Treasure of Khan

-64-

The U.S. Navy cruiser Anzio turned north from her station off the United Arab Emirates, a hundred miles inside the Strait of Hormuz, and headed on a dissecting path across the Persian Gulf.

Though far from being the largest ship in the gulf, the Ticonderoga-class Aegis cruiser was easily the most deadly. With its phased array radar system housed in the ship's boxy superstructure, the ship could detect and target enemy craft on land, sea, and air within a two-hundred-mile radius. At the push of a button, one of one hundred twenty-one Tomahawk or Standard missiles could be dispatched from its vertical launch system housed belowdecks, obliterating the offending target within seconds.

The high-tech arsenal was managed by the Combat Information Center, a dark control room in the depths of the ship. Under its dim blue overhead lights, Captain Robert Buns studied one of several large projection screens mounted on the wall. The surrounding region of the gulf was displayed in multiple colors, overlaid with various geometric shapes and symbols that danced across the screen in slow motion. Each symbol represented a ship or aircraft tracked by the radar system. One shape, a highlighted red ball, was inching toward the Strait of Hormuz from left to right across the ship's path.

"Twelve miles to intercept, sir," reported a nearby sailor, one of several electronics experts seated at computer stations around the bay.

"Steady as she goes," Buns replied. A studious but witty line officer highly admired by the crew, Buns had enjoyed his current tour of duty in the gulf. Aside from missing his wife and two children, he found gulf duty to be an invigorating challenge, enlivened with occasional danger.

"We'll cross Iranian waters in three miles," warned a youthful tactical operations officer standing at his side. "They are clearly tracking the Iranian coast for safety."

"After Kharg Island, I don't think the Iranians are up for harboring these guys," Buns replied. "Pat, I think I'll watch the show from the bridge. You have the CIC."

"Aye, Captain. We'll be dialed in just in case."

Buns made his way out of the darkened command center and up to the bridge, which was bathed in bright sunlight reflecting off the gulf's waters. A dark-haired officer stood near the helm with a pair of binoculars to his eyes, observing a black vessel on the water ahead.

"Is that our target, commander?" the captain asked.

Commander Brad Knight, the Anzio's chief operations intelligence officer, nodded in reply.

"Yes, sir, that's the drill ship. Air recon has confirmed she's the Bayan Star, out of Kuala Lumpur. The same vessel that our satellites pegged at Ras Tanura and Kharg Island prior to the earthquakes."

Knight gazed down at the cruiser's forward deck, spotting a contingent of Marines in assault gear, prepping a pair of Zodiac boats.

"Boarding party looks to be in order, sir."

"Well, let's see if the Bayan Star will play ball."

Buns stepped to a seated radio communications officer and issued a command. The cruiser began hailing the drill ship, first in English, then in Arabic, ordering the vessel to stop and heave to for boarding and inspection. The drill ship ignored the calls in both languages.

"No change in speed," a radar operator reported.

"Can't believe those Hornets didn't get their attention," Knight said. A pair of F/A-I8s from the aircraft carrier Ronald Reagan had tracked the drill ship for the prior hour, buzzing it constantly.

"Guess we'll have to do things the old-fashioned way and fire a shot across their bow," Buns said. The cruiser had a pair of five-inch guns capable of such a shot, and much more.

The cruiser closed to within two miles of the drill ship when the radar operator barked, "She's slowing, sir."

Buns leaned over and watched the radar screen, seeing the drill ship's blip cease movement on its southwesterly course.

"Bring us alongside. Have the boarding party stand by."

The sleek gray cruiser angled to the northeast, pulling even with the drill ship with a half mile of water separating the two vessels. The Marines were quickly loaded into the Zodiacs and lowered over the side.

As they began motoring toward the drill ship, Knight suddenly alerted Buns. "Captain, I see two boats in the water off the enemy's stern. I think the crew is abandoning ship."

Buns picked up a pair of binoculars and gazed at the drill ship. Two lifeboats filled with crewmen in black fatigues were making their way from the ship. Buns swung his binoculars toward the dilapidated vessel just in time to spot several puffs of white smoke rise from the lower levels.

"They mean to scuttle her," he said. "Call back the boarding party."

