. Anyone brave, or foolish, enough to enter the Great Taboo in search of the tomb would be punished by death. The warriors were known as the Darkhats, though where the name comes from seems to have been lost in antiquity."

Mason scoffed. "And people still believe this stuff?"

Annja watched Nambai, who hadn't taken his eyes off the woods around them, and said simply, "Yes. Some people do."

Mason gave their guide an odd look and then moved off to talk with his employer.

After some discussion between the two of them, the decision was made to follow the trail they had found, horse tracks or not. It was easier than winding their way through the trees and would require less hacking at the undergrowth, which had the added benefit of conserving their strength for when they might actually need it.

The trail was wide enough to manage two horses riding abreast, and to Annja it indicated the presence of much more than just a solitary horseman. But despite keeping a careful watch, she didn't see any evidence that they were being followed. Nor did she find any indications that anyone else was out in the primeval forest with them.

Until they came to the burial ground.

R ANSOM AND HIS MEN ANSOM AND HIS MEN were airborne by midmorning, with Santiago acting as gunner-copilot and Ransom sitting in the back just behind the pilot. In the loading area behind him, ten of the men Santiago had recruited for the job were strapped into the crew seats on either side of the hull, ready to be deployed at a moment's notice once they hit the ground. were airborne by midmorning, with Santiago acting as gunner-copilot and Ransom sitting in the back just behind the pilot. In the loading area behind him, ten of the men Santiago had recruited for the job were strapped into the crew seats on either side of the hull, ready to be deployed at a moment's notice once they hit the ground.

With the GPS coordinates to guide them, it wouldn't take them long to catch up with Davenport and his team.

If Ransom thought the morning's firefight had put him in a good mood, his feelings positively soared when they discovered the remainder of Davenport's convoy parked just outside the forest that covered the approach to the slopes of Burkhan Khaldun.

The pilot landed nearby and Santiago got out with several of his men to search the vehicles. They returned to the helicopter fifteen minutes later, and as the pilot took them back up, Santiago reported what they had found.

"Engines are cold, which means they've probably been here overnight, just as Jeffries said. Looks like they took their gear and headed off into the woods over there," he said, pointing down to a narrow path just beyond the parked vehicles that could easily be seen from the air.

"There was some blood on one of the seats, so at least one of them has been injured recently. That's about it."

Ransom nodded and sat back to think, watching the scenery pa.s.s by beneath the aircraft without actually seeing it.

The bloodstains gave a possible explanation for why the team had separated; it was likely that one of them had needed serious medical attention and Mason Jones had been stupid enough to split his forces in two while his enemy was nipping at his heels. It also meant that there would be fewer of Davenport's team to contend with when Ransom and his men caught up, giving them the numerical advantage, which was just fine with him.

It took them another fifteen minutes to cover the ground that Davenport and his team had taken hours to climb the day before. Still, when the pilot put the helicopter down in a small clearing not far from where the GPS coordinates said Jeffries had made his call, Ransom was happy enough to get out and stretch his legs.