Addison Cooke and the Tomb of the Khan

by Jonathan W. Stokes

  Addison knew from hard-earned experience how best to appeal to Eddie’s better judgment. He took a deep breath and spoke calmly, using the sort of soothing voice dentists employ with nervous patients. “Eddie, when the Mongols sacked Beijing, it was the largest city in the world. The Mongols burned the city, killed the inhabitants, and stacked the skulls so high, travelers arriving across the plains thought they were seeing white, snowy mountains in the distance.”

  Eddie listened. He wasn’t sure where Addison was heading with all this.

  “Thousands of cartloads of treasure left the burning city for weeks, heading for Mongolia. The plunder of the richest city on earth. And think of it, Eddie: Beijing was just one of hundreds of cities the Mongols pillaged. The entire wealth of the medieval world was taken to Mongolia . . . and buried in Genghis Khan’s tomb.”

  Eddie leaned against the gunwale, watching the flickering lights of Hong Kong shimmering like jewels.

  “Gold, Eddie.” Addison stepped close behind him. “Heaps and piles of gold.”

  Eddie gritted his teeth. His knuckles grew white, gripping the cleats of the wooden rail. He underwent an intense, internal struggle, like a kettle coming to a rolling boil. It was pointless to argue with Addison; it was like arguing with Mother Nature or Father Time. Addison was simply too great a force to be reckoned with. “All right, fine.” Eddie let out a long sigh, like air escaping from a popped tire. “I’m in.”

  • • • • • •

  Addison’s team crept into their hotel suite with all possible stealth. The door was hanging ajar, and clothes were strewn everywhere. The rooms had clearly been ransacked. Either that or the maid service had been inexplicably replaced by howler monkeys.

  “Okay, only grab what you need,” whispered Addison. “I want us out of this room inside two minutes.”

  Everyone set to work finding their clothes and filling their backpacks.

  Addison selected a fresh pair of linen slacks packed neatly in his hanging bag.

  “I thought we were only bringing necessities,” said Molly.

  Addison gestured to his clothes, soiled by the ride in the Kowloon garbage truck. “Well, I can’t go find the Khan’s treasure in these pants. Besides, looking sharp is a necessity!” Addison donned the blindingly white dinner jacket he had received for his birthday.

  Molly was shocked. “Are you really wearing that?”

  “I can wear white after Memorial Day,” Addison said defensively.

  “You look like a valet.”

  “Valets wear red jackets, Molly.”

  “Still, wouldn’t it make sense for us to try to blend in?”

  “I never try to blend in, Molly. You should know that by now.” Addison fished around in his suitcase. “Since we know there are people out there who might hurt us, I’m also bringing this.” He held out a butterfly knife.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “So many questions, Mo. I checked it with my luggage. It’s from our old friend Zubov.” Addison flicked and twirled the knife.

  “You’ve been practicing,” said Raj.

  “Well, the twirling is fun. But I haven’t had any practice in actually fighting anyone.”

  “That’s for the best,” said Molly. “You’re not really planning on using that, are you?”

  “Hey, this saved our lives in Peru.”

  “Yes, you used it to free us from rope, not hurt someone. Addison, you’re a pacifist. You won’t even show up to gym class—now you want to start a knife fight?”

  “Well, I’m bringing it just in case.” He carefully tucked it inside the pocket of his white blazer.

  Addison led the team out of the suite and down the back stairs of the hotel. It was twenty flights to ground level, but at least they wouldn’t be spotted.

  “Where to?” asked Eddie, wheezing for breath.

  “The Feng Casino in Macau,” said Addison. “I want to try out one of these hydrofoils Madame Feng was so keen on.”

  “Isn’t Madame Feng the last person we want to see right now?” asked Molly.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Addison, I hate to state the obvious, but with you, it sometimes seems necessary.”

  “Go on.”

  “If we don’t want to see Madame Feng, then isn’t her casino the last place we should go?”

  “Yes, but her casino is also the last place she’ll expect us. Besides, we have no choice.”

  “Really? Because it seems like we have a choice.”

