"Do not obey and the same fate will befall you!"

The guard who had killed Roy was summoned to crudely drag Theresa back to her room and keep her under armed guard.

Since that moment, she and Wofford had been under constant surveillance. She gazed across the study to the entryway, where two stone-faced guards stood staring back at her. Their brightly colored silk dels, or tunics, softened their appearance, but she knew from the night before that they were highly trained killers.

Alongside her, Wofford sat with his b.u.m leg propped on a chair, deeply engrossed in a geological report. He had been shocked by Roy's death but seemed to have shaken it off quickly. More likely, he was using the task at hand to conceal his emotions, Theresa decided.

"We might as well give them the work they asked for," he had told her. "It might be the only thing that keeps us alive."

Maybe he was right, she thought, trying to regain focus on the report in her hands. It was a geological a.s.sessment of a basin area in an unidentified plain. Sandstone and limestone rifts were identified as being overlaid with clay and shale stretched across the basin. It was just the type of stratigraphy that was conducive to subsurface petroleum reserves.

"The geology seems promising, wherever it is," she said to Wofford.

"Take a look at this," he replied, unrolling a computer printout across the table. Known as a seismic section, the printout showed a computer-enhanced image of several layered levels of sediment for a confined location. The chart was created by a seismic survey team that sent man-made shocks into the ground and recorded the sound reflections. Theresa stood up to get a better look, examining the chart with fresh interest. It was unlike any seismic image she had seen before. Most subsurface profiles were opaque and smudgy, resembling a Rorschach inkblot left out in a rainstorm. The profile before her was a crisp image, with clearly delineated subsurface layers.

"Amazing image," she remarked. "Must be made with some cutting-edge technology. I've never seen anything this precise."

"It definitely beats anything we've ever used in the field. But that's not the amazing aspect," he added. Reaching over, he pointed to a bulbous shape near the bottom of the page that extended off the edge. Theresa leaned over and studied it carefully.

"That looks like a cla.s.sic, not to mention nicely sized, anticlinal trap," she said, referring to the dome-shaped layer of sediments. The cusp of a sedimentary dome like the one before her was a flashing red light for geophysicists, as it is a prime spot for petroleum deposits to acc.u.mulate.

"Nicely sized, indeed," Wofford replied. Pulling over a stack of similar profiles, he spread several on the table. "That particular trap stretches nearly forty kilometers. There's six other smaller ones I've found in the same region."

"It certainly looks like the right conditions for a deposit."

"You never know until the drill gets wet, but from these images, it looks pretty promising."

"And there's six more? That's a tremendous reserve potential."

"At least six more. I haven't digested all the reports yet, but it is mind-boggling. Taking a stone's throw from the image, there might be two billion barrels potentially sitting in that one trap alone. Add in the others and you could have over ten billion barrels. And that's just for one field. No telling how much is in the entire region."

"Incredible. Where is the field located?"

"That's the hitch. Someone has carefully removed all geographic references from the data. I can only tell that it is subterranean, and that the surface topography is flat with a predominant sandstone base."

"You mean we might be looking at the next North Sea oil fields and you don't know where they are located?"

"I haven't a clue."

Sarghov laughed between sips from a cup of tea, his big belly jiggling with each guffaw.

"Charging through the night on a forklift, toting an Avarga security guard through the air," he chuckled. "You Americans always have such a flair for dramatics."

"It wasn't the understated exit I would have preferred," Pitt replied from across the cafe table, "but Al insisted we ride, not walk."

"And we still nearly missed last call." Giordino smirked before sipping his morning coffee.

"I'm sure management is scratching their heads, wondering why a pair of Westerners were waltzing around their facility. A shame you didn't find any evidence that our oil survey friends had been there."

"No, the only item of interest was the tunnel-boring machine. And it was concealed under a canvas tarp similar to the object that was removed from the freighter at Baikal."

"It is possible the machine was stolen and brought into the country surrept.i.tiously. Mongolia does not have easy access to high technology. Perhaps the company does not want the government to be aware of its technological equipment."

"Yes, that could be true," Pitt replied. "I would still like to know what it was that they hauled away from Baikal under wraps."

"Alexander, have there been any developments in the abduction investigation?" Giordino asked before biting into a b.u.t.tered roll.

Sarghov looked up to see Corsov enter the busy cafe situated across from Sukhbaatar Square. "I shall let our local expert address that question," he said, standing and greeting his emba.s.sy friend. Corsov smiled his toothy grin and pulled a chair up to the table.

"I trust everyone had a comfortable night?" he said to Pitt and Giordino.

"Just until the vodka wore off," Pitt grinned, cognizant that Giordino was nursing a mild hangover.

"Ivan, we were just discussing the investigation. Has there been any news on the official front?" Sarghov asked.

"Nyet," Corsov said, his jovial face turning solemn. "The National Police have still not been a.s.signed the case. The investigative request is being held up in the Justice Ministry. My apologies, I misspoke when I said that Avarga Oil has no influence within the government. It is clear that a bribe is in effect at some level."

"Every hour might count for Theresa and the others," Giordino said.

"Our emba.s.sy is doing everything they can through official channels. And I am, of course, pursuing leads through unofficial means. Do not worry, my friend, we will find them."

Sarghov drained the rest of his tea and set down the empty cup. "I'm afraid there is little more that we can ask of Ivan. The Mongol authorities often work on their own time frame. They will ultimately respond to the continued inquisitions from our emba.s.sy, despite whatever bribes are impeding the investigation. It may be best if we step back and wait for the bureaucratic hurdles to be cleared before any further action. As it is, I must return to Irkutsk to file a report on the damage to the Vereshchagin. I have gone ahead and booked airline tickets for the three of us this afternoon."

Pitt and Giordino looked knowingly at Corsov, then turned to Sarghov.

"Actually, we have already made alternate travel plans, Alexander," Pitt said.

"You are returning directly to the United States? I thought perhaps you would return to Siberia and collect your comrade Rudi first."

"No, we're not going to the United States, or Siberia, just yet."

"I don't understand. Where is your intended destination?"

Pitt's green eyes glimmered as he said, "A mystical place called Xanadu."

-20-

CORSOV'S INTELLIGENCE NETWORK PAID off again. Though the central government in Ulaanbaatar had taken a hard turn toward democracy after the fall of the Soviet Union, there was a sizeable communist minority opposition in the government ranks, many of whom still harbored pro-Moscow sentiments. It was a low-level a.n.a.lyst in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs that had notified Corsov about the pending Chinese state visit. But it was Corsov who had recognized it as a golden opportunity for Pitt and Giordino.

The Chinese minister of commerce was arriving on short notice, ostensibly to tour a new solar energy plant recently opened at the edge of the capital city. Yet the bulk of the minister's time was scheduled for a private visit with the head of the Avarga Oil Consortium, at his secluded residence southeast of Ulaanbaatar.

"I can put you in the motorcade, which will get you past Borjin's front door. The rest will be up to you," Corsov had told Pitt and Giordino.