Isabelle backed off, her jaw dropping at Kathryn’s eruption. “Jeez, Kathryn, get a grip, will you? A few minutes of drama and excitement aren’t going to change things right now. Besides, I’m proud of what my husband did, as we should all be, because half a world away he is saving the day. Do me a favor—in fact, do us all a favor—and just shut the hell up for a while. None of us needs your surly attitude right now.”
Kathryn let loose with an unladylike snort as she crossed her arms over her chest and turned her gaze to the dancing flames in the monster fireplace. Her mouth was a thin, tight line of anger. She did remain quiet as she looked around at the startled expressions on the faces of her colleagues.
“Okay, okay, everyone gather round. First things first, though. As I told you before, Abner did the Facebook, the tweet, the Instagram, the everything, then he did YouTube. I don’t know how he did it, but the YouTube ditty is a cartoon of Wing Ping dressed in his trademark American cowboy hat and American cowboy boots, but in the cartoon he’s a scrawny chicken or maybe a rooster, can’t be sure. But it’s hilarious. Abner said that so many likes came into Facebook it shut down, and he was receiving something like six hundred tweets a minute. Vegas is going nuts. The YouTube video is being shown at all the casinos. He’s waiting right now for this part of the world to weigh in. Okay, here’s the video.” Everyone but Kathryn crowded around Isabelle to look at the small screen.
Belly laughs and hysterical eye-wiping filled the big dining hall, with Harry laughing the loudest.
“Well, if anyone wants my opinion, I think this just cinched the deal that there will be no exhibition,” Annie said. “Harry, you look great as an avenging chicken.”
“Oh, honey, Abner got it all just right,” a giggling Yoko said to her husband.
“So how is Wing Ping going to counterattack against all of that?” Nikki asked. “Looks to me like he has really lost face and has become a laughingstock. The punch line to a bad joke. Especially in America. What happens when all of that makes it here to China, assuming it hasn’t already? Especially in Macau, where they were going to mainstream the event.” She was careful to look everywhere but at Kathryn, who had zoned out in front of the dancing flames.
“Chen Fang is awake,” Fergus called. “If you want him to make his call, this is the time. I’ll prop him up so he can speak normally. Where’s the script?”
“Right here,” Myra said, handing it over. “I’m thinking it might be a good idea to do a dry run to make sure he’s comfortable with all the words. In Chinese, right? Harry and Dishbang Deshi can listen to make sure he isn’t going to try to sneak clues or something into the conversation.”
“Excellent idea, old girl,” Charles said happily. “Go at it, Harry!”
Glassy-eyed and disoriented, Chen Fang stared at the people gathered around him. Out of it or not, he understood the gravity of the situation he was in. All the proof he needed was seeing Annie holding the gun and pointing it at his nether regions. He nodded slightly to show that he understood what was expected of him.
“Wait! Wait! Maybe we should show him the chicken video so he can see he’s on the wrong end of things. With these people, you never know,” Jack said.
“Excellent idea, Jack.” Nikki beamed.
Isabelle raced around the table, turned on the special phone, and dropped to her knees so she was eye level with the glassy-eyed Chen Fang. “Watch and weep, you little weasel,” she said, and laughed as she pressed the button for the video to start. Chen Fang’s expression went from anger to horror to disbelief and back to horror as he struggled to find the words he wanted to spew. When he finally got his tongue to work, his bottom line was that they were all doomed and they would all be going to meet their ancestors the minute Wing Ping made his way to the monastery. After which he kept muttering the word chicken over and over until Espinosa clipped him on the side of his head. He shut up immediately.
Harry and Dishbang Deshi had Chen Fang go through three tries at the script. They were finally satisfied the third time around. Fergus held up one of the thick green leaves that acted as a narcotic and waved it around. “Tell him he doesn’t get this until he delivers a perfect speech. Stress that there is to be no improvising on his part.”
