Treasure of Khan

Pitt had turned down a small side street lined with tiny shops that sold their goods along the sidewalk.

Temporarily out of sight of his pursuer, Pitt started running down the street, sprinting past the first half- dozen shops. Ducking past a newsstand, he slowed in front of an open-air clothing shop. A rack of heavy winter coats jutted from the shop's side wall, offering a perfect concealment spot from someone rushing down the street. Pitt stepped into the shop and around the coatrack, then stood with his back to the wall.

A wrinkled old woman wearing an apron appeared from behind a counter piled with shoes and looked up at Pitt.

'Shhh,' Pitt smiled, holding a finger to his lips. The old woman gave him an odd look, then returned to the back of the shop shaking her head.

Pitt had only to wait a few seconds before the man in the red shirt came hurrying along, nervously scanning each shop he came to. The sound of the man's footsteps announced his arrival as he approached and stopped in front of the shop. Pitt stood perfectly still, listening for the sound of heavy leather soles on concrete. When the patter resumed, Pitt sprang from the rack like a coiled spring.

The man in the red shirt had started to jog to the next shop when he detected a movement behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder to find Pitt, towering nearly a foot taller, only a step behind him. Before he could react, he felt Pitt's large hands grasp his shoulders.

Pitt could have tackled the man, or spun him around, or thrown him to the ground. But he wasn't one to fight physics and instead simply used their forward momentum and pushed the smaller man ahead toward a round metal hat rack. The assailant smacked face-first into the rack and fell forward onto his stomach amid a clutter of baseball caps. The fall would have incapacitated most, but Pitt was hardly surprised when the wiry man bounced up immediately and crouched to strike Pitt with his left hand while his right hand reached behind his back.

Pitt took a step back and grinned at the man.

'Looking for this?' he asked. With a slight flick of his wrist, he flashed a Serdyukov SPS automatic pistol, which he leveled at the man's chest. A blank look crossed the man's face as his right hand came up behind his back empty. He coolly looked Pitt in the eye, then smiled broadly.

'Mr. Pitt. You seem to have taken advantage of me,' he said in English only slightly tinged with a Russian accent.

'I don't like people crowding my space,' Pitt replied, holding the gun steady.

The other man looked up and down the street nervously, then spoke quietly to Pitt. 'You need not fear me. I am a friend looking out for you.'

'Good. Then you can join me for lunch with some of my friends, who will be interested to meet you.'

'To the Continental Hotel.' The man smiled, removing a child's hat with the image of a running camel on its crest that had somehow stuck to his head during the scuffle. He slowly sidestepped Pitt and began walking in the direction of the hotel. Pitt followed a few steps behind, concealing the gun in his pocket and wondering what sort of eccentric this was who had been following him.

The Russian made no move to escape, instead marching boldly into the hotel and across the lobby to the main restaurant. To Pitt's surprise, he walked directly up to a large booth where Giordino and Sarghov were sitting, enjoying a drink.

'Alexander, you old goat!' he greeted Sarghov with a laugh.

'Corsov! They haven't run you out of the country yet?' Sarghov replied, standing and giving the smaller man a hug.

'I am an invaluable presence to the state mission,' Corsov replied with mock seriousness. Eyeing Sarghov's bruised face, he frowned and said, 'You look as if you just escaped from the gulag.'

'No, just the inhospitable mongrels I told you about. Forgive me, I have not properly introduced you to my American friends. Dirk, Al, this is Ivan Corsov, special attache to the Russian embassy here in Ulaanbaatar. Ivan and I worked together years ago. He's agreed to help us with the investigation of Avarga Oil.'

'He followed us from the airport,' Pitt said to Sarghov with lingering doubt.

'Alexander told me you were coming. I was just making sure that no one else was following you.'

'It seems I owe you an apology,' Pitt smiled, covertly handing the pistol back to Corsov, and then shaking hands.

'Quite all right,' he replied. 'Though my wife may not like the looks of my new nose,' he added, rubbing a purple welt administered by the hat rack.

'How your wife liked the looks of your old one is a mystery to me,' Sarghov laughed.

The four men sat down and ordered lunch, the conversation turning serious.

'Alexander, you told me of the attempted sinking of the Vereshchagin and the abduction of the oil workers, but I didn't know you were seriously injured in the ordeal,' Corsov said, nodding at a thick bandage around Sarghov's wrist.

'My injuries would have been a lot worse had my friends not intervened,' he replied, tilting a glass of beer toward Pitt and Giordino.

'We weren't too happy about getting our feet wet in the middle of the night, either,' Giordino added.

'What makes you think that the captives were brought to Mongolia?'

'We know that the freighter was leased by Avarga Oil, and the survey team was working under contract for them as well. The regional police authorities could find no permanent holdings in all of Siberia for the company, so we naturally assumed they would return to Mongolia. Border security confirmed that a truck caravan matching the description of those seen at Listvyanka had crossed into Mongolia at Naushki.'

'Have the appropriate appeals for law enforcement assistance been made?'

'Yes, a formal request was sent to the Mongolian national police, and cooperation is taking place at the lower levels as well. An Irkutsk police official cautioned me that assistance would likely be forthcoming very slowly here.'

'It is true. Russian influence in Mongolia is not what it used to be,' Corsov said, shaking his head. 'And the level of security here is much reduced from the past. These democratic reforms and economic issues have loosened the state's control over its own people,' he said, raising his eyebrows at Pitt and Giordino.

'Freedom has its costs, pal, but I wouldn't take it any other way,' Giordino replied.

'Comrade Al, believe me, we all relish the reforms that have expanded the freedom of individuals. It just occasionally makes my job a little more demanding.'

'And what exactly is your job with the embassy?' Pitt asked.

'Special attache and assistant director of information, at your service. I help ensure that the embassy is well informed about events and activities within the host country.'

Pitt and Giordino gave each other a knowing look, but said nothing.

'Gloating again, Ivan?' Sarghov smiled. 'Enough about you. What can you tell us about Avarga Oil?'

Corsov tilted back in his seat and waited for the waitress to lay a round of drinks on the table, then spoke in a low voice.

'The Avarga Oil Consortium. A strange animal.'

'In what manner?' asked Sarghov.

'Well, the corporate entity is a relatively new concept in Mongolia. Obviously, there was no private ownership under communist rule, so the appearance of autonomous Mongolian companies has only occurred in the last fifteen years. Aside from the explosion of individual or publicly owned companies in the past five years, the earlier entities were all created in partnership with the state or foreign corporations. This is especially true of the mining companies, as the locals had no capital to start with and the state owned the land. Yet this wasn't the case with Avarga.'

'They are not partnered with the Mongolian government?' Pitt asked.

'No, their registry confirms that they are fully privately owned. The point is more interesting, as they were one of the first companies licensed under the newly autonomous Mongolian government in the early 1990s. The company name, by the way, comes from an ancient city believed to be the first capital of Mongolia.'

'It doesn't take much more than a land lease to start an oil company,' Giordino said. 'Maybe they only started with a piece of paper and a pickup truck.'

'Perhaps. I can't say what resources they began with, but their current assets are certainly more substantial than a pickup truck.'

'What have you been able to verify?' asked Sarghov.