He turned from the photo to the large open suitcase sitting beside him on the bed. It was chock-full of bundles of currency from all nations, though primarily from China, Canada and the United States. He picked up one of the bundles and estimated that it must contain at least twenty thousand bucks in that one sheaf. How many generations of pain were here?
Abby popped in unannounced and was shocked to see the cash. “Where did that money come from, Papa?”
“Oh, that. From one of the casinos. I picked it up last night for a deposit this morning.” He sighed. “Problem with being the boss. Sometimes, you got to do the grunt work.”
He quickly closed the suitcase and asked jovially, “How about some of your famous pancakes for breakfast today?”
“Pancakes?” asked Abby. “I haven’t made them in years.”
“But the memory of your delicious recipe has stayed with me forever.”
Abby, biting her tongue, fixed her gaze for a moment, but her father didn’t take the bait.
“You want maple syrup or blueberry sauce?”
“Let’s go wild today. Maple syrup with extra, extra butter. And bacon.”
“That’s not good for your heart, but sure, why not?” She turned around and left, her face asking a hundred unspoken questions.
There is a whole lot of stuff that is not good for my heart. Tommy put his head in his hands.
Chapter 9
It’s 8:09. God, I hope nobody missed me. Noah raced from the elevator to the Pittman Saunders Conference Hall. The room was packed, and Garret was at the podium, pontificating. Even with standing room only, he saw a spot behind Olivia and sneaked in behind her. He noticed that every male in the room was wearing a tailored, conservative, navy-blue suit or a tailored, conservative gray suit. He felt out of place in his off-the-rack, clearance-priced Men’s Wearhouse special that he bought in Marina del Rey just before hopping on the plane.
There were one hundred seventy lawyers jammed into a room built to hold one hundred fifty. The veterans paid polite attention while the twenty newbies hung on every word Garret spoke. Garret’s voice had a dominating authority that matched his physical presence. With eyes like steel, every aspect of his being announced, “This is a man who leads.”
“Unprecedented growth. Unlimited potential and extremely difficult but immensely rewarding work. When I started at Pittman Saunders, there were three lawyers and a secretary. Now we have two thousand lawyers in twelve worldwide offices. As senior partner and managing director for the Asia Pacific region, I welcome you to realize the unbelievable and to achieve the impossible. To enter new cultures and experiences that will challenge every fiber of your existence. At Pittman Saunders, we don’t climb mountains; we conquer them.”
Every person in the room rose and applauded like loud automatons. Garret motioned for them to sit down.
“To the newest members of our family, I say be prepared for the ride of your lives. That you are here means that you are among the best of the brightest new minds in the world. Welcome. I look forward to meeting each one of you personally. At Pittman Saunders, we exemplify hard work and, above all, integrity. That’s the Pittman Saunders way. That is my way.”
The lawyers rose again, this time shouting “GAR-RET, GAR-RET,” as the senior lawyer left the stage.
Not stopping his applause, Noah leaned over to Olivia. “He’s got to be the biggest stuffed shirt in an office full of stuffed shirts.”
Olivia kept looking straight ahead, but there was a hint of a smile on her face. Noah noted it, and then continued. “Gotcha. You like that, do you?”
Olivia’s lips didn’t budge, but it seemed to Noah that her slight smile was becoming a grin.
“And now I have to go meet Mr. Senior Partner, the managing director for the Asia Pacific region,” groaned Noah.
Noah saw Garret waving in his direction. Noah waved back and turned to Olivia. “Did you see that? He waved at me. I think I made a good impression.”
Olivia smirked. He was waving at me, idiot. Aloud, she said, “You probably made a great impression. Maybe as good as the one as you made in the elevator.”
Chapter 10
A tropical rainforest had been recreated in a cavernous warehouse-like space with thirty-five-foot-high ceilings. There were towering green bamboo stalks with two-inch trunks; colorful moss and lichen hanging down in strings of orange, red and purple from mangrove trees; and low thick-leaved grasses for ground cover. Torches, sporadically placed on the walls, created shadows that poked through the cavities in the flora.
