The Mongol Objective by David Sakmyster Read Free Book Online Page A

frostbite on your neck and fingers.” The medic, a middle-aged woman whose skin seemed far too tan to be in this climate, looked him over again, shaking her head. “Lucky.”
    “Yeah,” Caleb said, holding his side. “What do they say, better to be lucky than smart? I should have seen this, should have known it was a trap.”
    “How could you?” the medic asked, and Phoebe, standing beside her brother, coughed into her hand. “Just trust us, he should have seen it.”
    “We all should have,” Orlando Natch said. “And I’m a bonehead for missing it. Got too damn excited about a match on the freakin’ head. Rookie mistake that almost got us killed. Sorry boss.”
    “It’s not your fault,” Caleb said. “And I’m not your boss.” Then, lower, “Nina. She’s alive.”
    “I know,” Phoebe said. “Seems like a nasty bitch. Had it in for you.” She gave him a sly look. “What, did you sleep with her and not call her back?”
    Orlando choked on a sip of hot chocolate. The medic raised her hands. “Sounds like a family moment. I’ve got a report to make, and my boss will want to debrief you before you leave, especially about Colonel Hiltmeyer’s actions.”
    “Have you been able to contact him?” Phoebe asked.
    “No, nothing.” She looked down. “Apparently he’s gone rogue. And again, I’m sorry.”
    “Got to get back home. Fast. And,” Caleb added to the departing medic, “we need a phone. Please.” He turned to meet Phoebe’s look of concern. “Alexander and Lydia are in danger. This was all a diversion. They’re going for the tablet.”
    #
    Montross had a moment of fear as something hissed and huge metal bolts pulled backwards from holding the great silver vault door in place. The door opened. Reflexively, he held back an arm to shield Alexander in case something deadly came flying out of the darkness. Shame , he thought, actually starting to like the kid.
    A moment later, the door opened all the way. Motionless now, Montross took a deep breath. “Inside,” he whispered, nudging the boy forward into the darkness that glimmered as oil lamps around a circular room ignited, triggered by the door’s opening.
    “You first,” Alexander said, trying to twist away but held fast. He stumbled forward into the vault—at last! He was finally here, inside after all that time, wondering and dreaming about it. Reading, studying, listening to his father’s stories.
    He was here.
    But then he froze, staring first at the beautiful zodiac images painted on the ceiling, and then at the lone pedestal basking in the glow of four lamps, and the single object resting at its apex:
    The Emerald Tablet.
    #
    “There’s a note beside it,” Alexander said, his voice cracking.
    “A note?” Montross took another step in, hesitantly still, as if expecting a rack of stainless steel, poisoned-tip spikes to come plunging down through the ceiling and skewer him at any moment. “I didn’t see a note.”
    “Maybe,” said Alexander, picking up the loose-leaf piece of white paper with a jagged left edge, “Dad only left it for me recently.”
    “What does it say?” He glanced at the paper, frowned, then checked out the ceiling. “Looks Greek to me.”
    “It is Greek.” Alexander read the words and translated to himself: Son, this is your legacy now, and that means it’s yours to protect. If you’ve been forced here against your will, and if you have the chance, tap the pedestal twice, and then . . .
    He lowered the paper, dropped it, then inched his fingers toward the wooden outer frame. In another second, Montross had his back to him and Alexander seized the opportunity. He pressed the pedestal once, then again, and heard a click . And then he did just what the note told him to:
    He ran.
    Bolted straight for the door—
    —just as another door, a door made of vertical steel bars, came grinding out of a slot in the ceiling, crashing down.
    Alexander dropped and rolled under it into the sub-basement. The