As the Anzio's crew watched with surprise, the drill ship quickly began settling low in the water. In just a few minutes, the salty waters of the Persian Gulf began washing over the ship's bow. As the bow sunk lower, the stern rose higher into the air, until the flooded ship knifed to the bottom with a sudden whoosh.

Knight shook his head as he watched the trail of bubbles and foam dissipate over the ship's grave.

"Pentagon's not going to like that. They were eager for us to capture her intact. Had some big-time intel curiosity about the technology aboard."

"We still got her crew," Buns said, nodding toward the two lifeboats, which were headed willingly toward the cruiser. "And the Pentagon can still have the ship if they want her. She's just three hundred feet deep in Iranian waters," he added with a grin.

-65-

A crisp breeze rippled across the lower slopes of Burkhan Khaldun, snapping taut the multitude of blue-and-red Mongolian state flags fluttering high overhead. The largest of the flags, a mammoth banner fifty feet wide, wavered above a large granite mausoleum whose carved facade had been hastily completed by local craftsmen just days before. The empty mausoleum was surrounded by a large crowd of dignitaries, VIPs, and news reporters, who talked quietly among themselves while waiting for the future occupant to arrive.

A rush of excited whispers swirled through the crowd, then all fell silent as the sound of marching boots drew near. A company of Mongolian Army soldiers appeared through the pines, marching up a slight incline toward the waiting assembly. They were the first in a long procession of military honor guards escorting the remains of Genghis Khan to his final resting place.

Genghis had been engaged in a battle siege near Yinchuan in northwest China when he'd fallen off his horse and died a few days later from his injuries. A secret funeral procession had brought his body back to Mongolia and the slopes of Burkhan Khaldun for burial in 1227, but history doesn't record the details of the cortege. Desiring to keep their enemies unaware of his death, as well as keep his burial spot secret for all eternity, his warrior comrades likely returned his casket in a nondescript, perhaps even covert, procession before burying him in an unmarked location. Nearly eight centuries later, there would be nothing covert about his reburial.

The Mongol warrior's body had lain in state in Ulaanbaatar for a week, drawing visits from over two million people, incredibly more than two-thirds the population of the entire country. Pilgrimages from all corners of the country were made by the thousands to lay eyes on his coffin. A three-day funeral procession to his grave site in the Khentii Mountains drew an equally impressive number of well-wishers, who lined the route holding flags and images of the ancient leader. Women and children waved and cried when the caisson rolled by, as if it was a favored relative who had just passed away. A national day of mourning, and future holiday of remembrance, marked the third leg of the procession. On this day, the caravan climbed up a makeshift road to a peaceful spot near the base of Burkhan Khaldun, where the warlord was said to have been born.

Pitt, Giordino, and Gunn, with Theresa and Wofford alongside, sat in the front row of dignitaries, just a few seats down from Mongolia's president and parliament leaders. Pitt turned and winked at a young boy seated behind him as the funeral procession drew near. Noyon and his parents, special guests of Pitt's, looked on at the surroundings with awe, the boy's eyes widening in wonder as the Khan's caisson finally appeared.

In a splendor worthy of the greatest conqueror the world has ever known, Genghis Khan's body was carried on a mammoth wooden caisson painted bright yellow. A magnificent team of eight snow-white stallions pulled the funeral cart, seemingly dropping their hooves in perfect unison. Atop the caisson was the granite tomb Pitt had saved from the floodwaters, now covered in fresh lotus blossoms.

A troupe of aged lamas wearing bright red robes and arched yellow hats quietly took up position in front of the tomb. Down the hill, a pair of monks blew into their radongs, enormous telescopic horns that emitted a deep baritone hum heard all down the valley. As the low resonations wafted in the breeze, the lamas launched into a lengthy funeral prayer, incorporating drums, tambourines, and burning incense. At the completion of the ceremony, the lamas quietly filed off to the side as an old shaman took to the stage.

The age of Genghis Khan was filled with mysticism, and shamanism played an important role in the nomadic lifestyle. The grizzled shaman, who had a flowing beard and was dressed in caribou skins, danced and chanted around a large fire containing sheep bones. With a shrieking moan, he blessed the Khan's remains, imparting them from the land of the eternal blue sky to an afterlife of conquering the heavens.

