“And we can’t call Eustace—he’s been kidnapped.”
“I’ll think of something.” Addison chewed his lip in thought. “The Cooke brain is like a mighty steam engine. Sometimes slow to start, but nearly impossible to stop.”
Molly blew the hair out of her eyes. It would never stay put in a ponytail. She either needed longer hair or shorter hair, she could never decide which.
Below, Madame Feng’s bodyguards cracked open Sir Frederick’s coffin and removed his iron shield. They flipped the shield over and set it down on a white tablecloth.
“You see? The clue is etched on the back of his shield,” Madame Feng announced. “Translate it.”
“No, thank you,” said Aunt Delia coldly. “I’m sure you can find another translator.”
“Really? Someone in Hong Kong who speaks Old French and just happens to have your expertise with antiquities?” Madame Feng impatiently tapped the shield with her black-painted fingernail. “Translate it.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” said Aunt Delia.
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,” said Madame Feng. “I have your kids. My men are snatching them from their hotel beds as we speak.”
In the balcony, Addison turned to Eddie and whispered, “You see? Aren’t you glad you came with us tonight?”
Eddie eyed the armed triads below. “The jury’s still out on that.”
At her table below, Aunt Delia turned white. “Let the children go. What could you possibly need with them?”
“They will motivate you to help me,” said Madame Feng.
“Let me speak to them!”
“Only when you translate Sir Frederick’s clue.”
Aunt Delia hesitated. “How do I know you’re not bluffing?”
“Do you really want to take that chance?”
Aunt Delia shared a long look with Uncle Nigel. He nodded toward Sir Frederick’s shield. She slipped on her tortoiseshell glasses and bent over the ancient text carved into the concave back of the shield. She began to translate.
“‘Praise be to the Lord, my Rock,
who trains my hands for war,
my fingers for battle.
God is my shield, my sword, my helm, and my lance.’”
“What does that mean?” Madame Feng interrupted.
“It’s a psalm from the Bible,” said Aunt Delia. “Sir Frederick is just clearing his throat.”
“Why is he writing all this in Old French? Why not Latin or Chinese?”
“Sir Frederick wanted only a member of his order to follow in his tracks,” said Uncle Nigel.
“Ah yes,” said Madame Feng. “This Templar business. Carry on,” she said, with a wave of her hand.
In the balcony, Molly whispered to Addison. “Who are the Templars?”
“Later,” Addison whispered. He drew his notebook from his blazer pocket and waited, pencil poised, for Aunt Delia’s translation.
Far below, she traced the curving script with her fingertip and read . . .
“‘There lies an oasis town on the Silk Road by the Dragon Desert
Where Nestorian Christians nursed me to health.
Know ye your Templar vows. Visit the sick and say a mass for the dead. Pray for our sign and ye will know the way to the Tartar’s land.’”
Madame Feng leaned close to Aunt Delia. “Tell me what it means.”
“I have no idea.”
Upstairs, Addison furiously jotted down the clue as fast as he heard it.
“Does it rhyme in French?” Eddie asked.
“Why does everything have to rhyme with you? Sir Frederick was a knight, not a pop singer.”
“We need to grab the shield, the aunt, and the uncle,” said Molly urgently. “How is that plan coming along?”
Addison tucked away his pocket notebook. “Swimmingly. We just need a distraction. Something to divert the triads’ attention.”
Shouted Russian erupted from the restaurant below. Addison’s team peered over the banister to see armed men in leather jackets burst into the restaurant. The triads aimed their guns at the Russians. The Russians aimed their guns at the triads. For several noisy seconds, the air was filled with the sound of guns cocking.
Molly turned to Addison. “You mean like that?”
“Yes, exactly like that.”
In the restaurant below, a muscular crew-cut Russian sauntered into the room. Addison noted how the man oozed confidence; he ignored all of the guns trained on him and favored Madame Feng with a malevolent grin. He plucked a tulip from a centerpiece and handed it to her. “Hello, Eleanor.”
