"Drill pipe for an oil well and pipeline to transfer it to storage," Pitt whispered as he watched the loading. "Nothing unusual there."

"Except they have enough materials to drill to the center of the earth and pipe it to the moon," Giordino mused, gazing across the yard.

Pitt followed his gaze and nodded. Acres of the yard were jam-packed with forty-foot sections of the large-diameter pipe, stacked up in huge pyramids that towered over them. It was like a huge horizontal forest of metal trees, cut and stacked in an orderly sequence. A side section of the yard was filled with an equally impressive inventory of the small-diameter drill pipe and casings.

Turning his attention to the open warehouse, Pitt inched around the corner and peered in. The interior was brightly illuminated, but Pitt saw no signs of movement. Only a portable radio blaring an unrecognizable pop tune from a small side office indicated the presence of any workers. Striding into the warehouse, he walked behind a truck parked near the side wall and took inventory with Giordino beside him.

A half dozen large flatbed trailers occupied the front of the building, wedged between two dump trucks. A handful of Hitachi heavy-construction excavators and bulldozers lined the side wall, while the rear of the building was sectioned off as a manufacturing area. Pitt studied a stack of prefabricated metal arms and rollers that were in various stages of a.s.sembly. A nearly complete example stood in the center, resembling a large metal rocking horse.

"Oil well pumps," Pitt said, recalling the bobbing iron pumps he used to see as a kid dotting the undeveloped fields of Southern California. He noted that they appeared shorter and more compact than the type he remembered, which were used to pump oil out of mature wells that were not pressurized enough to blow the black liquid to the surface on their own.

"Looks more like the makings of a merry-go-round for welders," Giordino replied. He suddenly nodded toward a corner office, where they could see a man talking on the telephone.

Pitt and Giordino were creeping behind the cover of one of the flatbed trucks and inching toward the warehouse entrance when two more voices materialized near the door. The two men quickly ducked down and scurried around the back of the flatbed and knelt behind its large rear wheel. Through the wheel well, they watched as two workers strolled by on the opposite side of the truck, engaged in an animated conversation as they walked to the office in back. Pitt and Giordino quickly moved through the line of trucks and exited the building, regrouping behind a stack of empty pallets.

"Any one of those flatbeds could have been at Lake Baikal, but there was nothing that resembled the covered truck we saw at the dock," Giordino whispered.

"There's still the other side of the yard," Pitt replied, nodding toward the warehouse on the opposite side of the facility. The other building sat in a darkened section of the yard and appeared sealed shut. Together, they moved off toward the second building, threading their way through a small collection of storage sheds that dotted the northern side of the yard. Midway across, they approached a cl.u.s.ter of sheds and a small guard office that marked the main entrance to the complex. With Giordino on his heels, Pitt circled well clear of the entrance, then picked his way closer. Stopping at the last shed, which contained a bin full of grease-stained yard tools, they studied the second warehouse.

It was the same dimension as the first warehouse yet devoid of activity. Its front bay door was sealed shut, as was a small doorway to the side. What also made the building different was that an armed guard patrolled the perimeter.

"What's worth guarding at an oil field depot?" Giordino asked.

"Why don't we find out?"

Pitt stepped over to the tool bin and rummaged through its contents. "Might as well look the part," he said, hoisting a sledgehammer off the rack and toting it over his shoulder. Giordino picked up a green metal toolbox and emptied its contents, save for a hacksaw and monkey wrench.

"Let's go fix the plumbing, boss," he muttered, following after Pitt.

The twosome marched into the open and toward the building's facade as if they owned it. The guard initially paid little attention to the two men, who, in their ragged coats and banged-up hard hats, looked like any other workers in the yard. But when they completely ignored his presence on the way to the smaller entry door, he snapped into action.

"Stop," he barked in Mongolian. "Where do you think you're going?"

Giordino did stop, but only to bend down and retie his shoelace. Pitt kept walking toward the door as if the guard did not exist.

"Stop," the guard yelled again, shuffling toward Pitt as his hand reached for his holster.

Pitt kept walking until the guard was only a step away, then he slowly turned and smiled broadly at the man.

"Sorry, no habla" Pitt said, shrugging his shoulders benignly.

The guard contemplated Pitt's Caucasian features and indecipherable phrase with a look of utter confusion. Then the blunt side of a green toolbox arced out of nowhere and struck him in the side of the head, knocking him cold before his body could hit the ground.

"I think he bent my toolbox," Giordino said huffily, rubbing a large dent on the end of the green case.

"Maybe he's got insurance. I think we might want to find a different resting place for Sleeping Beauty," Pitt replied, stepping around the body.