  “Au contraire, young Cooke. We need to go to Macau to hire Uncle Nigel’s pilot, Dax Conroy. How else are we getting to Northern China?”

  Molly frowned. Addison often had the annoying habit of being right.

  He paused when they reached the bottom of the stairwell. “All in favor?”

  Molly nodded grimly.

  Eddie shrugged gloomily.

  Raj gave an enthusiastic two thumbs up.

  “Hang on, I’ve always wanted to say this.” Addison dramatically pointed one finger in the air and shouted, “To the hydrofoil!” He rushed out of the exit door and into the shadowed alleys of the great city.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dax Conroy

  ADDISON EXPECTED THE HYDROFOIL to be a bit more futuristic, but from the prow of the ship, it appeared no different from a ferry. It rose a little higher out of the water and it didn’t rock with the waves, but otherwise Addison found the hydrofoil to be just a glorified boat. After a fifty-five-minute cruise through the nighttime harbor, his group set foot on Macau, the gambling center of Asia.

  Spotlights slashed the air. Monstrous hotels were lit up like circuses. Every color of neon broadcast Chinese characters from the roofs of opulent buildings. Addison’s team strode up wide boulevards decorated with pools, palm trees, and fountains that jetted plumes of water sixty feet in the air. Recessed lighting turned the cascading fountain water into lush greens, crimson reds, and lustrous golds.

  Addison spotted the Feng Casino, its sign flashing so brightly, it might have been visible from space. He decided that the real winner in Macau’s gambling scene was the power company.

  The group approached the massive casino hotel, craning their necks to take it all in. It was several times larger than the New York Museum of Archaeology and many times gaudier.

  “Are they going to let us in there?” asked Molly, gaping up at the red-carpeted steps. Guards with earpieces wired under their starched white collars lined the gilded doors.

  “Molly,” said Addison, “my thirteen years on this planet have led me to a single truth: you can get in anywhere if you’re wearing a nice enough suit.” Addison fluffed the white silk scarf he wore draped over his dinner jacket, and adjusted the matching pocket square tucked and folded in his chest pocket. He confidently climbed the steps and zeroed in on the main doors.

  A well-muscled guard stopped Addison, planting one giant hand against his chest.

  “I can’t let you in here.”

  “Can’t?” said Addison. “Or won’t?”

  “Both. How old are you?”

  “Thirteen. But I read at an eighteen-year-old level.”

  “Then read this,” said the guard, pointing to the sign that said “21 and over.”

  “I would prefer you read this,” said Addison, peeling off a one-hundred-yuan bill from Tony Chin’s wallet.

  “I read you loud and clear, sir,” said the guard, opening the door wide. “Right this way.”

  Addison was greeted by the din of ringing slot machines and enough flashing lights to flag down a UFO. Cocktail waitresses hustled to and fro, balancing giant trays of glasses. Men dealt cards, women rolled dice, roulette balls clattered and jumped along their wheels. The massive room had the manic energy of a record-breaking day on the New York Stock Exchange.

  “There must be a thousand people i
n this casino.” Molly scanned the crowded floor. “How are we supposed to find one pilot?”

  “Deduction,” said Addison. He deducted a fifty-yuan note from Tony Chin’s wallet and handed it to a passing pit boss. “Can you point me toward Dax Conroy?”

  “Dax Conroy?” The pit boss shuddered. “Over there at the blackjack tables. And tell him to pay his debts before we throw him out.”

  Addison thanked the man and beckoned his team. They wove through a football-field-size maze of slot machines until Addison sidled up to a lonely blackjack table curled in a quieter corner. A square-jawed, suntanned gambler sat perched on the catbird seat, one muddy boot cocked on the brass foot rail. He had the wary confidence of a man who’s seen the wrong end of a shotgun and lived to tell about it. His rugged face was cut by a nose that had seen more than its fair share of bar fights. He chewed a stalk of wheat in his teeth and soaked the bruised knuckles of his right fist in a tumbler of ice.

