He nodded at Tatiana, who retrieved a map from a side bureau and unrolled it in front of the Chinese minister. She plucked a pair of jade carvings from the center of the table and used them to hold open the scrolled chart.

It was a country map of Mongolia. An irregular red oval was overlaid on a section near the southeastern border, appearing like an amoeba that had drowned in a cheap Merlot. The spot stretched for nearly fifty miles, its lower end rounding alongside the border of Chinese Inner Mongolia.

"The Temujin field. A natural basin that makes your aging Daqing field look like a bowl of spit," Borjin said, referring to China's largest oil field, which was in a state of decline. "Our test wells indicate potential reserves of forty billion barrels of crude oil and fifty trillion cubic feet of natural gas. The million barrels a day we will sell to you will be a pittance."

"Why has such a discovery not been publicized?" Shinzhe asked with a hint of skepticism. "I have heard nothing of such a find so close to our borders."

Borjin smiled, his teeth bared in a sharklike grin. "Few living people outside of this room are aware of the find," he said cryptically. "My own government knows nothing of these reserves. How else do you think I was able to acquire the entire land rights to the region? There have been minor exploratory forays into Mongolia that have touched upon the oil potential, but they have all missed the primary bonanza, if you will. A proprietary technology of ours helped pinpoint the windfall somewhat by accident," he said with a smile. "These are deep reserves, which explains in part why they were overlooked by previous exploration teams. But I need not bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that a number of test wells have provided initial confirmation of the reserve estimates."

Shinzhe sat quietly, the color draining from his face. He had little choice but to acknowledge the reality of the vast oil field. The fact that an arrogant charlatan of questionable morality controlled it made him sick to his stomach. Shinzhe was playing a weak hand and he knew that Borjin controlled the deck.

"Having oil in the ground is one thing, but delivering it within ninety days is quite another," the minister said soberly. "Your offer suggests we could see crude oil flowing within that time frame. I don't see how that is possible."

"It will take some doing on your part, but it is quite feasible," Borjin replied. Turning to Tatiana, he asked for another map from the bureau. She unrolled a second chart, which showed a map of Mongolia and northern China. A spiderweb of red lines crisscrossed the Chinese section of the map.

"The existing oil pipelines of China," Borjin explained. "Take a look at your recently completed northeast pipeline from Daqing to Beijing, with a spur from the port terminal at Qinhuangdao."

Shinzhe studied the map, noting a small X along a barren stretch of pipeline that ran through Inner Mongolia.

"The X is thirty kilometers from the Mongolian border and forty kilometers from a nearly completed pipeline span I am building to the border. You need only extend the pipeline from my termination to that spot on your Daqing line and the oil will begin to flow."

"Forty kilometers of pipeline? That can't be completed in ninety days."

Borjin stood up and paced around the table. "Come now, the Americans laid ten miles of rail track in a day constructing their transcontinental railroad in the 1860s. I have taken the liberty of already surveying the route and have the necessary pipe committed from a supplier. For additional consideration, I can also provide temporary excavation equipment. Surely for the country that has built the Three Gorges Dam, this should be child's play."

"You seem to have considered our needs well," Shinzhe said with veiled contempt.

"As a good business partner should." Borjin smiled. "And, in return, my demands are simple. You will pay a per barrel rate of one hundred forty-six thousand togrog, or one hundred twenty-five dollars U.S.

You will accede the lands of southern Mongolia, or the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region, as you inanely refer to the territory. And you will provide me a direct and exclusive pipeline to the port of Qinhuangdao, where you will provide me an offloading port facility where I may export my excess supply of oil."

As Shinzhe gasped at the demand, the Mongol turned and gazed out the window, watching the winds swirl like tongues of fire. A movement caught his eye and he peered down at the courtyard. Two men dressed in dark suits were sprinting across it toward the sanctuary. Borjin watched as the two figures looped around the back side of the structure, then reappeared by the entrance and ducked inside. A tightness gripped his throat as he turned to the minister.

"If you will excuse me for a moment, I must attend to an urgent matter."

Turning his back before the minister could say another word, Borjin strode briskly from the room.

-22-

The winds had died down temporarily, forcing Pitt and Giordino to remain under cover in the stone entryway. Pitt looked up and admired the high archway that led to the main chamber of the stone edifice. Though the construction appeared ancient, it had obviously been rebuilt or refurbished, as evidenced by the smooth and unbroken layer of mortar between the stones. Situated in the center of the courtyard, Pitt realized that the main residence was probably built around the little stone building.

"A Buddhist temple?" Giordino asked, noting the flicker of candlelight down the corridor.

"Most likely," Pitt replied, aware that Buddhism was the predominant religion in Mongolia. Their curiosity piqued while waiting for the winds to resume, the two men moved quietly down the wide corridor and stepped into the main chamber.

Under the glow of a dozen burning torches and candles, Pitt and Giordino were surprised to find the chamber was a mausoleum rather than a temple. Though a small wooden altar was built at the far end, a pair of large marble sarcophaguses occupied either side. The tombs were made of white marble and had a modern look, suggesting the occupants had been interred within the last twenty or thirty years. Though Pitt couldn't read the Cyrillic script carved on the top slabs, he guessed they were the tombs of Borjin's mother and father, based upon Corsov's biography of the oilman.

He could not wager a guess about who lay in the centerpiece of the crypt, however. Standing on a polished marble pedestal was a carved granite sarcophagus that appeared much older. Although not massive in size, the tomb was illustrated with horses and wild animals carved across the top and sides, overlaid with paint. Though the images were clear, the paint had worn thin from aging. At the head of the tomb, nine posts rose into the air, each dangling a shock of white fur, as they had seen at the entrance to the residence.

"Somebody got a nice sendoff to the afterlife," Giordino said, eyeing the tomb.

"The illustrious Mr. Borjin must be something of a blueblood," Pitt replied.

Giordino looked past the sarcophagus and noted an object lying beneath the altar.

"Looks like they're going to need another coffin in here," he said, nodding toward the object.

Overlooked as they entered the chamber, the body both men now saw was stretched out on a bench beneath the altar. Pitt and Giordino walked over and were shocked to recognize the corpse. It was Roy, half covered in a thin blanket, but with the shaft of the arrow still protruding from his chest.