Rogue Angel - The Spirit Banner Part 10

"Let's say, just for the sake of argument, that I can figure it out. What, then?" Annja asked.

Davenport laughed. "What, then? Why, we go after it, of course!" he said. "In fact, we'd better start making plans to do so now. The off-season is coming on quickly over there, so we'll have to wait until spring, of course, but that will give us time to get things organized and allow you a chance to work out the puzzle to your satisfaction before we leave the country. We'll need to get travel and dig permits from the Mongolian authorities, arrange for local guides and transportation, never mind choosing the right individuals to be a part of the dig team." He must have seen something in her face in reaction to that last statement, for he suddenly turned to her with a grin. "You are coming along, right?" he asked.

With a start, Annja realized she did want to go. Very badly, in fact. Working with the map and diary had fired her desire to follow this thing to the end, to see if there was any truth to the words Father Curran had so faithfully recorded all those years ago.

She'd been to a lot of places across the globe, but Mongolia wasn't one of them. And being able to take part in the search to uncover one of the world's greatest mysteries? It was the chance of a lifetime. Doing something like this was why she had become an archaeologist in the first place. There was no way she would pa.s.s it up.

Besides, she thought with a sly grin, she'd have her producer at Chasing History's Monsters Chasing History's Monsters, Doug Morrell, eating out of her hand for months if they pulled this one off.

"When do we leave?" she asked.

O UTSIDE IN THE GRa.s.s UTSIDE IN THE GRa.s.s , one of the dog handlers, Kyle Davis, stirred. He'd come into work that night as a last-minute replacement for a fellow employee who had gotten sick. Davis was a big man, not just tall but heavily muscled, as well; and, as chance, or perhaps fate, would have it, he outweighed the regularly scheduled guard by a good fifty pounds. , one of the dog handlers, Kyle Davis, stirred. He'd come into work that night as a last-minute replacement for a fellow employee who had gotten sick. Davis was a big man, not just tall but heavily muscled, as well; and, as chance, or perhaps fate, would have it, he outweighed the regularly scheduled guard by a good fifty pounds.

That meant the tranquilizer dose that had been prepared for the original guard wasn't strong enough to keep Davis under for long. Certainly not long enough for the intruders to accomplish their goal.

He woke shortly after being shot.

Davis had been trained well. As he slowly came back to consciousness, he stayed where he was, lying facedown in the gra.s.s, and didn't try to sit up or attempt to discover what had happened. The details didn't matter; what mattered was letting the rest of the team know that they were under attack.

And he needed to do it without attracting undue attention to himself in case the enemy was out there, watching.

His arms had been flung out over his head when he fell and that proved to be an unexpected G.o.dsend. Moving just half an inch or so at a time, he slowly slid his right hand over to his left, until his fingers came in contact with the band of his watch. The military timepiece had a panic b.u.t.ton built into its face. Pressing it sent a high-frequency signal to the main security station, letting the man on duty there know that something was amiss.

Davis searched for the b.u.t.ton.

T HE SPOTTER IN THE TREES HE SPOTTER IN THE TREES scanned the grounds with his sighting scope, going through the motions just as he'd been taught in sniper school so many years before. Constant vigilance was his motto and it had never let him down. scanned the grounds with his sighting scope, going through the motions just as he'd been taught in sniper school so many years before. Constant vigilance was his motto and it had never let him down.

Nor did it this time.

"Son of a-! Target! Sector B. From TRP 1, right 50, add 25."

His partner brought his weapon into position, repeating the location information back to the spotter as he did so.

"Roger. Movement on the ground. Second target from the left."

The shooter repeated the target designation and adjusted his grip on the stock of his weapon. Taking a deep breath he held it for a moment, made sure he was on-target, and then fired on the exhale. To an outside observer it would have seemed like one continuous motion, but to the sniper it felt disjointed and rushed.

He hadn't expected to have to use the weapon again once they'd taken down the guards, and it was only the fact that he made a habit of keeping his weapon loaded while in position that let him get the shot off at all.

The tranquilizer dart gun had been set aside just moments before and been replaced with his standard piece, a Parker Hale M85 rifle, and a sharp crack rang out over the estate as the gunman pulled the trigger.

The sniper's shot was true.

It struck Davis in the head, killing him instantly.

But the sniper had been about a quarter of a second too late. Davis had already found the panic b.u.t.ton and mashed it down flat.

I N THE LIBRARY N THE LIBRARY on the first floor, the celebration continued. Davenport cracked open a bottle of cognac and drinks were pa.s.sed around. on the first floor, the celebration continued. Davenport cracked open a bottle of cognac and drinks were pa.s.sed around.

"A toast, then," he said, raising his gla.s.s and waiting until the others followed suit. "To our expedition!"

"Here, here!" Annja and Mason replied with grins.

No sooner had they done so, however, than a loud siren began blaring throughout the house.

Annja cast a questioning look at her companions.

"We've got an intruder," Mason said, by way of reply, as he crossed the room and disappeared through the door.

Davenport and Annja quickly followed.

Out in the hallway they found Mason surrounded by a handful of hard-looking men who had apparently appeared out of thin air. Or at least it seemed that way to Annja, who up until now hadn't seen even a hint that a security team was present, never mind active.

"Sitrep," Mason said to the tall black man who was helping him slip into a ballistic vest.

"We've got a breach along the south wall. Davis's panic b.u.t.ton went off just over sixty seconds ago. I tripped the alarm and a.s.sembled the team as per SOP."

"Good job, Jeffries. Any idea who or what we're up against?"

The other man shook his head. "The motion sensors never went off, which means the video feed wasn't activated. At this point, all we have is the lack of response from Katter and the active signal from Davis, which doesn't tell us a whole h.e.l.l of a lot."

Mason turned to face Davenport. "Without knowing what we're facing, I have to suggest that you take cover in the secure room until this is over, sir."

The trusted friend had reverted back into the loyal employee, Annja noted. And it appeared that Davenport was more than willing to listen to him, too. She had long suspected that Mason was more than just Davenport's a.s.sistant and she felt some small sense of satisfaction that her hunch had proven correct.

One of the security team members stepped to Davenport's side, gun drawn and eyes on alert. "This way, sir," he said, indicating the hallway to the left.

Curious about what was going on, but not wanting to get in the way of what appeared to be a well-organized response, Annja chose to follow Davenport. Probably gets half a dozen death threats a week, considering how rich he is, she thought. Besides, if he was the target, at least she was there to protect him.

She was halfway down the hall when a sudden thought stopped her dead in her tracks.

The journal.

Whoever they are, they're after the journal, she was sure of it.

She turned it over once or twice in her head, testing it for accuracy, and finally decided that her hunch was right. They were were after the journal. She didn't know how she knew it; she just did. after the journal. She didn't know how she knew it; she just did.

Turning, she charged back down the hall, headed for the staircase in the foyer that would take her to the second floor. She didn't know how someone could have learned of the journal, nor who might be after it. But that didn't matter. Right now all she cared about was imposing herself between the artifact and whoever it was that had come to claim it.

"Annja! Annja, wait!"

Davenport's calls echoed down the hallway after her, but she ignored them, intent on her objective. She hit the staircase and took the steps two at a time, her gaze directed above, watching for intruders, as she rapidly made her way to the top.

When she reached the second-floor landing, she flattened herself against the wall, settled into a crouch and peeked around the corner at knee height. If someone was there, she didn't want to stick her face right in their sights.

The hall was empty, however.

"Annja!"