In the moody light, Chin stood at one end of the fifteen-hundred-square-foot clearing of red clay floors. Clothed only in a loincloth, his remarkable physique showed rippling abs, biceps like granite and forearms like steel rods. There was not a gram of excess fat anywhere on his body.
With sounds of tropical birds tittering, animals bellowing and a devilish-sounding chanting in an unknown language pervading the air, there was the feel of impending evil about to descend upon the earth.
Six henchmen carried a caged tiger to the opposite side of the clearing from where Chin stood. Snarling, snapping, pacing and trying to bite through the bars to get at its handlers, the feline was bigger and more ferocious than the one Chin conquered at the airport. The animal roared loudly at the resolute, dour-faced Chin.
Chin barked, “Open the door! Now!”
Duke, Chin’s son, a chunky, muscular twenty-five-year-old Asian hulk with a Mohawk, opened the door and quickly got out of the way. Father and son couldn’t be more different. Duke had the appearance, approach and demeanor of a junkyard dog, whereas Chin, the ferocious psychopath, still maintained heritage elements of choreographed Shaolin mastery.
The tiger, seeing freedom, bounded out the open door and ran directly at Chin. The beast leapt in the air, jaws wide open, ready to take a chomp out of the gangster. Its pent-up anger manifested itself with an ear-splitting, full-throated cry of defiance, and its paws stretched out, prepared to claw anything in its path.
As the tiger neared, Chin’s arms bolted to fight-ready position. He ran toward the tiger, yelling with Bruce Lee’s signature animalistic scream. Both leapt at the same time. In midair, Chin’s arms jackhammered the feline’s eyes, face and mouth, breaking the tiger’s nose and causing a contusion in the tiger’s right eye. Nose and eye spurted blood as man and beast fell to the floor, landing on their feet.
The infuriated bleeding beast circled Chin, repeatedly thrusting a dangerous paw in his new enemy’s direction. Each time, though, Chin deftly knocked the tiger’s foot from harm’s way. The foes locked eyes, neither willing to give up or exhibit even the smallest hint of weakness. Chin rotated as the tiger circled him, bellowing as it flashed teeth and fangs.
Suddenly, the tiger exploded into the air. In less than two seconds, it went from almost zero to forty miles an hour as it rocketed toward Chin. Roaring and gnashing its teeth, it landed on the man, who needed every ounce of wit, concentration and strength to avoid the tiger’s claws trying to gouge his body to bits and the animal’s jaws trying to sever his head.
But Chin needed more than muscle to stay alive. If it were simply a matter of muscle versus muscle, the tiger would be victorious in moments. But Chin had an advantage over the tiger. The tiger’s thinking was linear and entirely concentrated on using its direct brute force to achieve its goal. Chin’s secret weapon was to think outside the box, to use an element of surprise.
The tiger lunged again at Chin, but now, instead of resisting—the normal response—Chin allowed the momentum of the tiger to surge over him and push him to the floor, a totally unexpected response. The tiger momentarily lost focus, allowing Chin to deliver a series of bone-crunching blows to the tiger’s head. Rolling on the ground, the incensed brute was in absolute agony but remained relentless in its attack. The man was equal to the task, deflecting each attack. He gained the upper hand over the weakened animal, breaking several of its ribs with lightning kicks to the abdomen.
Chin triumphantly lifted the beast over his head, whirling it around in a dizzying fashion like a figure skater executing his spins. He spun faster and faster until finally, after releasing a scream that could be heard in Hell, he threw the tiger right across the clearing and into the cage it was delivered in. The incensed animal roared and with redoubled effort charged back at Chin, ready to tear him apart.
Again, the unexpected. Chin held his ground, and a fraction of a second before the tiger arrived, he quickly side-stepped and locked his left arm around the tiger’s neck. The tiger tangled its legs with Chin’s, and the two locked in mortal combat as the tiger ferociously snapped at his opponent, trying to free itself from Chin’s lock and trying to plant its teeth into any available part of his body.