When the service was completed, the granite sarcophagus was rolled into the mausoleum, then sealed with a six-ton slab of polished stone lowered by a crane. The spectators would later all swear they heard a distant clap of thunder at the precise moment the tomb was sealed, even though there was not a cloud in the sky. Genghis Khan was at rest again in his beloved homeland mountains, and his tomb would stand forever as a cultural mecca for tourists, historians, and all the peoples of Mongolia.

As the crowd began filtering out, Ivan Corsov and Alexander Sarghov approached from the rear, where they had been seated with the Russian ambassador.

"I see you are as adept at sniffing out historic treasures on land as at sea," Sarghov laughed, giving Pitt and Giordino a friendly bear hug.

"Simply a bonus for figuring out why somebody tried to sink the Vereshchagin," Pitt replied.

"Indeed. By the way, we still have our joint research project to complete on Lake Baikal. The Vereshchagin will be repaired and ready to go next season. I hope you both will join us."

"We'll be there, Alexander."

"Just as long as there are no more seiche waves," Giordino added.

Corsov sidled up, his usual ear-to-ear grin in full display.

"An impressive demonstration of undercover work, my friends," he said. "You should join the Russian Federal Security Service, there is a need for men of your talents."

"I think my boss might have a thing or two to say about that," Pitt laughed.

The president of Mongolia approached with a small entourage. Sarghov said a quick farewell, as Pitt slyly noted Corsov melding away into the exiting crowd. A short, polished man of forty-five, the president spoke nearly flawless English.

"Mr. Pitt, on behalf of the people of Mongolia I wish to thank you and your NUMA team for rescuing Genghis for all posterity."

"A giant of history deserves to live forever," Pitt replied, nodding toward the mausoleum. "Though it is a shame that the riches of the tomb have all been lost."

"Yes, it is a tragedy that the treasures of Genghis were dispersed to collectors around the world simply to enrich the pockets of Borjin and his siblings. Perhaps our country will be able to buy back some of the antiquities from our newfound oil revenues. Of course, the archaeologists all believe that a greater trove lies with Kublai Khan, whose grave Borjin was thankfully unable to find. At least Kublai and his treasure still reside undisturbed in Mongolia, buried somewhere beneath these hills."

"Kublai Khan," Pitt muttered, staring at the mausoleum of Genghis. On its granite facade, he noted an engraving of a lone wolf, whose outline figure was painted blue.

"Yes, that is the legend. Mr. Pitt, I wish to also personally thank you for exposing the corrupt activities of the Borjin family and helping put a stop to their lawlessness. I have initiated an investigation into my own government to determine the extent of the influence-peddling on their behalf. The remnants of their actions will be buried with the body of Borjin, I promise."

"I hope that Tatiana is proving to be a cooperative witness."

"Most assuredly," the president replied with a furtive grin. Tatiana, he knew, was being held at a less-than-comfortable security site. "With her help, and the continued assistance of your oil industry companions," he said, nodding toward Theresa and Wofford, "we shall be able to exploit the discovered oil reserves for the good of a new Mongolia."

"China isn't going to renege on acceding Inner Mongolia?" Gunn asked.

"It's too politically dangerous for them to do so, both internationally and within the confines of Inner Mongolia, whose occupants largely favored secession from China. No, the Chinese will be happy enough, as we've agreed to sell them oil at a favorable price. That is, until our pipeline to the Russian port of Nakhodka is completed." The president smiled and waved at the Russian ambassador, who stood a few yards away chatting with Sarghov.

"Just ensure that the oil revenues go to the people who need it most," Pitt requested.

"Indeed, we've taken a lesson from your own state of Alaska. A portion of the revenues will be distributed to every man, woman, and child in the country. The remainder will support the state's expansion of health, education, and infrastructure. Borjin has taught us that not a dime of profits will end up in the hands of an individual, I can assure you."

"That is good to know. Mr. President, I have one favor to ask of you. We discovered a plane crash in the Gobi Desert."

"My director of antiquities has already informed me. We'll be sending a research team from the National University of Mongolia right away to excavate the aircraft. The bodies of those aboard will be returned to their homes for proper burial."

"They deserve that."

"It was a pleasure, Mr. Pitt," the president said, as an aide tugged at his sleeve. He turned and started to walk away, then stopped.

"I almost forgot," he said to Pitt. "A gift from the people of Mongolia to you. I understand you have an appreciation for such objects."