“It’s a go on the count of three.” Harry held up first one finger, then the second, and finally the third, and Maggie pressed the button for the call to go through. They all listened but couldn’t understand a word that was being said, so they concentrated on Harry’s and Dishbang Deshi’s expressions, which clearly showed that Chen Fang was following orders.
Fergus slipped the thick green leaf between Chen Fang’s lips, and he gobbled it like a starving man. In a matter of minutes, Chen Fang was in another world.
“We assume Chen Fang did his part. What did that guy Wei Ming say?” Charles demanded.
“Threats. Chen Fang will be dead when Wei Ming gets his hands around his neck, and so will all the others for failing Wing Ping. He, along with Wing Ping, is on the way up here now that the weather has cleared. Two hours, possibly three. He’s bringing armed men with him. Wei Ming said the reason for the arms is now that we’ve used social media to bring disgrace to his master, meaning Wing Ping, there are no rules. He’s going to kill Harry one way or another. The last thing he said was you, Harry, are hiding behind a bunch of women’s skirts. He said that shows what a coward you really are.”
Cooper reared up, barked three times to indicate that statement was entirely untrue. Harry threw his arms in the air. “What can I say?”
“Nothing, sweetie,” Yoko cooed. “I don’t want you to worry, we’ll protect you, won’t we, girls?” It was meant as a joke to lighten the moment, but all Harry did was scowl.
“With our lives,” Annie said, brandishing the gun in her hands.
“We have a few hours to barricade all the entrances to the monastery and to make sure the students are kept safe. We only want the front entrance to go live. We can control things that way,” Charles said. “It is possible, is it not, Brother Hung?”
“Yes, yes, you men come with me. You three also,” he said, pointing to the three male students, who were watching what was going on with disbelief. “The only weapons, if you want to call them weapons, are the bamboo poles we use when fencing. Against firearms, they will not be much of a deterrent, but it is the best we can do. As I said before, we are a peaceful, holy people. And you do not know how many men Wing Ping is bringing with him.”
“All true, all true,” Charles said. “Go quickly to secure the monastery and the students. We’ll stay here and map out a plan of action. Please, be quick about it.”
“Oh, man, this is excitement with a capital E,” Dennis babbled as he raced alongside Jack. “Hey, how come Cooper isn’t with us?”
Jack looked around. The kid was right, Cooper was nowhere in sight. “Guess he felt like we could handle it on our own. Smart dog.”
They were back in the dining hall in a little over an hour, secure in the knowledge that the monastery was as safe as they could make it.
Inside the dining hall, everyone seemed to have a task of some sort, as human bodies moved and raced around. “How about an update?” Espinosa asked.
“Aside from your lean, mean, muscular bodies that are weapons themselves, we have four fire tongs currently roasting in the flames. The dozen bamboo poles you brought with you have to be whittled so that one end is a spear. We have one gun, which Annie is in charge of. We are boiling pots of water on every burner on the stove. That’s it as far as our arsenal of weapons go,” Charles said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “I do not think there will be many firearms. This is the worst country in the world to pick one up. At a minimum, I say three. I can’t even guess at this point how many men Wing Ping will bring with him. Take into consideration the short notice, possibly ten to thirty, possibly more depending on what Wing Ping promised them. Get the knives, people, and start your whittling.”
Brother Shen raised his hand to speak. Charles nodded.
“Many of our brothers are expert archers. We have many bows and arrows in the arena. Should we fetch them?”
“Now you tell us! Why didn’t you mention that when we were racing around the monastery?” Jack snarled.
“Because I just thought of it,” Brother Shen said smartly. “Hung and I will fetch them. As well as the archers themselves. Unless you think they will not be useful.”
“Go!” Jack thundered.
Nikki moved the pokers sitting in the hot embers. “Who has the eye?” she called over her back.
“I do,” Myra responded, her eyes dropping to the watch on her wrist with the oversize numerals. “We’re at two hours and seventeen minutes. We still have some time on our clocks. How should we best use that time?” No one responded to her query. She looked over at Annie, who looked mad enough to chew iron and spit rust. Her eyebrows asked the question.