With a swift, unexpected motion, Chin, like a ruthless automaton, hammered the tiger on its already broken and bleeding nose with a twisted fist. The tiger spread its mouth wide, but Chin used his left hand to grab the debilitated tiger’s mandible and his right to grab the tiger’s upper jaw, preventing the tiger from clamping its canines into his flesh. There was a sickening CRACK! as Chin pulled the animal’s mouth apart. Chin’s arms blasted at the tiger’s temples like jackhammers with Herculean force, knocking the beast out cold.
Chin lingered over the unconscious, heavily breathing predator and slowly wrenched its neck to the point of breaking. He stopped and gave the feline’s fallen form a kiss. Chin was bruised and bleeding, but he was alive, and he was a conqueror.
As Duke came over and toweled his father down, Pau, a tall, thin man of enormous strength, carried in a large crate with the inscription JASMINE TEA—GOLDEN ASIA TRADING COMPANY. Chin motioned for Pau to pry the lid off the box. The man scurried off and quickly returned with a crowbar. He pried open the lid to reveal a layer of fragrant, luscious green tea.
Chin rifled through the tea. He pulled out a false bottom, revealing an enormous cache of cash of all nationalities. From the way it was packed, it was likely from the same source as that found in Tommy’s suitcase. A hint of a smile curled Chin’s mouth. This man was on a first-name basis with death—and wealth on the level of the largest cartels.
“Not bad for a day’s work.”
Chapter 11
The upper floor of Grandmaster Wu’s studio was where the aging sifu lived. Not elaborate or ostentatious, the living quarters appeared quite simple. The walls were plain and unadorned, and the floor was made of concrete. There was no furniture save a thirty-foot-long rosewood table that had a huge tiger carved into the wood on one half and an equally large crane carved into the other half. Chairs were unnecessary because, at a height of only fifteen inches, the table was so low that one had to sit cross-legged on the floor to use it. In other words, it seemed to be a simple Shaolin monk’s quarters matching the lifestyle of its owner.
That was unless one looked a little more closely. The huge tabletop was seamless in its grain, meaning that it was cut from a single tree, making it rare and even more valuable. Because they were carved directly into the wood, the details of the tiger and crane were not immediately obvious. Close examination showed the fine attention of a master craftsman—every feather of the bird was unique as was each whisker of the tiger. Rather than the ordinary depth of an eighth of an inch, the depth of carving was almost half an inch, giving a multi-dimensional quality to the animals.
The tea set was another understated marvel. From the Yixing region of China, it was made of rare purple clay from the Yellow Dragon Cave and dated back almost three hundred years. There was no design or writing engraved on the teapot and, to the uninitiated, it was not useful—it was too small—and definitely not worth showing to anyone because it was so plain. To those who knew, however, this set was a tea connoisseur’s dream. The pot had been aged and coated so that tea served had maximum flavor and color retention.
How did these treasures arrive? Certainly not from the fees that Wu had charged down through the years. In his entire life, he had never turned away a student and never charged any that came, not even a cent. But he could have charged a fortune. He himself was trained at one of the great centers of the Shaolin, the legendary and mystical monastery, Heaven. He was there for almost twenty years and not only learned technique, but also the history, the raison d'être.
By the time he left, Wu’s knowledge of Hung Gar was nonpareil. Just as the monks of Heaven never charged him, Wu promised that he would never turn away any student because of finances.
This was not exactly the best business model in the world, but Wu lived by it. While most students simply took advantage of Wu’s generosity, others shared their own good fortune with their sifu. Knowing that Wu had little need or desire of material possessions, they made sure that whatever he had, it was the best available.
Once upon a time, Tommy was Master Wu’s student. Now, he sat with Wu, indulging in a cup of tea from the valuable tea set. There was a plain-wrapped parcel about the size of a shoebox on the table.
“Open it,” encouraged Tommy.
Master Wu unwrapped the plain package. It is pu-erh black tea. “You should save your money. This is fifty years old.”