Madame Feng accepted the flower in one clenched fist. She spoke through gritted teeth. “Boris.”
“I’ve come for the shield,” he said, still grinning.
“How did you find me here?”
Boris glanced at Sir Frederick’s skeleton, lying exposed in his coffin, and crossed himself. He then appraised the iron shield with greedy eyes. “I’ve followed the Cookes all day. I’ve followed Eustace all month. And I’ve followed you, Eleanor, for years.”
Addison watched, riveted. He desperately wanted to know who these Russian restaurant-crashers were. Judging from the guns and leather jackets, they were probably not from the Archaeological Society. But a sharp poke in the ribs from Molly reminded him it was time to swing into action. He marshaled his thoughts, hammering out a plan, and assigned roles in a low whisper. “Raj, you can be the diversion this time.”
Raj pumped his fist and mouthed, Thank you.
“Make it count,” said Addison. “Then rendezvous in the back alley behind the kitchen.”
“Copy that,” said Raj, beaming with pleasure.
“Mo, once Raj creates a diversion, you snag the A & U and rendezvous in the back alley.”
Molly nodded, tightening the laces on her running shoes. She was ready.
“Can I stay up here?” asked Eddie.
Addison inventoried the mezzanine, cluttered with tables and chairs. “Yes, actually.”
Eddie sighed in relief.
“Throw every piece of furniture over this balcony. Create mayhem down there. Meet us in the back alley when you’re done.”
Eddie gulped. He slowly nodded and rolled up his sleeves.
“Addison, what are you going to do?” asked Molly.
“I,” said Addison, “am going to steal Sir Frederick’s shield.”
Chapter Eight
The Jade Tiger
RAJ KISSED HIS DOG tags for good luck. He climbed up on the banister, preparing to create his diversion, when he was struck by a sudden brainstorm. It all seemed so obvious. All he needed to do was leap to the chandelier, swing to the opposite pillar, slide down on top of an aquarium, and perform a cartwheel dismount. Then he could grab the shield, grab Uncle Nigel, and grab Aunt Delia. He examined the plan in his mind. Like a well-cut diamond, it was flawless from every angle. Raj saw it clearly: he would be a hero.
Down below, the tall Russian man smiled at Madame Feng. “My men outnumber you. We have the restaurant surrounded. Hand me the shield, Eleanor.”
Madame Feng narrowed her eyes at the Russian and gestured to Uncle Nigel and Aunt Delia. “Boris, the shield will be no use to you without the Cookes to decipher it.”
“Are they loyal to you?”
“They should be—I have their kids.”
Aunt Delia rose to her feet. “So you keep saying. Show them to me so I know they’re all right!”
Madame Feng crossed her arms. “Do not try my patience.”
A dozen armed men, fingers tensed on their triggers, nervously followed the exchange.
Aunt Delia squinted at Madame Feng, reading her expression. “You don’t actually have the kids, do you?”
“Of course I do,” Madame Feng hissed.
Aunt Delia wa
s just hitting her stride. “No, I can tell that you don’t. And you’ll never catch them. Addison and Molly are far more clever than they look. You won’t get within a million miles of them.”
“Enough!”
“Addison and Molly were raised in the fever swamps of Cambodia,” Aunt Delia continued. “They crossed the Mekong Delta in kayaks before they could walk. They’ve stamped their passports more times than a Swiss diplomat. They know every train and bus terminal from here to Calcutta. Those kids aren’t dumb enough to stay in Hong Kong. They’re probably halfway to the Ivory Coast by now!”
At just that moment, a piercing shriek split the air.
“BHAAAAAANDARI!” Raj screamed his war cry, took a running leap off the balcony, and flung himself through the air to grab the rim of the giant chandelier.
The chandelier chain snapped.
Raj’s war cry petered out. He hovered in midair for an instant before he felt the chandelier, along with his plans, plummet, smashing down on the floor below.
Guards scattered, covering their heads. Thousands of glass beads spilled everywhere. Running men slipped, crashing to the floor on their backs.