Annie shrugged. “I’m not getting anywhere. Isabelle, what is Abner saying about what’s going down in Macau?”
“A little action. The local police tried to shut down the streaming-chicken video, but it had already aired thousands of times. People are stampeding to get their money back from the ticket sales. Unfortunately, the promoters cannot be located. No one has seen Wing Ping. He’s had no luck contacting Dixson Kelly, so he hacked into his e-mail. Dix is not responding to texts or phone calls. Neither is Bert. Right now, he’s hacking the Wynn and the Sands. He just signed off.” Isabelle chewed on her lower lip as she tried to make sense out of what her husband had just communicated to her by way of text and what it meant to all of them.
From that point on, the only sound to be heard in the huge dining hall was the sound of knives striking the bamboo kung fu spears until the huge doors opened to admit Shen, Hung, and five fit-looking younger brothers, each of them carrying a bow, and a leather sack, filled to the brim with arrows, attached to their backs.
“Our fittest warriors,” Shen said proudly as he introduced the younger brothers.
Charles looked over at Fergus and said under his breath, “This is as good as it’s going to get.” He looked over at his wife, whose eyes were glued to her watch as she counted down the minutes. He hated the worry he was seeing on her face. Then he looked at Annie, who winked at him.
Suddenly, he felt better, relieved for some reason. Maybe things really would work out in their favor. And if they didn’t, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying. All things considered, being in a foreign land where there were no rules, they were doing okay.
For the moment, anyway.
Chapter 22
Time dragged on, the occupants in the great dining hall champing at the bit for something, anything, to happen to relieve the tense atmosphere.
Annie huddled with Myra, her fingers incessantly tapping the keys on her phone with no results. They conversed in low whispers as to why that was and what was going on in Macau. Nikki doodled on a pad in front of her, the same pad they’d used to craft the script for Chen Fang’s phone call to Wei Ming. Alexis and Isabelle talked about Myra’s upcoming New Year’s Eve party, noodling about whether or not it would come off and about what kind of sparkly outfits they would wear to the gala. Maggie and Ted, along with Espinosa, looked at the pictures Espinosa had taken, trying to decide which ones would be best for the article they planned to write for the Post when they got back to Washington. Jack and Dennis talked football, specifically whether or not this was the year the Redskins’ owner, Dan Snyder, would be forced to change the team’s name, while Fergus and Charles kept their eyes on the restless captives. Yoko and Harry whispered to each other about their daughter, wondering how she would adapt to being back in the States and what to buy her for Christmas this year. They speculated about the change in her and how this adventure would play out in her life.
Cooper watched it all, his great head resting on his paws under the table. He appeared unconcerned, as did Kathryn, who was transfixed with the dancing flames in front of her.
“Incoming text from Abner!” Isabelle shouted. “Oh, wow! Wait till you guys see this! Once again, my husband gets the prize! I’ll give you the short version. The American embassy is talking to the Chinese embassy about the American tour group, Crescent China Tours, being held hostage in a Chinese monastery by a Chinese national by the name of Wing Ping. It goes on to say that this Wing Ping character concocted this whole kung fu charade to get even with Harry Wong, the former number two martial-arts expert in the world who rose up to the number one spot with the murder of Jun Yu, who had held the title of number one for many, many years. It goes on to say that Wing Ping was kicked out of the Shaolin Monastery for reasons not being disclosed. Abner isn’t saying if the article, and he did not send the entire text, outright accused Wing Ping of murder, but it sounds like that to me.”
“Holy crap!” Dennis yelped.
“Beats anything I could come up with,” Jack muttered.
“Anything else?” Charles asked.
“Another text is coming in. Hold on,” Isabelle said as her eyes raked the text in front of her. “Okay, it says the local police here are searching for Wing Ping. Macau is going crazy. Money crazy, that is. No other explanation. Oh, oh, wait a minute, the promoters can’t be found, just as they can’t be found in the States. That’s the end of it. Abner said more to come as things develop, and, before you can ask, yes, he went to the AP wire services with the story. He used your name, Annie; otherwise, he said no one would carry the story.”
