Addison Cooke and the Ring of Destiny

by Jonathan W. Stokes

  “There are two receipts for a place called Kartal’s Café. The rest are receipts for building materials. Concrete, lumber, and iron.”

  “Any addresses?” asked Raj.

  Addison shook his head.

  “Look at the times on the receipts,” said Molly. “Malazar visited Kartal’s Café first thing each morning until today, when he came to Istanbul. If we can figure out where this café is, that’s where Malazar lives. I bet it’s right down the street from his house,” she declared.

  Eddie, who had overeaten, did side bends to loosen up his belly. “Isn’t that a stretch?” he asked. “Maybe Malazar was just vacationing near Kartal’s Café.”

  “I doubt it.” Molly picked up a receipt and waved it in the air. “Nobody goes on vacation and buys a thousand pounds of concrete. He’s making home improvements.”

  Addison unfolded his jacket from the radiator, pulled out his pocket notebook, and tucked Molly’s receipts carefully inside. “We have a mystery on our hands.” He selected another shrimp from the platter, dipped it in sauce, and took a thoughtful lap around the dining carts to return to his seat at the ottoman.

  Molly impatiently paced the carpet. “Addison, what if the Collective comes back? We have no escape route. We’re on the ninth floor—we can’t just climb out of the bathroom like a couple of Templars.”

  “Mo, they’re out scouring Istanbul. What are the odds they’ll return this quickly?” He answered his own question with the horseracing odds he had learned from Uncle Jasper. “I give it eighteen-to-one against.”

  That was the moment the door unlocked and creaked open.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Baby Bird and Dolphin

  ADDISON AND HIS FRIENDS looked up in horror. The door swung a full three inches until the chain bolt stopped it tight. A giant Turkish man peered through the gap. His head was 80 percent chin and 20 percent stubble. Peeking above his suit collar were neck tattoos of knives, cards, and dice. This man, Addison decided, was unlikely to win Babysitter of the Year.

  The man had thick fingers and a thick brow, and grunted with a thick voice. “Yunus, building security.”

  Addison rose to his feet. “Addison Cooke, bon vivant.”

  “What are you doing in this room?”

  “Eating shrimp. How may I help you?” Addison took the man’s measure. It was amazing the giant could see through his own eyebrows. From his brutish expression, Addison figured Yunus for a man who’d clearly cracked more bones than books.

  The big man growled. “The police are in the lobby, looking for four children. The desk clerk saw four children asking for Mr. Malazar. A maid saw four children take the elevator to this floor after she lost her key card. Room service delivered seventeen pounds of lobster to four children in this room. I was sent here to find four children.”

  Addison raised his eyebrows. “That is excellent police work.”

  “You are four children,” Yunus snarled. “I will take you to the police so they can throw you in jail for trespassing. Open this door.”

  “Fine, Yunus,” said Addison, wiping his hands with his napkin and adjusting the lapels of his jacket. “But first I’m going to need to see some ID.”

  The man puffed up his chest, showing the metal security name tag on his hotel uniform.

  Addison read it carefully. “Tell me, what does Yunus mean in Turkish?”

  “‘Dolphin.’”

  Addison frowned. It did not seem a fitting name for a man like this. Maybe “Gorilla” or “Wildebeest,” but surely not “Dolphin.” “Are there a lot of Turkish men named Dolphin?”

  “Of course.” Yunus puffed his chest up still further. “And I am Kurdish, not Turkish.”

  “But you live in Turkey, so you’re Turkish.”

  Yunus’s brow somehow seemed to grow even thicker. “Being a Kurd in Turkey makes me a Turkish Kurd, not a Kurdish Turk.”

  “Well, my Turkish Kurd, you have curdled my brain,” said Addison.

  “I can do more than that to your brain,” said Yunus, and he smashed his shoulder against the door. It buckled. The slide bolt ripped off the door and dangled uselessly.

  “I am not paying for that,” said Addison.