He pointed down the hill to a large flatbed truck that had discreetly followed the funeral procession up the mountainside. A large covered object sat upright on the truck's bed. As Pitt and the others watched with curiosity, two workmen climbed up and pulled back the canvas covering. Underneath sat the dust-covered Rolls-Royce from Borjin's compound.

"Should make for a nice restoration project on the weekends," Wofford said, eyeing the decrepit car.

"My wife Loren will love that," Pitt replied with a devious grin.

"I'd love to meet her sometime," Theresa said.

"Next time you are in Washington. Though I take it you'll be working in Mongolia for some time to come."

"The company gave us three weeks of paid leave for our ordeal. We are both hoping to go home to rest and recuperate before Jim and I come back."

From the look she gave Giordino and the tone in her voice, it was clear that the "we" was not referring to Wofford.

"I don't suppose you could take it upon yourself to nurse a rabid old sea dog like Al back to health during that time," Pitt offered.

"I was rather counting on it," she said coyly.

Giordino, leaning on a crutch with his lower leg heavily bandaged, smiled broadly.

"Thanks, boss. I've always wanted to see the Zuider Zee."

As the friends parted company, Pitt strolled down the hill toward the flatbed truck. Gunn joined him as he approached the old Rolls.

"The Mongolian energy minister just told me that the price of oil is down another ten dollars today," he said. "The markets are finally accepting the news that the Avarga Oil Company has been put out of business for good and the destructive earthquakes are finished. Combined with the news of the oil reserves in Inner Mongolia, the experts predict that the price will soon drop to levels below those seen before the Persian Gulf disruption."

"So the oil panic has subsided and a global depression averted. Maybe the economic powers that be will finally learn the lesson and focus on developing renewable energy sources in earnest."

"They won't until they absolutely have to," Gunn said. "Incidentally, I was told that the Pentagon was none too happy that all three of von Wachter's seismic devices were completely destroyed, after the last-known device was sunk in the Persian Gulf."

"NUMA can't take responsibility for that one."

"True. It was a lucky stroke that Summer and Dirk stumbled upon Borjin's brother and the second device in Hawaii. Or he stumbled upon them. Had the ship traveled on to Valdez and damaged the Alaska Pipeline as planned, there would have been real pandemonium."

"It was the Chinese wreck Summer found. It drew them there for some reason," Pitt said. A faraway look crossed his face as he mentally searched the clues. Then his green eyes suddenly sparkled in enlightenment.

Gunn was oblivious to the mystery, focused instead on the immediate demands of his government.

"Not only were all of the seismic devices destroyed, but von Wachter's research materials as well.

Apparently, Borjin had all of the professor's data in the laboratory building, which is now a pile of charcoal. There's nothing left for anyone to be able to resurrect the technology."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"I suppose not. Though I'd feel better if I knew the knowledge was in our hands and not the likes of Borjin."

"Just between you, me, and the car," Pitt said, "I happen to know that the operator's manual you lifted from the lab survived the flood and fire."

"The manual survived? It would give a big leg up to anyone trying to duplicate von Wachter's work. I hope it's secure."

"It's found a safe and permanent home."

"You sure about that?" Gunn asked.

Pitt walked to the rear of the Rolls and opened a large leather trunk mounted to the car's luggage rack.

Lying at the bottom of the musty interior was the seismic array operator's manual, with the shaft from the crossbow arrow still protruding from its cover.

Gunn let out a low whistle, then put his hands over his eyes and turned away.

"I never saw it," he said.

Pitt latched up the trunk, then casually inspected the rest of the car. Overhead, a bank of dark gray clouds began moving in rapidly from the west. The remaining mourners milling about the tomb quickly headed toward their vehicles parked below to avoid the pending deluge.

"I guess we better be on our way," Gunn said, steering Pitt toward their rented jeep down the hill. "So, it's back to Washington?"

Pitt stopped and stared at the mausoleum of Genghis Khan one last time. Then he shook his head.

"No, Rudi, you go on ahead. I'll catch up in a few days."

"You staying here a bit longer?"

"No," Pitt replied with a faraway twinkle in his eye. "I'm going to hunt a wolf."