Raj, grunting, rolled with the impact. He found himself belly up, staring at Uncle Nigel.
“Raj?” said Uncle Nigel, bewildered.
“It was Addison’s idea!”
Up on the balcony, Addison was thrilled with Raj’s distraction. “Eddie,” he said, snapping his fingers, “mayhem.”
“With pleasure,” said Eddie, who set to work hurling chairs, tables, and floral centerpieces over the balcony, into the crowd below.
Addison grabbed Molly and sprinted for the stairs. He paused to toss one flower vase over the railing just to see how it felt. It landed somewhere below with a satisfying crash and an angry yelp from a Russian. Smiling, Addison raced down the steps and into the melee.
The Russians and Chinese quickly descended into a full-on brawl. Addison had not seen so many flying Russians since his last trip to the circus. He ducked a soaring Slav, skidded sideways across scattered chandelier shards, and scuttled with Molly to the center table.
Uncle Nigel grabbed Sir Frederick’s shield and charged for the exit, but was body-tackled by some Russians who clearly had wrestling experience. Aunt Delia scooped up the shield and Frisbeed it at a towering triad who blocked her path. It belted the man in the gut. The triad bent double, then triple, and then, somehow, quadruple. The shield rolled crazily around the floor, chased in dizzy circles by frantic tattooed triads.
Madame Feng’s guards threw sacks over Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel’s heads, jerked their arms behind their backs, and hustled them to the front door. Molly struggled to reach them, ducking a barrage of whirling fists and kicking legs. Desperate to clear a path, she attempted a roundhouse kick on the kneecap of a passing triad. The hardened criminal turned to face her.
His ears were pierced, his nose was pierced, his lip was pierced, and he hit Molly with a piercing stare. In this moment, Molly learned a valuable life lesson: if you’ve only taken eight weeks of kung fu lessons, maybe don’t pick a fight with a Hong Kong gang member.
The pierced man attacked. The only reason his first punch missed was that Molly was a foot shorter than the sorts of people he was used to punching. He wound up to try a kick instead.
Raj was chasing the shield around the room like a happy Labrador at the beach when he spotted Molly’s predicament. “I’ll save you, Molly!” He leapt up on a table, built up speed for a flying kick, slipped on the tablecloth, and crash-landed in a clatter of silverware.
The distraction gave Molly just enough time to crush a vase over the pierced triad’s head. “Thanks, Raj,” she said, pulling him to his feet.
Raj was not out of the woods yet. Any man with that many piercings must surely have a high tolerance for pain. The triad shook his head woozily and lunged with both hands. Raj bobbed and weaved, but was soon cornered in the elbow of a restaurant booth.
Addison saw Raj’s danger. What Raj needed was a weapon to defend himself. “Heads up!” Addison snatched a heavy jade tiger from a nearby pedestal and flung it at Raj.
For a split second, Addison thought Raj might actually catch the flying jade tiger. For the next split second, Addison was terrified the flying jade tiger might catch Raj on the crown of his head, knocking his best friend out cold. In the next split second, the flying jade tiger missed Raj entirely and shattered the ten-thousand-gallon fish tank.
Addison watched the glass break as if in slow motion. One moment there was a spiderweb of cracks spreading across the tank. The next moment a tidal wave of water swamped the restaurant.
The aquarium accomplished what no amount of brawling could. It knocked down every gang member in the restaurant. Addison was swept halfway across the room on the seething tide. Sharks flapped about on the floor like eggs in a frying pan. Russians picked seaweed out of their hair. A beached triad flopped on his back, gasping for air. Addison realized it was the pierced man.
Addison’s favorite word in the English language was “cornobble,” meaning “to slap with a fish.” He had long wondered if he would ever be lucky enough to cornobble someone. At last, fate was lending a hand. Addison found a flounder floundering on the floor, took it by the tail, and walloped the pierced triad across the face with a satisfying smack. Addison smiled. He deplored violence, but he condoned cornobbling.