“You’re right, the boy gets a prize,” Annie said.
The dining hall reverted to silent mode for another twenty minutes. The room as a whole tensed when Cooper barked and raced to the huge double doors. He threw back his head and howled an ungodly sound before he moved to the side of the great doors.
“I could be wrong, guys, but I think it’s showtime!” Jack said, just loud enough for everyone to hear.
“That’s gunfire!” Charles said. “Automatic gunfire! They’re strafing the entrance doors. Stay away from the doors, people!” he shouted. “We rehearsed this ad nauseam, so you all know what to do.”
It could have been a choreographed exercise as the five archers lined up, bows and arrows at the ready, while the bamboo poles were raised simultaneously, those holding them in a shooter’s stance.
Kathryn was off her chair in a nanosecond as she raced to where Nikki was guarding the red-hot fire tongs. “About time you came back to the present.”
Kathryn grinned. “You can kick my butt later, Nikki. I told you I wouldn’t let you down.”
“I knew that, Kathryn,” Nikki said quietly. “No matter what, you are one of us, and we all know. We also understand. Who has the eye?” she shouted.
“I do, and I’m keeping it!” Yoko bellowed.
Annie finally gave up and shoved the cell phone she’d been working for hours into one of her many pockets. “You a betting woman, Myra?” she hissed.
“You know I am. I did more or less like Yoko’s scenario, or Plan C, as she called it.” Annie laughed. “I hope we don’t have to resort to that, but on the other hand, it should certainly prove interesting if we’re forced to put the plan into operation.” In spite of herself, Myra laughed out loud. The others looked around to see the cause of Myra’s laughter and instantly realized why. In turn, wide grins split across their faces. Not so the boys, who simply looked pained and angry.
Jack had his eyes on Cooper, so he missed it all. He moved closer to the big dog, Dennis right behind him. He was close enough to stroke his head. “This might be a good time for you to . . . you know . . . let me know how this is going to work out. Like four, not three, that kind of thing,” he muttered. He could feel his thoughts whirling and twirling until he settled into one thought. Nine men with the first rush, one automatic weapon, two handguns, clubs, Harry’s adversary and five men bringing up the rear.
Doable.
He roared his thought to the tense room. Harry simply nodded as gunfire shattered the beautiful carved doors to the gre
at dining hall. The moment they sagged and hung drunkenly on the massive hinges, the stampede began, and all hell broke loose. Bamboo spears shot forward as arrows sailed through the air. Bodies leaped and spun in midair, howls of pain from the interlopers who had come into contact with the red-hot fire tongs filled the great hall.
Last man standing—a wild-eyed, snarling Wing Ping. And that was by design. The sisters and the boys dragged the intruders to where the other captives were being held. Fergus and Charles worked frantically to bind them to the others, not caring about their wounds or the words spewing from their mouths.
This, then, was going to be the showdown between Harry Wong and Wing Ping.
Jack, Ted, Espinosa, and Dennis quickly used all their muscles to shove the long, heavy table and benches out of the way to clear the space for whatever was going to go down.
Harry yanked the belt from around his waist and kicked off his shoes. Wing Ping moved closer to the center space that had been cleared. Harry held up his hand. “Isabelle, show Mr. Wing the video and the article Abner sent you.” Isabelle scurried to the middle of the room and held up her phone so that Wing Ping could see what they had all seen earlier.
“It’s over, Wing. They’re coming for you. If you’re smart, you’ll get out of here right now.”
Wing Ping pushed his American cowboy hat farther back on his head, all the better to see Harry. Then he looked down at his cowboy boots. He looked up and showed his dentally challenged grimace in a vicious snarl. His eyes spewed hatred as he lashed out at Isabelle, who deftly danced out of his way.
“So that’s the way it’s going to be, eh? Okay, cowboy, let’s see what you got!”
And the game was on. The watchers were breathless as they saw both men duck, parry, strike, and give each other as good as they had in them.
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