-66-

The tropical sun beat warmly on the deck of the Mariana Explorer as she rounded the rocky lava finger of Kahakahakea Point. The NUMA ship's captain, Bill Stenseth, slowed the vessel as it entered the mouth of the now-familiar cove in Keliuli Bay. Ahead and to his left he noted a red marker buoy bobbing on the surface. Seventy feet beneath it lay the mangled remains of the Avarga Oil Company drill ship, partially buried under a pile of loose lava rock. With the depths shallowing, Stenseth took the research ship no farther, stopping engines and then dropping anchor.

"Keliuli Bay," he announced, turning toward the rear of the bridge.

Seated at a mahogany chart table, Pitt was examining a coastal chart of Hawaii with a magnifying glass.

Unfurled beside the map was the cheetah skin he had retrieved from Leigh Hunt's crashed Fokker in the Gobi Desert. Pitt's children, Dirk and Summer, stood nearby, looking over their father's shoulder with curiosity.

"So, this is the scene of the crime," the elder Pitt said, rising from the table and peering out the window.

He stretched his arms and yawned, tired from his recent flight from Ulaanbaatar to Honolulu, via Irkutsk and Tokyo. The warm humid air felt refreshing on his skin, after leaving Mongolia during a late-summer cold snap that had snow flurries in the air when he boarded his flight.

Pitt's return to Hawaii brought with it a certain melancholy, which deepened during his layover in Honolulu. With a three-hour wait for his commuter flight to Hilo, he rented a car and drove across the Koolau Mountains to the east shore of Oahu. Off a side road near Kailua Beach, he wandered into a tiny cemetery that overlooked the ocean. It was a small but well-maintained patch of green surrounded by lush foliage. Pitt sauntered methodically through the grounds, examining the assorted tombstones.

Beneath the shadowy branches of a blossoming plumeria tree, he found the grave site of Summer Moran.

His first and deepest love, and the mother of his children, Summer Moran had died only recently. Pitt had not known she was alive and living in seclusion after a disfiguring accident, believing that she had died decades earlier. He had lived the years trying to purge her memory from his mind and heart, until the sudden arrival of his two grown children on his doorstep. A flood of emotions returned, and he painfully wondered how his life would have been different, had he known she was alive and raising their twin children. He had forged a close bond with the kids now, and he had the love of his wife Loren. But the feeling of loss remained, tinged with anger at losing the time he could have spent with her.

With heaviness in his chest, he gathered up a handful of the fragrant plumeria blossoms and sprinkled them gently over her grave. For a long while, he stood wistfully by her side, staring out at the ocean. The gentle rolling waves from his other love, the sea, helped wash away the pain he felt. He finally stepped from the cemetery tired and drained, but with a renewed sense of hopefulness.

Standing on the bridge now with his children, he felt a warm glow, knowing a part of Summer still lived.

The adventuresome spirit rekindled, he refocused on the mystery Chinese shipwreck.

"The marker buoy is where Summer laid waste to the drill ship." Dirk smiled, pointing out the window.

"The Chinese wreck site is almost in the dead center of the cove," he said, swinging his arm around to the right.

"The artifacts have all dated to at least the thirteenth century?" Pitt asked.

"Everything has indicated as much," Summer replied. "The ceramic pieces recovered date from the late Song to the early Yuan dynasties. The wood samples came up elm and date to approximately 1280. The famed Chinese shipyard of Longjiang used elm and other woods in their ship construction, which is another piece of confirming evidence."

"The local geological records don't hurt either," Dirk said. "Since the wreck was devoured by a lava flow, we checked the known history of volcanic eruptions on the Big Island. Although Kilauea is the best-known and most-active volcano, Hualalai and Mauna Loa also have a recent history of activity. The closest to our spot here, Mauna Loa, has erupted thirty-six times in the last one hundred fifty years. She's had an untold number of lava releases in the centuries prior. Local geologists have been able to radiocarbon-date charcoal samplings recovered from beneath the lava flows. One lava sample study, from neighboring Pohue Bay, dates around eight hundred years old. We don't know for sure if the lava flows that washed into the cove and buried our ship were from that same eruption, but my money says it was. If so, then our ship would have arrived no later than 1300 a.d."

"Does anything correlate with your cryptic cheetah skin?" Summer asked.