  As soon as Yunus muscled his way into the room, Addison could see there was not one but two of him. The second hotel security guard was nearly identical to Yunus in every way, except bigger.

  “And what is your name?” Addison asked politely.

  “Osman,” growled the larger man in a rumbling voice that probably registered on Richter scales across the country. The man was a good six foot six, and altogether, Addison felt he could do with a bit less of him.

  “Os-man,” said Addison. “Now, there’s a proper name for a security guard. What does Os-man mean in Turkish?”

  “‘Baby bird,’” said the enormous man.

  Addison nodded. He clearly had a lot to learn about Turkish names, but that could wait for another day. He eyed his team. The only things separating them from freedom were three food trays and two Kurdish security guards. Perhaps one problem could take care of the other.

  “A thought just occurred, my Kurds.” Addison’s brain clicked and whirred. “I have never before hurdled a Kurd. But I believe I can herd a Kurd.”

  Addison shoved the wheeled food carts. They smashed into the security guards with a satisfying crash that failed to budge either one. Still, Addison could sense the Kurds were stirred.

  Yunus clawed his hands, bellowed in anger, and hustled around the food carts, spiraling in on Addison.

  Addison knew he had incurred the Kurd’s wrath. “Raj, mayhem!”

  Raj swung into action. He picked up the closest thing to hand, which happened to be a two-pound lobster. He hurled it at Yunus.

  The lobster bounced off the giant’s head. Yunus immediately redirected his rage from Addison to Raj.

  Molly scooped up trays of waffles and launched them at Yunus as well.

  Eddie picked up the vat of chocolate fondue, and though it broke his heart to waste chocolate, he poured it all over Osman’s head.

  Osman was temporarily blind, but undeterred. The Kurd’s fists swung so fast, they blurred.

  “Addison,” said Molly, “this is getting absurd.”

  Addison concurred. He ducked the flying fists and rolled for the exit. Molly, Eddie, and Raj barreled after him.

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  The group raced down the hallway as if their lives depended on it, because, in fact, they did. The security guards charged after them like stampeding bulls.

  Addison called over his shoulder, “Raj, more mayhem!”

  Raj, finding no more purple smoke balls in his pockets, pulled the nearest hallway fire alarm instead. The alarm emitted two things: the first was a satisfyingly loud blast; the second was a jet of blue ink that splattered all over Raj. It continued to splutter ink like a frightened octopus. The ink was to deter pranksters from pulling the alarm without an emergency. Raj figured being chased by guards was enough of an emergency, but that did not change matters. Still, he felt that being dyed blue was an improvement over purple.

  Raj tore down the hall, wiping blue ink from his face, desperate to catch up to his friends.

  Dolphin and Baby Bird shoveled on speed, their long legs closing the distance.

  Frightened hotel guests, already surprised by the fire alarms, were more surprised when they streamed out of their rooms only to be plowed down by the two giant men at full sprint.

  Addison felt bad for the innocent bystanders, scattering like bowling pins, but at least they were slowing down his pursuers.

  Molly reached the elevators first and hit the call button. Addison’s team jogged in place, frantically willing the elevator to arrive. When it finally did—with a merry chime—Addison’s group packed in. Raj frantically pou
nded the Door Close button with his fist.

  Yunus and Osman sprinted down the hall, picking up the unstoppable momentum of two freight trains. The metal elevator doors slid shut just in time for Dolphin and Baby Bird to crash into them with a satisfying thud.

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  Soothing Muzak played as the elevator dropped. Addison’s team panted for breath.

  “That was cutting it a bit close,” said Molly. She adjusted the heavy satchel on her shoulder, giving the bronze tablet a reassuring pat.

  “Not to worry, young relative,” said Addison. “We’re almost out of this.”

  “Do you think Malazar will have to pay for all that lobster?” asked Eddie.

  “He’s a billionaire,” said Addison. “And he killed my aunt and uncle. He can pay for the lobster.”

