Addison Cooke and the Tomb of the Khan

by Jonathan W. Stokes

  Raj pointed to faded murals sketched on the pale rock walls. They depicted hundreds of monks, hunted by soldiers as the monasteries of Mongolia burned. “Think of it. All the monks who yielded their last, desperate gasp of life before embracing eternity.”

  “It’s a tragedy,” Addison agreed. He didn’t quite understand Raj’s obsession with death, but somehow, in some twisted way, he felt Raj’s heart was in the right place.

  “Over here,” Molly called. She waved them to the exact middle of the circular room and pointed, triumphantly, to a Templar symbol carved into the floor. “The eye is always in the center.”

  Addison discovered the floor tiles were not mortared to the rock. Gaining purchase with his fingertips, he and Raj were able to lever a few square tiles out of the floor, revealing a dark, gaping hole.

  Before they could take a vote, Molly had already taken Addison’s flashlight, clamped it in her teeth, and begun climbing down into the darkness. Raj and Eddie lowered themselves in after her.

  Addison took one last look around the shrine and suddenly shivered, overwhelmed by the feeling of being watched. He lowered his legs into the chute and hurried after his team.

  He found himself in a square shaft. Wooden pegs, driven into the wall, allowed precarious handholds and footholds. In some places the pegs were so sparse, it was difficult to find any safe route down; in other places the pegs were so dense, it was difficult to wriggle through.

  Addison saw Molly’s flashlight glowing some ten feet below him. He had no idea how deep the shaft ran or how far he would plummet if his dress shoes lost their slippery grip on a wooden peg. His arm muscles were shaking with fatigue when he finally heard Molly’s triumphant call as she reached the bottom. A few more rungs and he stretched a tentative toe south until it tapped gratefully against the rocky earth. He touched down with both feet and then lay on his back for a minute until the world stopped spinning.

  By the time he sat up, Raj was already exploring the narrow tunnel ahead. Molly aimed the flashlight at a series of signs painted in several languages across the limestone wall. Addison recognized Mongolian, Chinese, and Cyrillic text.

  “It’s a warning.” Eddie read the Chinese aloud. “‘The Khan is guarded by Ghost Warriors. Turn back or face death.’” He weighed the two options. “I vote for turning back.”

  “It said we’ll ‘face death,’ not that we’ll die.” Addison squeezed past Eddie in the narrow hallway. “We’ve faced death lots of times, Eddie.”

  “Yeah, but not from ghosts.”

  “In all history, no scientist has ever proven a haunting.”

  “Sure, but have any of those scientists conducted their experiments here in this cave in Mongolia?”

  Under normal conditions, Addison would have argued the point. But he still felt as if he were being watched, and his memory kept conjuring images of the Mongol visions he’d seen in the past few days. He set his jaw with determination and took his flashlight back from Molly. The hallway ahead was guarded by twenty-foot statues of Mongol warriors that cast long shadows in the beam of the flashlight. “The signs warned us fair and square. Expect traps. Nobody touch anything.”

  They inched forward in silence, eyes peeled for any sign of a booby trap. A quarter of the way down the hallway, Addison was beginning to feel confident. But it was halfway down the hallway that a heavy rock sailed out of the darkness and smashed only inches from his head. He ducked on instinct, splinters of rock dusting his cheek.

  “Eddie, what did you touch?”

  “Nothing! I was getting my inhaler out of my bag. I doubt Sir Frederick wired any booby traps to my inhaler.”

  Three more rocks crashed on the floor, inches from their feet. The team ran forward a few steps and ducked. Smashing rocks followed their progress. “This is no booby trap!” said Raj. “The aim is too good.” The rocks appeared to be coming from the stone statues, but it was impossible to know for sure in the dim glow of the flashlight.

  “Run,” said Addison. “It’s our only chance!”

  The group sprinted headlong down the hallway and into the next chamber. They paused to collect their breath and their wits.

  “What caused that?” asked Molly. “The Black Darkhad? The Ghost Warriors?”

