The Milestone Protocol by Ernest Dempsey (best books to read in your 20s txt) 📕

nothing.” His dejected tone lowered a pall over the room.

Sean could tell the memories were working the archaeologist pretty hard. Kevin was a scientist, a researcher, a historian—not a warrior.

“You don’t have to tell me about it,” Sean soothed. “Why don’t you go take a shower. The hot water will do you some good, help you relax a bit.”

Kevin nodded absently. Then he twisted his head and looked over at the satchel on the desk. Sean’s eyes followed.

“What is it?” Sean asked.

“I’m not sure.” Breath blew out of Kevin’s nostrils with the answer. “It’s a copper tablet or plate. Remarkably well preserved, actually. I took it to the university in Volgograd to have it validated. We wanted to make certain it wasn’t a fake.”

“Well? Is it?”

“As far as we can tell, it’s authentic, though some of the tests they ran will take a little longer to confirm. Because the tablet lacked significant deterioration—which is one of the ways we can date artifacts—the lab had to use alternative, slower methods.”

Sean was familiar with the techniques used to extract date ranges from artifacts. The lab at IAA headquarters in Atlanta used some of the best technology in the world for such investigations.

“May I see it?” Sean indicated the bag with a flick of his eyes.

“Sure,” Kevin said, a little off guard. His thoughts had wandered, probably to any number of places or events that had rocked his world in the last ten hours.

He unclasped the satchel, then pulled back the zipper and withdrew a large plastic bag containing the copper plate.

He laid it on the desk atop the satchel to give it a cushion, then carefully opened the plastic. “I need gloves,” he realized, and pulled a pair of white cotton gloves out of the satchel’s side pouch.

Once his hands were covered, he opened the bag and pulled out the tablet, laying it atop the plastic.

Sean scanned the artifact, his eyes poring over it intently. “Looks like Mongolian,” he said.

“It is. Classical Mongolian. It’s different than the current language being used in Mongolia and certain parts of China, but there are some similarities. I’m impressed you recognize it.”

Sean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I guess we’re all full of surprises, huh?” It was a question that came out more as a statement.

“So it would seem. Can you read it?”

“Uh, that would be a no, Dr. Clark. I speak and read several foreign languages, but not Mongolian. Especially a version you refer to as classical.”

“Call me Kevin, please. You saved my life, Sean. I am in your debt.”

“Prolonged.”

“Excuse me?” Kevin was hunched over the artifact and looked up at Sean.

“No one can save a life. No human, anyway. We can prolong them, but death comes to us all, Kevin.”

“Touché.” He returned to his study of the script engraved on the tablet. “Mongolian reads, as you probably know, in vertical columns instead of horizontal like we’re accustomed to.”

“And what does it say?”

“That’s what’s so interesting. It appears to be a message from a very important person. If I didn’t know better, I’d say one of the Khans issued it.”

“What makes you say that?” Sean wondered. He crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side.

“It bears the seal of the Khan,” Kevin answered matter-of-factly. He pointed at the bottom of the tablet, to a worn mark engraved into the metal. “If I had to guess, and I don’t like guessing, I would say it’s the seal of Jani Beg Khan, the ruler of the Golden Horde from 1341 to 1357. He was the son of Öz Beg, the ruler who led the Golden Horde to some of its most prominent years.”

Sean puzzled over the script as he listened. “I have to admit, I know a lot about world history and American history, but Mongolia’s history is one area I’m a touch weak on. Are all of those Khans related to Genghis?”

“For the most part, though some of them were distant relatives. The crown of Mongolia was often the center of much contention. Quarrels broke out amid the family ranks, and many times the fighting led to assassinations or outright challenges to the death. Often, brothers would fight against each other for the throne, each claiming their rightful place. It was very different—in many ways—to most other monarchies where the oldest had the first claim to the throne.”

“Interesting,” Sean mused. “Heavy lies the crown, although I suppose that has been an issue for most monarchs throughout history.”

“Indeed.”

“What about the rest of the message?”

Kevin straightened and placed his hands on his lower back to stretch. “That’s the truly odd part. It talks about death and suffering in the beginning of the message, which makes sense.”

“What do you mean?” Sean tilted his head to the side and shifted his feet.

“You really don’t know much about Jani Beg, do you?”

“Pretty much nothing.”

Kevin acknowledged with a nod. “That’s okay. Most people don’t. Unless your area of expertise happens to be Mongolian history, there are few out there who would know much about any of the Khans, save for Genghis and his immediate successors.”

He picked up one of the complimentary bottles of water on the desk and pried off the lid. “Do you mind?” Kevin asked. “I’m so thirsty.”

“Have them both,” Sean said, motioning to the second bottle. “They come with the room, but I can get more.”

“I’m sorry if this place was expensive. I’ll be happy to reimburse—”

“Not necessary. The IAA can cover it. Besides, this room was cheap. Most of the hotels are inexpensive in Bulgaria, especially this time of year. Honestly, I need to visit here more often. The people are so nice, and it’s a very relaxed culture.”

“Huh,” Kevin said after taking a big swallow. “I guess I never realized. I always thought of some of these old Eastern Bloc countries as rundown old communist nations.”

“Yet you do a significant portion of your work in Russia.”

Kevin chuckled. “Fair point.” He set down the bottle and went back to the subject of the message.