Struggling to his feet and silently mourning his soaked leather wingtips, Addison scanned the chaotic restaurant. Every violent gang member wanted a piece of him. The aunt, the uncle, and the shield were gone. Addison could see things weren’t going exactly according to his plan. So he rapidly conceived a new one . . .
Run.
It was the simpler plans that were usually best. Molly and Raj took their cue from Addison. They hightailed it into the kitchen, trailed by a team of ticked-off triads.
• • • • • •
Addison burst through the swinging kitchen doors, gang members hounding his heels. His first order of business was opening the freezer door and releasing the angry chef, who was now wielding a frozen hanger steak as a weapon. Addison took a hairpin turn around a prep table and smacked the light switch, pitching the kitchen in pitch dark.
He listened to the satisfying music of Russians and triads crashing into everything. Overhead tongs and ladles smashed to the ground followed by loud grunts and metallic clangs. There was even the distinct rhythmic yelp of a triad being beaten with the raw hanger steak. It was a sweet symphony.
Addison and his team knew the general layout of the kitchen. He navigated through it at top speed, with the help of his shins, his elbows, and three surprisingly ill-placed garbage cans. He yanked on the back door and found it was locked. Addison jiggled the handle, but it would not give. “Hannibal Barca, slayer of Romans!”
He revised his itinerary. Addison dodged a few fumbling fists and burst back into the restaurant through the swinging doors.
The scene had changed remarkably in thirty seconds. A candle had tipped over and ignited a tablecloth. Now several tables were sprouting flames. A triad was dunking a Russian in an unbroken fish tank until that fish tank broke as well.
Madame Feng spotted Addison from across the room. She rallied her men. “Stop those kids! We need them!”
Addison zipped up the stairs to the balcony, Raj and Molly at his side and two triads trailing behind.
Eddie was sopping with sweat and heaving the last potted bamboo over the railing. “Addison, this is a dead end!”
“Attila the Hun!” Addison shouted.
Triads pounded up the stairs. Addison saw only one option: he took a running start and threw himself out the window.
Chapter Nine
Tony the Triad
THERE ARE MOMENTS IN life when it is best to carefully consider one’s actions. Choosing a college, choosing a career, choosing whether
to throw oneself out the second-story window of a Chinese restaurant—these are all important life decisions, and not to be taken lightly. Addison considered himself a very thoughtful and conscientious person. He was as surprised as anyone when he chose to hurtle himself through a plate-glass window.
As he sailed through the window frame, he was struck by two important realizations. The first was that the window was already open.
This could mean either good news or bad news, Addison reflected. In the short term, it was very good news he wasn’t opening a plate-glass window with his forehead. But in the long term, the open window might simply be hastening his express trip to the pavement. Addison decided it was a wash.
The second realization came quickly on the heels of the first. Addison considered himself a man of hard science, and was not quick to believe in signs or miracles. Yet every now and then, when life threw him a bone, it was hard not to ponder the handiwork of some divine providence. Addison, as he spiraled through the empty window, could not help but notice that the Jade Tiger restaurant was furnished with a front awning.
It was waiting for him like an old friend. It was red and stretched tight like a fireman’s trampoline.
He bounced on it.
Molly, Eddie, and Raj bounced on it, too, in quick succession. They bounced to their feet, jogged a few sidesteps, and climbed onto the first-story roof of the building next door.
Several triads leapt out of the window after them. The triads, to their great misfortune, were full-grown adults, and therefore much heavier. They smashed right through the awning and were quickly acquainted with the pavement below. One of them would have to explain to Madame Feng how they had destroyed the awning of her restaurant.
More triads spilled out of the window like rats from a sinking ship. These gang members, learning by example, clung to the edge of the roof rather than plummeting through the yawning hole of the awning. Spying Addison’s team, they sashayed along the sloping eaves, scattering roof tiles, and chased the New Yorkers across the building tops of Kowloon.
Addison Cooke and the Tomb of the Khan Page 5