  Addison shook his head. “Something’s down here with us, and we need to keep moving.” He approached the next passageway, a low tunnel decorated with the carved, howling faces of ghosts. He aimed his flashlight into the gloom.

  Raj inspected the passage. “I don’t see any traps.”

  “We didn’t see the last ones, either.” Addison stepped carefully over the white granite stone that marked the threshold. He ducked into the tunnel, Raj and Molly following close behind. “Nobody touch anything. I’m looking at you, Eddie.”

  “I’m not touching anything!” said Eddie, his hands in the air. “C’mon, Addison. Give me some credit!” Eddie stepped directly onto the white granite threshold rock. It sank with an ominous click. A stone door grumbled shut behind him, sealing them into the passage.

  To Addison’s horror, the ceiling began dropping, inch by inch, like the clamp of a vise, threatening to crush them. Addison’s feet began running of their own accord, and his upper body sailed after them. “Hurry,” he called. “Get to the end of the tunnel!”

  They reached the far end of the passage, only to discover that it was not, in fact, the end of the passage. The hallway took a hard left, followed by a hard right, and then just kept on going. Addison kept right on running and the ceiling kept right on dropping. He found it was hard to sprint when bent double, and was soon scrambling forward on all fours. With a deafening grind, the ceiling was now only a foot from the floor. Addison dropped to his knees and elbows, crawling like a lizard for the end of the tunnel.

  “We’ll never make it!” shouted Eddie.

  “Not with that attitude!” Addison gasped, squirming on his belly. The ceiling was ten inches from the floor, and then nine.

  Molly was slightly shorter and slightly faster. She squeezed through the final stone door just as it slammed shut.

  “Molly,” Addison shouted, “look for a switch, a lever, something! Anything that might trigger the trap to stop!”

  The ceiling was now six inches from the ground. Eddie was trapped, squished flat like a bug. Addison felt his ribs compressing, the air being crushed from his lungs. “Molly,” he wheezed, “stop lollygagging and save us!”

  Molly must have found something, because just when Addison was ready to throw in the towel on this whole staying-alive business, the ceiling ground to a stop. Addison wanted to cheer but could not inhale a breath. Slowly, millimeters at a time, the cave ceiling ground its way upward and the tunnel door lifted open.

  “Thank you, Molly, you wonderful Cooke.” Addison filled his lungs with air and felt oxygen return to his brain. “That was absolute torture.”

  “You think that was bad,” said Molly. “The release lever was inside one of these stone ghost skulls—I had to stick my hand in there!”

  Addison made no argument. He, Raj, and Eddie scraped themselves off the floor and crawled into the final chamber.

  • • • • • •

  Addison made the steep climb to his feet and teetered there, remembering how to balance. They were in a circular chamber with cliff walls soaring above them on all sides.

  “Up there!” said Molly.

  Addison followed her eyeline to a spur of stone that jutted one hundred feet directly into the air. He cranked his neck farther and farther back until he could see the top, where a single stone Buddha sat cross-legged, eyes half closed in meditation. A hole cut in the cliff illuminated the Buddha with a single shaft of light. And there, on the Buddha’s lap, a steel object glinted. “The helm of Sir Frederick!”

  The team tittered excitedly until Molly lifted a finger for silence. Somewhere, far behind them, came a sound l
ike shouted Russian.

  Addison felt his stomach drop. “C’mon, let’s snag this clue and skedaddle.” He made it sound easy, but the group stared doubtfully up at the enormous pillar of stone.

  “Do we climb it?” asked Raj.

  “I don’t have that much rope,” said Molly.

  Addison weighed the problem. “Buddha does not go to the mountain, the mountain comes to Buddha.”

  Eddie looked at him quizzically. “Say what?”

  “We don’t have to get to the helmet, we make the helmet come to us.”

  “How, telekinesis?”

  “The Mongols were excellent bowmen. Maybe the idea is to plunk the helmet with an arrow and knock it all the way down.”

  “I thought Sir Frederick hid these clues for Christians to find, not Mongols.”

  “Maybe,” said Addison. “But this all seems too elaborate for Sir Frederick to construct while he was fleeing Mongolia for his life. I think there’s more to this story.”