“I don’t need money where I am going.”
Master Wu poured tea into two tiny cups and handed one to Tommy.
Tommy took a sip. His voice dipped to a murmur. “Freedom has been elusive. It has always been just another step away... and then another... and another.”
Wu looked at Tommy sadly. “We make our own prisons, but we can always escape if we truly want to.”
“Would the honorable man do that?” questioned Tommy. It was an ironic question because Tommy’s life had been anything but honorable. “I chose the road I traveled. I chose my traveling companions. And we have all failed you and failed The Way.”
Wu shook his head. “The river always flows to its destiny, to its freedom.”
Tommy poured another cup of tea. “Grandmaster, Sifu, you know I am right.”
“It is not your fault. It is mine. I taught you improperly.”
“You taught us well. It was we who were wrong. There must be justice.”
“It is not too late,” said Wu.
Tommy exhaled. “You know that this is the final step, but I have a concern. Noah. I worry about him.”
Wu nodded. “Not as much as I do.”
“The fire will devour him.”
“Or there is a chance that it will liberate him,” opined the aged master. “He will lose his virginity soon enough.”
The stress of gnawing, impending danger weighed heavily in Tommy’s voice. “Something has happened. You don’t sound completely confident.”
Wu looked down at the table. The fingertips of each hand began tapping the corresponding fingertips of the other. “He got soft in America. He has lost his edge. When we sparred, I could have beaten him blindfolded.”
Tommy smiled. “Is there anyone you couldn’t beat? That’s hardly a judgment against him.”
Wu gripped his fingers tightly. “He was late for work on the first day of his job.”
Tommy’s pulse quickened. “Garret didn’t tell me that. That is not promising.”
“There are so many details, so many things where the slightest slip...”
Tommy interrupted. “But there is no choice but to do it now. We can never be completely ready.”
Wu’s fingertips began tapping again. “I hope that I have not failed you.”
“Master, remember you also taught us that ‘The river will flow where it must go.’ Nothing we do can change it.”
Silence fell on both master and disciple as each one brooded on the same unvoiced meditative thought.
We may not change anything, but we can die trying.
Chapter 12
Olivia strode briskly down the long corridor of the Pittman Saunders office with Noah following.
“Hey, hey. Wait up,” said Noah. “How about a little bit of meaningful conversation?”
Olivia kept truckin’. “So what do y
ou know about the Orient, Mr. Hung Gar, second-degree black belt?”
“Wow, you remembered. I made an impression. Am I ever glad to hear you speak. I was beginning to think you didn’t like me.”
Olivia stopped abruptly, and Noah walked right into her, knocking her down. “Oops.”
He offered his hand to help her up but she spurned the offer.
“I’m madly in love with you, can’t you tell?” said the blonde, brainy beauty.
“I was born and raised in Shanghai for the first part of my life and then moved to Hong Kong,” Noah told her. “The school my parents set up gives scholarships to anyone who can’t afford tuition. Or it did until they died.”
Olivia tried to hide that she’s somewhat intrigued. “Do-gooders are stupid.”
“No worries there. I am very evil. My evilness IQ is off the charts.” He fluttered his eyelashes at her.
Oh, brother, not another one, she thought, stifling a giggle.
They continued down the hall. With over seven hundred staff, this was one big-ass office.
“I’m Noah Reid. And you are?”
“Olivia.”
Noah waved his hands in a circular motion. “Continue. Olivia who?”
“Olivia Novak.”
“You’re Czech?”
“Give yourself a gold star,” she said sarcastically.
They arrived at the door to Garret’s office. Olivia turned, reached over Noah’s shoulder and adjusted the tie around his collar.
“Hey, what are you doing? I spent all morning trying to look good,” protested Noah.
She took a compact mirror out of her purse and showed him the exposed portion of the tie. Putting the compact away, she tucked the offending bit of tie under the shirt collar.
The Noah Reid Series: Books 1-3: The Noah Reid Action Thriller Series Boxset Page 9