  The elevator doors opened onto the main floor of the Grand Sultan Hotel. Addison scanned the crowds of ballroom dance competitors and spectators. “I count zero police. With any luck, they’re responding to the fire alarm on the ninth floor.”

  As soon as Addison marched into the carpeted lobby, he realized he had spoken too soon. A triangle formation of Turkish police blocked the main entrance. “Slight change of plans,” he announced. Addison continued down the busy hallway, crowded with stalls of venders selling ballroom clothing and costume jewelry to the dance competitors.

  A short salesman with a tall toupee attempted to pull Addison into his booth. “How are you enjoying Istanbul, my friend?”

  “It’s a killer city,” said Addison.

  Like all good salespeople, this man was a keen judge of character. He read Addison’s troubled expression. “What’s not to love about Istanbul? We have huge crowds, huge dance competitions, and huge deals.”

  “I like one of those things,” said Addison flatly.

  Molly waved her hand at Addison to hurry things along. Two policemen with walkie-talkies were striding directly toward them. Addison figured Yunus and Osman had probably spread word of their ninth-floor deeds. Escaping the hotel was going to prove a worthy challenge.

  The salesman clung to Addison’s sleeve. “Hadad is my name. And that is a fine jacket you are wearing. Sure, it is wrinkled up like a shar-pei’s bottom. But, I can see that you clearly have exceptional taste. May I interest you in a ballroom dance suit?”

  “I really don’t have the time, Hadad.”

  “No one has time to look bad in a suit.”

  Addison had to hand it to Hadad. He made a decent point. Addison studied the racks of fine tailored suits. He pulled his team inside the vender’s stall while the patrolling police paraded past. “What’s the difference between a ballroom jacket and a regular jacket?”

  Hadad beamed. He knew when he had a fish on the hook. He had been hawking ballroom suits all morning with hopes of clearing a decent profit by lunch. It was his granddaughter’s birthday, and he wanted to buy her something nice. But all the hope Granddad Hadad had had had had no result. He turned to Addison and turned on the charm. “Why, a ballroom jacket will fit you like a glove, but you can still flap your arms around on the dance floor.”

  “So, you’re saying, increased mobility?”

  “Yes!” cried Hadad. “And look at these slits in the armpits—they vent heat. You can wear this suit in a hundred-yard dash and not break a sweat.”

  Addison was listening. “Do I have to iron it?”

  “Of course not! It can’t be wrinkled! You could crumple this suit into a wet ball, wear it on an airplane, and still arrive looking like you stepped out of a laundromat.”

  The salesman held Addison’s interest.

  “Here,” Hadad continued. “I think I have something in your size. Let’s try it on and have a look.” He eased Addison out of his battered jacket and into a sleek new one, guiding his arms into the sleeves.

  Addison examined himself in the full-length mirror. The suit suited him just fine. He swung his arms, as if lunging with a knife—he had complete range of motion. “You’re telling me I can run, climb, and fight in this suit and still look like I’m walking a fashion runway?”

  “Absolutely,” said the salesman. “Are you interested?”

  Addison studied his reflection. “Do you have anything in a glen plaid?”

  Hadad smiled; he had his man. “And how will you be paying today?”

  Bargaining was second nature to Addison. First nature, even. But today he simply did not have the time. “Charge it to my room,” he said. “Room 901. Vrolok Malazar.”

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  Addison hustled his team out of the vender booth, checked both ways, and started for the main entrance.

  “No dice,” said Molly.

  Ivan and his men were crossing the main lobby, pushing their way through the crowd of ballroom dancers and competition spectators.

  Addison pivoted, herding his team in a new direction, keeping his head low. Turkish police blocked the hallway ahead. He saw only one choice. “Good news, guys. We’re going to a ballroom dance competition.”