"It is impossible to date, but the voyage depicted shows some interesting similarities," Pitt replied. "The lead vessel is a mammoth four-masted junk, which seems to match the size of your wreck, based on the rudder uncovered by Dirk and Jack. Unfortunately, there was no narrative accompanying the images.

Only a few decipherable words appear on the skin, which translates as 'A lasting voyage to paradise.' "

Pitt sat down and studied the two-dimensional artistry on the animal skin again. The series of drawings clearly showed a four-masted junk at sail with two smaller support ships. Several panels depicted a long ocean voyage until the ships arrived at a cluster of islands. Though crudely marked, the islands lay in the same relative position as the largest of Hawaii's eight islands. The large junk was shown landing on the biggest island, anchoring near a cave at the base of a high cliff. The final panel was what most intrigued Pitt. It showed the moored ship near some crates at the base of the cliff. Fire and smoke enveloped the ship and the surrounding landside. Pitt studied a flag burning on the ship's mast with particular interest.

"The volcanic eruption fits like a glove," he said. "The flames in the drawing look like a brush fire, but that's the secret. It wasn't a fire at all but a volcanic eruption."

"Those crates," Summer said. "They must contain some sort of treasure or valuables. Tong, or Borjin, as you've said his real name is, knew something about the ship's cargo. That's why they were trying to open up the lava field with a directed earthquake."

"I guess the laugh is on them," Dirk said. "The treasure, or whatever it is, wasn't even on the ship. If the drawing is correct, then the cargo was taken ashore and destroyed by the lava flows."

"Was it destroyed?" Pitt asked with a wily grin.

"How could it have survived the lava flows?" Summer asked. She picked up the magnifying glass and studied the last panel. Her eyebrows arched just a trace as she studied the crates surrounded by black stone. The image showed no flames on or about the crates.

"They are not on fire in the picture. Do you really think they could have survived?"

"I'd say it is worth a look. Let's go get wet and find out for sure."

"But would it have to be buried in lava?" Dirk protested.

"Have a little faith in the old man," Pitt smiled, then headed off the bridge.

With a high degree of skepticism, Dirk and Summer followed their father to the rear of the ship and assembled three sets of dive gear. Loaded into a Zodiac, they were lowered over the side of the ship by Jack Dahlgren.

"I'll have a tequila waiting for the first person who finds a Ming vase," he joked as he cast off the rubber boat.

"Don't forget the salt and lime," Summer shouted back.

Pitt steered the Zodiac toward the shore, angling to one side of the cove before killing the motor a few yards from the surf line. Dirk tossed an anchor over the side to secure their position, then the threesome slid into their dive gear.

"We'll run parallel to shore as close to the surf line as we can get," Pitt instructed. "Just watch out for the breakers."

"And what exactly are we looking for?" Dirk asked.

"A stairway to heaven." His father smiled cryptically, then pulled his mask down over his face. Sitting on the edge of the boat, he leaned over backward and dropped into the water, disappearing under a small wave. Dirk and Summer quickly adjusted their masks and regulators, then followed him over the side.

They converged on the bottom, less than twenty feet below, in water that was dark and turbid. The crashing surf roiled the water with foam and silt, reducing the visibility to just a few feet. Summer saw her father nod at her then turn and head into the murk. She quickly followed behind, knowing her brother would take up the rear.

The bottom surface was a bed of craggy black lava that rose up sharply to her left. Even underwater, she was pushed strongly from the side by the incoming waves and she frequently turned seaward and kicked hard with her fins to avoid being body-slammed into a rising mount of lava.

She followed her father's fins and trail of bubbles for twenty minutes before he finally disappeared for good into the dark waters ahead of her. She figured they were roughly halfway across the cove's landfall shore. She would swim another ten minutes, she decided, then surface and find out exactly where she was.

Following the surf line, she felt herself being carried close to a lava rise by a large wave. Turning to kick away, she was surprised by a second, more powerful wave, which pushed her forcefully toward shore.

The wave quickly overpowered her, and she slammed backward into the lava wall, her steel air tank grinding against the rock.

Unhurt by the collision, she remained pinned against the lava until the wave rolled past. She started to move away when she noticed a dark spot on the rocks above her head. Pulling herself closer, she peered into a black tube that angled slightly upward and toward the shore line. She couldn't tell in the murky water whether it was just a hole in the rocks, so she pulled out a flashlight and reached inside. The beam of light faded in the water, not detecting an opposing wall to reflect. The opening clearly traveled for some distance.

