Free The Spirit Banner by Alex Archer Page A

had fired her desire to follow this thing to the end, to see if there was any truth to the words Father Curran had so faithfully recorded all those years ago.

She'd been to a lot of places across the globe, but Mongolia wasn't one of them. And being able to take part in the search to uncover one of the world's greatest mysteries? It was the chance of a lifetime. Doing something like this was why she had become an archaeologist in the first place. There was no way she would pass it up.

Besides, she thought with a sly grin, she'd have her producer at Chasing History's Monsters , Doug Morrell, eating out of her hand for months if they pulled this one off.

"When do we leave?" she asked.

    * * *

    O UTSIDE IN THE GRASS , one of the dog handlers, Kyle Davis, stirred. He'd come into work that night as a last-minute replacement for a fellow employee who had gotten sick. Davis was a big man, not just tall but heavily muscled, as well; and, as chance, or perhaps fate, would have it, he outweighed the regularly scheduled guard by a good fifty pounds.

That meant the tranquilizer dose that had been prepared for the original guard wasn't strong enough to keep Davis under for long. Certainly not long enough for the intruders to accomplish their goal.

He woke shortly after being shot.

Davis had been trained well. As he slowly came back to consciousness, he stayed where he was, lying facedown in the grass, and didn't try to sit up or attempt to discover what had happened. The details didn't matter; what mattered was letting the rest of the team know that they were under attack.

And he needed to do it without attracting undue attention to himself in case the enemy was out there, watching.

His arms had been flung out over his head when he fell and that proved to be an unexpected godsend. Moving just half an inch or so at a time, he slowly slid his right hand over to his left, until his fingers came in contact with the band of his watch. The military timepiece had a panic button built into its face. Pressing it sent a high-frequency signal to the main security station, letting the man on duty there know that something was amiss.

Davis searched for the button.

    * * *

    T HE SPOTTER IN THE TREES scanned the grounds with his sighting scope, going through the motions just as he'd been taught in sniper school so many years before. Constant vigilance was his motto and it had never let him down.

Nor did it this time.

"Son of a—! Target! Sector B. From TRP 1, right 50, add 25."

His partner brought his weapon into position, repeating the location information back to the spotter as he did so.

"Roger. Movement on the ground. Second target from the left."

The shooter repeated the target designation and adjusted his grip on the stock of his weapon. Taking a deep breath he held it for a moment, made sure he was on-target, and then fired on the exhale. To an outside observer it would have seemed like one continuous motion, but to the sniper it felt disjointed and rushed.

He hadn't expected to have to use the weapon again once they'd taken down the guards, and it was only the fact that he made a habit of keeping his weapon loaded while in position that let him get the shot off at all.

The tranquilizer dart gun had been set aside just moments before and been replaced with his standard piece, a Parker Hale M85 rifle, and a sharp crack rang out over the estate as the gunman pulled the trigger.

The sniper's shot was true.

It struck Davis in the head, killing him instantly.

But the sniper had been about a quarter of a second too late. Davis had already found the panic button and mashed it down flat.

    * * *

    I N THE LIBRARY on the first floor, the celebration continued. Davenport cracked open a bottle of cognac and drinks were passed around.

"A toast, then," he said, raising his glass and waiting until the others followed suit. "To our expedition!"

"Here, here!" Annja and Mason replied with grins.

No sooner had they done so, however, than a