The Spirit Banner by Alex Archer Page A

there.

The room was empty.

You're getting paranoid, she told herself. No one even knows you're in Mexico City.

Still, she checked the bathroom and the closets, just to be safe. When they turned out to be as empty as the bedroom, she at last allowed herself to relax and released the sword back into the otherwhere. Probably just the maid, she told herself, and turned her attention to getting out of her sweaty clothes and into something more suitable for a long afternoon of doing what she loved best.

    * * *

    M ASON WAS WAITING when she arrived at the estate, and after a quick hello, he led her upstairs to a room on the second floor where Davenport was waiting. A long table stood in the center of the room, surrounded by a variety of scientific equipment. Annja glanced at them and then made a beeline for the glass case sitting in the middle of the table.

Inside was a small, leather-bound book, with yellowed pages and a cracked and faded cover.

"Is this it?" she asked, turning and acknowledging her employer for the first time since entering the room.

"And a good-morning to you, too, Annja," Davenport said with a laugh. "And yes, that is it , as you say. That little volume is going to lead us to the treasure of the centuries."

She smiled at his enthusiasm. "If it's authentic," she said. "What can you tell me about it?"

Davenport's tone became a bit more formal, as if he were reciting information he'd just learned and wanted to be sure to get it correct.

"In 1245, Pope Innocent IV, suspicious of the lingering power of the Mongols, sent a diplomatic party to the court of Guyuk, Genghis Khan's grandson, at Karakorum. Leading that party was a friar by the name of Giovanni di Plano Carpini."

Annja nodded. She was aware of Carpini's journey and the book he'd written upon his return, The Story of the Mongols Whom We Call the Tartars. It was one of the first European accounts of life in the Mongol Empire, and though it was later relegated to a secondary position when Marco Polo published the accounts of his own journey among the people of the steppes, it was still considered an important historical document.

"With Carpini went a priest by the name of Father Michael Curran. Curran was a rising star, one of the Vatican's inner circle, if you will, and was there at the direct order of the pope himself."

"To do what?" Annja asked.

Davenport grinned. "Spy on the Mongols, of course. Remember, it had been less than twenty-five years since Genghis Khan's army had turned back at the Mohi River rather than continue his conquest of Hungary and the rest of Eastern Europe. I'm sure more than just the pope was wondering when, or if, Guyuk was going to try again."

"So this book—?"

"It is Curran's personal account of his time among the Mongols," Davenport said.

Annja frowned. "If Curran reported what he learned to the pope, why has the tomb remained undiscovered all this time?"

"That's just it. Curran never had the chance to tell anyone what he learned, least of all the pope. He never made it out of Mongolia," Davenport said.

Mason took up the story from there. "Apparently the group Curran was traveling with was attacked by a rival clan while deep within the Forbidden Zone, an area deep in the heart of the empire that the relatives of Genghis Khan had set aside forever as a monument to his glory. Curran managed to survive the attack itself, along with one other man. Badly wounded and left for dead, the two of them sought shelter in a mountain cave. That's where Curran learned the location of the Khan's tomb from his dying companion. Unfortunately for Curran, a winter storm trapped them in the cave for several weeks and he eventually succumbed from his wounds before he could make his way back to Karakorum." Mason gestured at the diary. "It's all in there—his impressions of Karakorum, his audience with Guyuk, the attack on the convoy, his ruminations as he lay dying all but alone in that cave."

Knowing that the little book in the case