  “Okay,” said Molly, thinking practically. “Anybody have a bow, an arrow, and incredible aim?”

  Addison frowned in thoughtful silence. Molly, as was her habit, made a decent point. He thought of the flare gun tucked in his blazer pocket, but didn’t think it’d be accurate enough to hit a small target at one hundred feet. “If only Dax had bought that dynamite I asked for, we could set a charge and knock down this pillar.”

  “That might collapse the whole cave and bury us,” said Molly. “Plus, what kind of archaeologists would we be if we blew up an ancient monastery?”

  Addison did not appreciate Molly being right so often. He heard more shouted Russian from somewhere deep inside the caves. Time was running out. He stared at the rocky pillar and shook his head. “Dad could solve this.” Addison turned back to Molly. “What’s in Dad’s survival kit?”

  Molly threw open the satchel. She tossed aside a magnifying glass, a water purifier, and a braided hemp rope. She kept searching, half hoping a bow and arrow would magically pop out. Either that or a giant magnet to attract the metal helmet. What Addison discovered was significantly better.

  “Beautiful!” Addison picked up the braided hemp rope. He unraveled it and stretched it taut.

  “Addison, that rope’s two feet long. I don’t think it will reach.”

  “This isn’t a rope. It’s one of the deadliest weapons in history.”

  “A leash?” asked Raj.

  “A belt?” asked Eddie.

  “It’s called a sling. This is how David killed Goliath.” Addison pointed to the pouch sewn halfway along the rope. “You pack a stone in this pocket, swing the sling around your head, build up some speed, and whip the rock at your target.”

  “Sounds kind of primitive,” Molly said doubtfully.

  “It’s lethal. A good slinger fires a stone ninety miles per hour.”

  This was good enough for Raj. He found a few chunks of stone and selected the most evenly rounded piece. He whirled the sling over his bandanaed head and launched a rock ninety degrees in the wrong direction. Everyone ducked as the stone smashed against the wall by their heads.

  Addison tried the sling next and managed to wing himself in the head. He sat down, slightly dazed.

  Everyone agreed that since they valued their lives, and still had much to live for, Eddie should not have a turn.

  Molly tried the sling last. She twirled the sling over her head like a lasso, building up speed, and flung the stone high in the air. It blasted sand from a rock two feet to the left of the Buddha statue.

  Addison shushed the team before they could cheer too loudly. With Russians searching the caverns, it was best not to reveal their location so easily.

  Molly tried a few more stones, getting a feel for the ancient weapon. “I feel bad launching missiles at the Buddha. He’s a symbol of peace.” Her next stone clanged loudly off Sir Frederick’s helmet, but did not dislodge it. Still, the helmet skittered a few inches across the Buddha’s lap, and that was encouraging. Her sixth and seventh stones were also encouraging, but it was her seventeenth stone that sent the helmet clattering off the precipice and clanging to the ground.

  “Molly, you’re a natural,” Addison proclaimed.

  Molly held the sling proudly in her hand. She felt she had made a new friend.

  Addison scooped up the helm and brushed it off with the backs of his fingers. Eight hundred years ago the helm had crowned Sir Frederick. Now it was in Addison’s hands. Turning it over, he discovered the next clue scratched on the inside of the helm, just above the visor. “Bravo, Molly.”

  “It’s ‘brava,’” said Eddie, who understood a little Italian.

  Molly was not paying attention. She was craning her ears toward the door. A few seconds passed before they heard the sound of crashing rocks and a shouting Russian.

  “Someone’s coming through the haunted hallway.” Addison started for the exit.

  “Addison,” said Molly, “we have to copy the clue!”

  “We’ll copy it on the run. We’re trapped here if we don’t move quickly. All in favor?”

  Addison’s team voted with their feet. They ran.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Pig’s Whistle

  ADDISON RUSHED BACK TO the collapsing corridor. He paused to stretch his hamstrings and limber up. “Everybody ready?”

  Molly, Raj, and Eddie nodded somberly.

  Addison stepped into the chamber and nothing happened. “Excellent. Maybe the trap can only be triggered on the other side. Still, just to be safe, nobody touch anything.”