He walked over and tried the handle on the entry door but found it locked. Hoisting the sledgehammer, he swung the iron head against the door handle with a punishing blow. The lock smashed free of the doorjamb and Pitt easily kicked the door open. Giordino already had the guard's torso in his arms, and dragged the unconscious man through the doorway and deposited him to the side as Pitt closed the door behind him.

The interior was dark, but Pitt flicked on the light switches next to the door and flooded the interior with fluorescent light. To his surprise, the building was nearly empty. Just two flatbed haulers sat side by side in the middle of the floor, taking up a fraction of the otherwise deserted warehouse. One of the flatbeds was empty, but the other held a large protruding object covered from view by a canvas tarp. The object under wraps had a streamlined shape resembling a subway car. It was nearly the opposite in dimension of the jaggedly vertical object that they had seen concealed on the truck at Lake Baikal.

"Doesn't look like the present we were looking for," Pitt remarked.

"Might as well unwrap it and find out what the big secret is," Giordino replied, pulling out the hacksaw from his battered toolbox. Jumping onto the flatbed, he attacked a maze of ropes that secured the canvas in a mummy wrap. As the cut ropes fell away, Pitt reached up and yanked at the canvas covering.

As the canvas tarp fell to the floor, they stood staring at a tube-shaped piece of machinery that stretched almost thirty feet long. A tangled maze of pipes and hydraulic lines ran from a large cylinder head at the front end to a frame support at the tail. Pitt walked around and studied the prow of the device, finding a circular plate eight feet in diameter studded with small beveled disks.

"A tunnel-boring machine," he said, rubbing one of the cutter-heads that was worn dull from usage.

"Corsov mentioned the company had some mining interests. I've heard there are some rich copper and coal reserves in the country."

"A rather expensive piece of equipment for a hack oil company."

A shrill whistle suddenly sounded from somewhere across the yard. Pitt and Giordino glanced toward the door and immediately saw that the guard had disappeared.

"Somebody woke up and ordered room service without telling us," Pitt said.

"And I don't have any change for a tip."

"We've seen all there is to see. Let's go meld into the woodwork."

They sprinted to the door, which Pitt opened a crack to peer out. Across the yard, a trio of armed guards was headed toward the warehouse in a jeep. Pitt recognized the man in the backseat rubbing his head as the guard Giordino had clobbered.

Pitt didn't hesitate, throwing open the door and bolting out of the building with Giordino on his heels. They turned and ran toward the maze of stacked pipes that paralleled the railroad spur. The pursuing guards shouted across the yard, but Pitt and Giordino quickly disappeared behind the first pallet of pipes.

"I hope they don't have dogs," Giordino said as they paused to catch their breath.

"I don't hear any barking." Pitt had instinctively grabbed the sledgehammer on the way out the door and held it up to show Giordino they weren't completely defenseless. He then surveyed the stacks of pipe around them and forged an exit strategy.

"Let's maze our way through the pipes to the rail line. If we can skirt around the loading platform undetected, then we ought to be able to make it back to the gate while they're still sniffing around here."

"I'm right behind you," Giordino replied.

They took off again, skirting in and around the mammoth stacks of pipe that stood twenty feet high. A few yards behind, they heard the shouts of the guards as they fanned out in pursuit. Fording through the dozens of huge pallets was like snaking through a dense sequoia forest. The pursuers were at a decided disadvantage.

Making a beeline as best he could, Pitt steered them in the direction of the railroad tracks, stopping again as they approached the last line of pallets. The rail spur ended just a few feet away, while just beyond was the southern boundary of the compound, marked by a twelve-foot brick wall.

"No chance at scaling that," Pitt whispered. "We'll have to follow the tracks."

They jumped over the railroad tracks and moved toward the loading ramp at a fast walk so as not to attract attention. Ahead of them, the loading of the flatcars continued unimpeded. The workers had stopped briefly when the security alarm sounded, but resumed their loading when they saw the guards driving to the warehouse building.

Pitt and Giordino approached the dock, walking along the backside of the flatcars with their hard hats pulled low over their eyes. They were nearly past the first of the three railcars when a foreman jumped off the flatcar, landing a few steps from Giordino. The workman lost his balance, stumbling into Giordino and bouncing off the stocky Italian like he'd hit a concrete wall.

"Sorry," the man muttered in Mongolian, then looked Giordino in the face. "Who are you?"

Giordino could see the glint of alarm register in the man's face and immediately extinguished it with a right cross to the chin. The man slumped to the ground just as a loud shout erupted in front of them. Standing on the next flatcar, two other workers witnessed Giordino punch out their supervisor and yelled out in bewilderment. The workers turned and yelled across the yard, waving their arms at the security jeep, which was just pulling away from the warehouse.

"So much for a stealthy getaway," Pitt quipped.