were contacted by a broker in Malaysia who had a consignment to sell and he has provided us a steady stream of artifacts ever since. I bet we have sold over one hundred million dollars' worth of similar goods in that time. And I know Christie's has been auctioning similar quantities.'
'My word. Any idea of the source of all those relics?'
'I could only speculate,' Eeten said, chewing on his steak. 'The Malaysian broker is a most secretive fellow and refuses to divulge his sources. I've never even been allowed to meet the man face-to-face. But he has never shipped us anything phony. Every consignment has contained the genuine article from top to bottom.'
'Seems a little odd that kind of volume emanates from Malaysia.'
'True, but the goods could be routed from anywhere. He's just a broker. Neither he nor his firm's name even sounds Malaysian.'
'What's that?' Perlmutter asked, finishing his meal.
'An odd name. It's called the Buryat Trading Company.'
-38-
Theresa felt a slight sense of relief when the door to her room opened and a guard motioned for her to step into the hallway. If they were going to kill her, then so be it, she thought. It would be better than an endless confinement in fearful anticipation.
It had been two days since she was first locked in the room without explanation. There had been no contact by anyone, save for the occasional tray of food shoved in the room. Though she knew nothing of the visit by the Chinese delegation, she had heard the caravan of cars arrive and depart. Of greater mystery was the heavy gunfire that had erupted from the rear of the compound. She strained to peer out the tiny window at the back of her room but could see little more than swirling dust. Idly staring out the window again the next day, she had observed the horse guards on patrol trotting by, though their numbers seemed smaller.
Now walking out her door, she was glad to see Wofford standing in the hall, leaning on a cane. He flashed her a warm smile.
'Vacation's over,' he said. 'Guess it's back to work.'
His words proved prophetic, as they were escorted back to the study. Borjin sat waiting for them, inhaling a thick cigar. He appeared more relaxed than the last time they saw him, his effusion of arrogance stronger than ever.
'Come sit, my friends,' he said, waving them over to his table. 'I hope you enjoyed your time off from work.'
'Sure,' Wofford said. 'Staring at four walls was most relaxing.'
Borjin ignored the comment and pointed to a fresh stack of seismic reports.
'Your work here is nearly complete,' he said. 'But there is some urgency in the appropriate selection of well sites in this region.' He unfurled a topographic map covering a two-hundred-square-mile area.
Theresa and Wofford could see from the markings that it encompassed an area of the Chinese Gobi Desert just southeast of the Mongolian border.
'You have already provided inputs on a number of detailed sites within this region. I must say, your assessments have been most insightful,' he said with a patronizing tone. 'As you can see, the blocks you have already examined are marked on this regional map. I ask that you evaluate those blocks in relation to the entire region and identify a prioritization of test-well sites to maximize potential production.'
'Aren't these sites located in China?' Wofford asked, pressing the point.
'Yes, they are,' Borjin replied matter-of-factly, offering no further explanation.
'You know that the potential reserves are rather deep?' Wofford asked. 'Probably why they have been overlooked in the past.'
'Yes. We have the appropriate equipment to drill to the required depths,' Borjin replied with impatience.
'I need to have two hundred high-producing wells in six months. Locate them.'
Borjin's arrogance finally rankled Wofford. Theresa could see from the rising flush of red to his face that he was about to tell the Mongolian to shove it. She quickly beat him to the punch.
'We can do that,' she blurted. 'It will take us about three or four days,' she added, stalling for time.
'You have until tomorrow. My field manager will meet with you in the afternoon for a detailed briefing on your analysis.'
'Once completed, will we be free to return to Ulaanbaatar?' she asked.
'I will arrange a vehicle to transport you the following morning.'
'Then we better get down to work,' Theresa replied, grabbing the folder and spreading its contents across the table. Borjin nodded with an untrusting grimace, then stood up and left the room. As he disappeared down the corridor, Wofford turned to Theresa and shook his head.
'That was quite the show of cooperation,' he whispered. 'Turning over a new leaf?'
'Best that he thinks we believe him,' she replied, holding a report in front of her mouth. 'Plus, I didn't want you to deck him and get us both killed.'
Wofford smiled sheepishly, realizing how close she was to the mark.
Still wary of the security camera, Theresa pulled a map out from the bottom of the file and casually flipped it over while scattering some other reports about. On the blank back side, she took a pen and wrote 'Ideas for Escape.' Jotting a few notes beneath it, she slid it across the table to Wofford. He picked the chart up and studied Theresa's comments with interest. While he was holding it up to his eyes, Theresa noticed the map on the reverse side depicted the Persian Gulf. A series of red jagged lines were imposed across various sections of the map. Theresa saw that a red circle was drawn at two points over a couple of the heavier lines. One circle, she noticed, was around the city of Ras Tanura, and the other around a small island off the coast of Iran.
'Jim, look at this map,' she interrupted, flipping the chart over for him to see.
'It's a fault map,' Wofford said after studying the colored lines. 'It shows a tectonic plate boundary running right along the Persian Gulf and major fault zones running off it.'
Isolated since their abduction, neither knew anything about the devastating earthquakes that had recently struck the gulf. While Wofford studied the two red circles, Theresa rummaged through the rest of the file and produced two similar maps. The first was an enlarged view of Lake Baikal in Siberia.
'My word, look at this,' she said, holding up the map. Her finger pointed to the top of the blue-colored lake. Just beyond her fingertip, at the lake's northern shoreline, was a large fault line circled in red. A newly constructed oil pipeline was also marked on the map, running just a mile or two north of the lake.
'You don't suppose they did something around the fault that triggered the seiche wave on the lake?' she asked.
'Short of setting off a nuclear device, I don't see how,' Wofford replied, though his voice was thin on conviction. 'What's on the other map?'
Theresa slid the other map to the top of the pile. They both immediately recognized it as a map of the Alaskan coastline, running from Anchorage down to British Columbia. Highlighted in yellow was the Alaska Pipeline, which stretched inland from its end point at the port city of Valdez. The four-foot-thick pipeline carried crude oil from the rich Prudhoe Bay fields on Alaska's North Slope, supplying a million barrels a day to the U.S. domestic market.
With a growing apprehension, Theresa pointed to a thick fault line marked on the map running just off the coastline. A dark red circle was drawn around a point on the fault, directly off the port of Valdez.
In silent dread, they both stared at the mark, wondering what Borjin had in store for the Alaska Pipeline.
-39-
Hiram Yaeger wolfed down a grilled-chicken sandwich with green tea, then excused himself from his