  Addison leaned one elbow on the green felt of the blackjack table. “I hear you know your way around the Gobi Desert.”

  Dax Conroy’s eyes slowly rose from his drink. He wore a brown leather bomber jacket. His jaw was grizzled with stubble. His brow crinkled at the sight of a thirteen-year-old. “Get out of here, kid. I can’t hear myself drink.”

  “You’ll want to split those aces.”

  “Why don’t you split? It’s past your bedtime.”

  “You always split aces and eights,” Addison persisted. “Especially when the dealer’s showing a five.”

  Dax gave Addison a second look. “What are you, the Wizard of Odds?”

  “Aces and eights,” Molly put in helpfully. “Everyone knows that.”

  “Our uncle Jasper is in Gamblers Anonymous,” Addison admitted.

  “The management know you’re in here?”

  “Oh, Ms. Feng? She’s a personal friend.”

  Dax gave Addison a third look.

  The blackjack dealer tapped the deck against the felt tabletop impatiently, waiting for Dax’s move.

  Addison held Dax’s gaze. “If I’m right, you’ll buy me a drink and we’ll talk.”

  “If you’re wrong, I’m out five hundred yuan.”

  Addison turned to the dealer. “Split.” He pushed Dax’s entire pile of yuan onto the green felt.

  Dax downed the rest of his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What do you figure the odds you can outrun me?”

  Addison ignored this. “I’ll be at the cocktail lounge,” he said as the dealer flipped the next card. “You’re buying.” He turned and strolled to the bar.

  Raj, Eddie, and Molly lingered behind.

  The dealer laid down two kings. Dax stared at his two winning hands. Twenty-one and twenty-one. The dealer shoved a towering pile of yuan across the table to him.

  The single stalk of wheat fell out of Dax’s mouth.

  • • • • • •

  Addison rested in a plush red booth in the cocktail lounge. His team piled in beside him.

  Dax strode into the room clutching a fat wad of yuan. He nodded at the maître d’, pointed a finger gun at the piano player, and dragged a bar stool over to the booth.

  Addison signaled the waiter. “Arnold Palmer, no rocks.” He lifted an eyebrow to Dax.

  Dax grunted at the waiter and slid fifty yuan across the table. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

  The waiter nodded briskly and vanished to fill the order.

  “Some bar snacks, too!” Eddie called after him.

  Addison leaned closer to Dax and stated his business. “I need to charter a flight to an oasis town on the Silk Road in the Gobi Desert.”

  Dax studied Addison carefully, taking his measure. “I’m supposed to meet Mr. Cooke.”

  “I am Mr. Cooke,” said Addison, handing over his business card.

  “Kid, do I look stupid to you? Never mind, don’t answer that,” he said quickly.

  “Look,” said Addison. “You know the museum’s good for the money. You might as well fly the plane.”

  “Kid, I ain’t no babysitter.”

  Addison chewed on this. Dax was no pushover. “When I saw you stand up from the blackjack table without buttoning your jacket, I assumed it was because you’re American. Now I can see it’s because your button is missing. You need a gig, and our money’s just as good as anyone’s.”

  “I don’t fly kids.”

  “Really? I hear you’ll fly anything and look the other way.”

  “Kid,” said Dax, reciting his motto, “the only direction a pilot needs to look is forward.”

  “But you still won’t fly us?”

  Dax leaned forward on his elbows. “The Gobi is not some giant sandbox. You’ll need camels, water, and weapons. It’s the largest desert in Asia. Most of it’s not even sand, just rock. Like crossing the surface of the moon. It’s a hundred and twenty-two degrees in the summer and minus-forty in the winter. Shifting sand dunes will bury a man in seconds. Snow leopards, brown bears, and wolves will eat you alive.”

  Raj leaned forward excitedly. He was rapidly developing an affection for Dax. Here was a kindred spirit.

  Dax plowed on. “The Uyghur separatists carry out bombings and assassinations. The Hui people have a hatred of foreigners. If they’ll slaughter a Uyghur or a Tibetan, they certainly won’t think twice about carving up a westerner in a fancy dinner jacket. The Gobi is a thousand miles of the roughest country on earth. Kid, this ain’t Disneyland.”