  He crossed to the entrance of the hotel ballroom. A guard stood behind a velvet rope. Addison did not have money for tickets, or time to haggle. He simply rolled up his sleeve, stripped off his second Rolex, and handed it to the guard.

  The guard stared down at the watch, bewildered. “Sir, admission is free!”

  “Keep it,” said Addison. “I have plenty.” He looked up to see Ivan hustling closer.

  Addison leaned in closer to the guard. “You see that angry man who looks like he got his hair cut at a clown college?”

  The door guard nodded.

  “He’s a kidnapper. He’s armed and dangerous and chasing us. Please stop him.”

  The door guard squared his shoulders and nodded resolutely.

  Addison and his friends slipped inside the grand ballroom.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Competition

  INSIDE WAS A GLAMOROUS affair. Hundreds of tables of elegantly dressed spectators filled the room. Before them, men in tail suits and women in ball gowns glided gaily across the gigantic dance floor. Judges peered down from their dais and marked their score sheets. It was behind the dais that Addison spotted what he was looking for: an emergency exit.

  Addison, Molly, Eddie, and Raj feathered their way between spectator tables, trying to lose themselves in the crowd. Addison glanced over his shoulder to see Ivan violently shoving his way past the door guard. The Collective poured in after him, followed by a squad of mustachioed and officious-looking Turkish police. The two groups split up, searching the sea of spectators. Ivan’s men spread across the left side of the massive room, and the police took the right.

  “This is easy,” Addison whispered to his team. “We’ll just go back out the way we came.”

  That was a flawless plan all the way up until Yunus and Osman ducked into the ballroom. The two giants filled the entranceway, blocking any escape.

  Addison gulped and returned his focus to the emergency exit on the far side of the dance floor. He huddled up with his team. “Molly has the tablet. She needs to get it through that exit door.”

  “Why me?” asked Molly, eyeing the prowling police.

  “Because you’re the only one of us who can really fight.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Raj, wringing his hands, which were still dyed completely blue.

  “At all costs,” said Addison, “we have to draw everyone’s attention away from Molly. Eddie and Raj, you know what that means.”

  Eddie nodded solemnly. “Got it.”

  “Wait,” said Raj. “What does it mean?”

  Addison sighed, exasperated. “Raj, you beautiful blue-handed beast! You and Eddie are the diversion!”

  “Ah,” said Raj. “Excellent.”

  “Everybody meet up at
that emergency exit door. Good luck.”

  Raj and Eddie split up, heading in opposite directions, looking for ways to create an epic distraction. Addison tugged Molly through the crowd, keeping one eye on Ivan’s crew and one eye on Turkey’s finest.

  “How are we going to get behind the judges’ dais?” asked Molly a little doubtfully. The dance competition was in full swing.

  “I have an idea, Mo. One of my best.”

  “That is not a high bar,” said Molly.

  Addison sashayed between tables, working his way across the room. “There is only one way to that emergency exit door. And it’s across the dance floor.”

  “Oh no,” said Molly, fear beginning to register on her face.

  “Oh yes,” said Addison. “They won’t be looking for us on the dance floor. Younger Cooke, we are going to dance our way out of here.”

  He goaded Molly behind a curtain to the on-deck area where competitors waited to be called onstage for the next heat.

  Molly whispered frantically. “Addison, what if somebody asks us what we’re doing back here?”

  “We’ll just play dumb!”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard for you,” she grumbled.

  The competitors filed onto the floor. Molly tucked her shirt into her cargo pants, shifted the satchel to her right shoulder, and took Addison’s hand. He led her out onto the dance floor to thunderous applause.

  As soon as Addison was under the lights, he felt that all was well in the world. He surveyed the other competitors. Sure, they looked professional in their snappy tuxedos, but Addison was feeling confident. The music kicked in, and to Addison’s immense delight, it was a foxtrot. The tune was “Keep One Step Ahead” by Addison’s favorite songwriter, Ira Frankfurt. “Molly,” he whispered. “I want to win this.”