  Halfway through the tunnel, just when it took a sharp left turn, they heard an awful rumbling and the ceiling began its slow descent. Addison broke into a sprint.

  “I didn’t touch anything!” Eddie shouted.

  “Then who did?” Addison rounded the next turn and skidded to a halt.

  Boris Ragar stood in the passage, staring in bewilderment at the lowering ceiling. Addison noted that Boris was wearing new pants. Scruffy, wool pants.

  “Somewhere in Kashgar there’s a shepherd who wants his pants back,” said Addison.

  The second Boris laid eyes on Addison’s team, he seemed to forget about the ceiling problem entirely. He attacked with a growl of rage.

  Addison saw no way around Boris—the broad-shouldered man blocked the passage entirely. Addison turned and fled back the way they had come, Raj, Molly, and Eddie scurrying ahead of him. To his horror, he saw the final stone door grinding its way closed. Only Eddie managed to escape through the door before it slammed shut.

  Ducking low, Addison wheeled to face Boris. As much as he loved exploring archaeological sites, Addison discovered that there were any number of places he would rather be than trapped in a homicidal hallway with a raging psychopath.

  Boris, seeing the passage door sealed shut, seemed to have his first inkling that something was horribly wrong. He was already bending double under the lowering ceiling, his head crooked at an odd angle. He bellowed and charged at Addison like a feral boar.

  Somehow, Addison got the distinct impression that Boris blamed him for the collapsing ceiling. He ducked and dodged Boris’s bearlike paws in the narrow tunnel, but with each passing second, he had less and less room to maneuver. “Eddie! Pull the lever!”

  Eddie’s voice traveled back through the stone door. “I can’t! It’s inside a skull!”

  “Please, Eddie! Get us out of here!” Addison did not like to issue orders, or even raise his voice, but desperate times, desperate measures.

  “I can’t see what’s inside this skull! If a spider bites my fingers, I can’t practice piano!”

  “If I get out of here,” shouted Addison, “I’ll bite your fingers!”

  “Well, then, why would I free you?!”

  Addison crouched on all fours as the ceiling clamped down on him like a garli
c press.

  Realizing he had bigger problems than assassinating Addison, Boris shoved hard against the ceiling with his broad back, trying to slow its descent. He strained his muscles so that his neck veins stood out like harp strings. He might as well have tried bench-pressing a battleship.

  “Eddie, do it now!” screamed Addison. He gave up on all fours and lay flat on his belly as the cave ceiling bore down on him.

  “When you shout at me, it makes me not want to help you.”

  “Eddie, pretty please, with sugar on top, OPEN THE GATE!”

  “Not until you apologize!”

  Finally, Boris filled his lungs with one last gasp of air and shouted. “Pull the release or I will skin you alive!”

  After a moment’s silence, Addison heard the release switch click into place. The ceiling stopped its dreadful march. With a grinding and scraping, the ceiling lifted upward, inch by inch, until the wind returned to Addison’s lungs.

  The door slid open, revealing Eddie, smiling proudly.

  “Thank you, Eddie,” said Addison weakly.

  “Don’t say I never do anything for you.” Eddie marched into the chamber, absentmindedly stepped on the pressure sensor, and immediately triggered the death trap again.

  • • • • • •

  The team hurtled for the exit. Addison appreciated that Boris decided to run in the same direction this time. What he did not appreciate was when Boris grabbed Addison by the leg, sending them both crashing to the ground. He watched the rest of his team safely escape the chamber. The ceiling continued crushing down, with the stone door grinding shut. Addison kicked his leg but could not detach himself from Boris. He had only seconds left before the door was sealed tight. In desperation, Addison took Sir Frederick’s helm and tossed it down the tunnel, past Boris. The big Russian released Addison and lunged for the relic. Addison, now in possession of both his legs, scrambled through the closing door. It clamped on his back like a pair of jaws. Raj, Molly, and Eddie grabbed Addison by his arms and yanked him out like a loose tooth. He rolled free, and the great stone door ground shut.