Her heart skipped a beat as she realized that this was what her father was searching for. She braced herself by the opening as another large wave passed by, then reached around and banged the flashlight against her dive tank. A metallic clanging echoed through the water.

Almost immediately Dirk appeared, looking at Summer quizzically, then eyeing the opening with surprise as she pointed the way. A minute later her father swam up, playfully patting Summer on the head after spotting the tunnel. Flicking on his own flashlight, he swam into the tube, his kids following behind.

Pitt immediately recognized the opening as a lava tube. Its cylindrical-shaped walls were almost perfectly formed, rounded and smoothed as if made by a machine. But the passage was actually the result of a steady flow of hot lava cooling on the surface and creating an outer crust. The liquid center ultimately flowed out, leaving a hollow tube. Lava tubes have been found that stretch fifty feet wide, while a few run several miles long. Summer's tube was relatively small, stretching about six feet in diameter.

Pitt followed the tube for thirty feet, noticing a gradual ascent on his depth gauge. The tube suddenly flared wide, and he noticed a reflection from his flashlight just before his head broke the surface of a calm pool of water. Bobbing on the surface, he turned the light around him. Steep black walls of lava fell vertically to the water on three sides. The fourth side, however, opened to a wide, rocky clearing. Pitt kicked lazily toward the landing as the underwater lights of Summer and Dirk surfaced near him. They all swam to the rocks and climbed out of the water before anyone spat out their regulators and spoke.

"It's amazing," Summer said. "An underground cavern fed from a flooded lava tube. Though it could use a little air-conditioning." The air in the cave was dank and musty, and Summer contemplated keeping her tank and regulator on.

"It was likely a much deeper cave at one time, but became sealed off by the lava flows gushing down the mountainside," Pitt said. "It's a fluke that a lava tube happened to form at its entrance."

Dirk dropped his tank and weight belt, then flashed his light around the clearing. Something caught his eye in the rocks.

"Summer, behind you."

She turned and gasped at the sight of a man standing just a few feet away. She stifled a cry at realizing that the man wasn't real.

"A clay warrior?" Dirk asked.

Summer shined her light and noticed another figure standing nearby. They were both life-sized figures, with painted uniforms and sculpted swords. Summer crept closer, eyeing the artisans' detail. They were soldiers, and each had braided hair, and a stringy mustache beneath almond-shaped eyes.

"Emperor Qin's terra-cotta warriors of Xian?" Pitt said. "Or perhaps a thirteenth-century facsimile."

Summer looked at her father quizzically. "Thirteenth century? What are they doing here?"

Pitt stepped up to the two figures and noticed a small path that ran between them, cut through the lava.

"I think they are guiding us to the answer," he said. Stepping between the clay sculptures, he followed the path, with Dirk and Summer in tow. The worn trail twisted around several walls of lava, then suddenly opened into a wide, cavernous room.

Pitt stood at the threshold with his two children, shining their flashlights in awe. The huge chamber was filled with an army of clay figures flanking the walls. Each wore a heavy necklace of gold or an amulet studded with gemstones. Positioned inside the clay warriors was another ring of sculptures, mostly scale figures of animals. Some were carved jade or stone, while others were gilded with gold. Deer grazed fearlessly next to large falcons. A pair of prancing white mares was showcased near the center of the room.

Interspersed with the sculptures were dozens of small lacquered cabinets and tables covered in dust. On a large teak table, Summer noticed an elaborate place setting that shone under her light. The plates, flatware, and goblets sitting atop a silk mat were all cast in gold. Adjacent to the table was an assortment of silver and gold ornaments, some adorned with Arabic lettering and literary Chinese script. Other tables held mirrors, boxes, and art objects glistening with decorative gemstones. Summer crept to a nearby cabinet covered with scenes of battle painted in bright colors and pulled open a drawer. Inside, trays of amber, sapphires, and rubies filled the silk-lined case.

The sculptures and jewels didn't interest Pitt. He stared past the artifacts toward the centerpiece of the entire chamber. On a raised stone platform in the middle of the room stood a long wooden box. It was painted bright yellow and featured detailed carvings on each panel. Pitt stepped closer and shined his light at the top of the box. A stuffed cheetah, its teeth bared and a clawed paw scratching the air, seemed to hiss back at Pitt. He lowered his light to the top surface of the box and smiled at the image. A large wolf, painted blue, was emblazoned across the surface.