  “You’re just trying to get a better price out of me.”

  Dax shrugged.

  Addison didn’t have all night to negotiate. He was in Madame Feng’s casino, the heart of enemy territory. He decided to play his ace.

  He fished in his pocket and held up Madame Feng’s black dragon chip. Instantly, the maître d’ appeared, quivering at his side, as if shot from a bow. Addison kept his eyes locked on Dax. “Forgive all of Mr. Conroy’s debts.”

  “Immediately, sir.”

  Addison heard a buzz of excitement rippling through the lounge. Patrons had spotted his black dragon chip. He noticed one of the casino cameras, mounted on the ceiling, zooming in on him. He knew he had to hurry things along.

  Dax held Addison’s eye contact. “Three square meals a day, plus per diem for me and my copilot.”

  “You need a copilot?”

  “I never fly without Mr. Jacobsen.”

  “Fine. Anything else?”

  “When do you need me to start?”

  Addison saw armed security guards converging on the cocktail lounge, drawing their riot sticks. “Right about now.” He downed his Arnold Palmer.

  Guards closed in.

  Addison flipped his black dragon chip through the air, sending it skittering across the tiled floor. Patrons dove and fought for the valuable chip, slowing the advance of the security guards. Addison stood up from the table and smoothed the lapels of his dinner jacket. “Shall we?”

  • • • • • •

  Addison did not like sprinting in his new blazer—it did not seem dignified. Still, running struck him as the most prudent course of action. He legged it for the front doors.

  Dax seemed entirely comfortable running from casino guards, no questions asked. Addison got the distinct impression that Dax was quite used to exiting casinos at full gallop.

  Addison reached the front doors and then jammed on the brakes.

  A row of triads entered the casino. Tony Chin spotted Addison and smiled. In the blink of an eye, two trench knives were twirling in his hands.

  Addison altered course, steamrolling a croupier, a card counter, and a cocktail waitress.

  “I’ve seen him before,” Dax called, checking over his shoulder as Tony quickly caught up. “Friend of yours?”

  “Acquaintance,” said Addison, vaulting onto a crap
s table and sprinting down its length.

  “What does he want from you?”

  “He probably wants his wallet back.” Addison leapt off the craps table and hit the ground running.

  “Who are you guys?!”

  Addison slammed through an emergency exit door, nearly taking it off its hinges. Alarms blared throughout the casino.

  Addison’s team poured themselves down a set of concrete stairs, their ten feet flying faster than a speed typist’s fingers.

  Triads tore after them.

  “They want us for bait,” Molly explained to Dax as they wound their way down the dizzying staircase. “So Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel will help them find Genghis Khan’s tomb.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “This has happened to us before,” said Molly matter-of-factly.

  “It’s pretty much par for the course with us,” Addison agreed.

  Throwing knives sliced the air and drew sparks from the staircase wall.

  “I would like to renegotiate my rate,” Dax said.

  Addison barreled through a second emergency door. The team found themselves in a back alley.

  Dax spun around and shouldered his weight against the emergency door. Triads pounded against it from the inside. “Quickly,” he said through gritted teeth, “wheel that Dumpster over here!”

  Addison, Raj, Eddie, and Molly wheeled an alley Dumpster flush with the emergency door.

  Dax kicked down the wheel lock, anchoring the Dumpster into place. Police sirens filled the night, echoing in from all directions. “The police, too?”

  “Of course,” said Molly. “They’re on Madame Feng’s side.”

  “I thought you were personal friends with Madame Feng!”

  “So did we,” said Eddie. “Turns out, she has a lot of sides.”

  The sirens grew deafeningly loud. “All right. Let’s keep moving.” Dax took off north up the alleyway.

  Addison pointed south. “The airport’s that way!”

  “We’re not going to the airport,” Dax called over his shoulder.

  “Mr. Conroy, I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job,” said Addison, “but I think you’re going to need an airplane if you want to fly us to Northern China.”