"May I present the late emperor of the Yuan Empire, Kublai Khan," he said.

"Kublai Khan," Summer whispered in reverence, her eyes wide. "It can't be."

"I thought he was buried somewhere near Genghis," Dirk said.

"According to popular legend. But the tale just didn't seem to add up. Borjin was able to locate the grave of Genghis Khan with his seismic device, but he never found Kublai. They should have been buried in the same ballpark. Then your Dr. Tong appears here, sidestepping a mission to disrupt the Alaska Pipeline in order to visit a shipwreck? There was obviously a greater draw, something only the Borjins could appreciate. I suspect they may have found an empty tomb for Kublai in Mongolia, or discovered some other clue that he was buried elsewhere."

"I still don't see how that leads here," Summer said.

"The story is in the cheetah skin. It was discovered at Shang-tu, so it had an original link with Kublai.

The emperor was known to possess trained cheetahs used for hunting, so the skin may have even come from one of his pets. More relevant was that the cheetah skin was unearthed together with a silk map that purportedly showed the location of Genghis Khan's tomb. Borjin's father acquired the silk map, and Borjin himself admitted that it helped lead to the grave site. For some reason, the significance of the cheetah skin paintings was overlooked when first found. The blue wolf was the trigger for me."

"What blue wolf?" Summer asked.

"A design motif," he said, pointing to the image painted on the elevated wooden coffin. "It was a known emblem for the imperial khans, originated by Genghis. If you look at the cheetah skin closely, you can see a banner of a blue wolf flying on the mast of the burning junk in the last painting. It wouldn't be flown except in the presence of a khan. Your wreck, which matched the depiction of a royal vessel departing China on the panels, was dated fifty years after the death of Genghis. Too late for him to be taking a cruise. No, the dates align with the era when Kublai ruled. And died. The secret of the cheetah skin is that it shows the final voyage of Kublai Khan."

"But why was he brought to Hawaii?" Summer asked, passing her light across the length of the sarcophagus. She held the beam momentarily on a twisted wooden staff that leaned against one end of the tomb. She noted curiously that a shark-tooth necklace dangled from its worn grip.

"His last years were difficult ones. Perhaps his 'voyage to paradise' was a plan to spend eternity on a faraway shore."

"Dad, how did you know his tomb survived the volcanic blast and that we could find it?" Dirk asked.

"Whoever painted the cheetah skin had seen the tomb and treasures and had known they survived the lava flows, otherwise they would have been depicted in flames as well. I took a gamble on the entrance.

The sea levels are higher than they were eight hundred years ago, so I figured the entrance might now be underwater."

"The treasures here must represent the riches accumulated during his lifetime of conquest," Dirk said, stunned at the sheer volume around him. "Perhaps some of the items were amassed during the reign of Genghis as well. It must be worth an untold fortune."

"The Mongolian people were cheated out of Genghis Khan's treasure. It would only be fitting if they secure the riches of Kublai Khan. I trust they will find a more appropriate burial spot, on Burkhan Khaldun, where Kublai can spend eternity."

The wonder of the hidden tomb played heavily on their inner thoughts, and the trio found themselves whispering as they roamed through the ancient treasures. Illuminated by just the glow of their flashlights, the shadowy chamber teemed with the mystery and aura of the Middle Ages. As the beams of light played off the glistening walls, Pitt was reminded of the real Xanadu, and the haunting poem by Samuel Coleridge.

" 'The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves,' " he recited in a low voice. "p>

'Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves.' "p>

Summer approached her father and squeezed his hand. "Mom always told us you were a hopeless romantic," she smiled.

Their lights running low, Pitt and Summer moved together toward the passageway. Dirk sidled up as they took a last look around the chamber.

"First you save the tomb of Genghis. Now you discover Kublai Khan and the treasures of his empire,"

he said with awe. "That's one for the ages."

Summer nodded in agreement. "Dad, sometimes you are just amazing."

Pitt reached his arms out wide and gave both his kids an affectionate hug.

"No," he replied with a broad grin. "Sometimes, I'm just lucky."