The Noah Reid Series: Books 1-3: The Noah Reid Action Thriller Series Boxset

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  “But are you able to attract donors? We are not going to give ‘first in’ money. We have to do our due diligence. It’s our fiduciary responsibility to our investors and donors,” says Byron. “Moreover, your budget of one hundred and fifty million dollars is unrealistic for our organization. Could you lower it to fifty?”

  Queenie doesn’t miss a beat. “We could, but that would mean we could not buy five floors but just the two we are presently occupying.”

  “If you could do that, we are willing to consider putting up half the funding.”

  Noah has been biting his tongue the whole time and he is biting it now. Listening to these blowhards reminds him of exactly why the Chad Huang Foundation was formed. So that people that had a great idea wouldn’t have to deal with idiots like those that are in this room. For him, the bullshit meter reading in this room is off the charts and his next gambit is going to make it go higher.

  Noah jumps in. “I am also here doing my due diligence. When Olivia came here a few weeks ago, she constantly apprised me of the situation and I gave a verbal commitment subject to personal inspection.”

  Noah stares directly at the three mickey mousers. “I can’t stand guys like you. This is a great idea. The people to put it together are in place, and you want to kill them with paperwork and bureaucratic bullshit. And on the off-chance you do decide to give them a few bucks, you’re going to constantly monitor them, which will essentially kill off the creative spirit with which this group is founded. I want them to go into this fully funded so they can concentrate on the job they want to do and not worry about the next payments. You are either going to match the dough that we are putting in or I’m going to make a call to a few of my other friends. There is no end of organizations that will pony up, especially when they find out we are involved.”

  Scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. It’s been a business model for thousands of years.

  Jeff, who has been silent so far, speaks up. “I appreciate your enthusiasm and willingness to support the New Amsterdam Arts Center, Mr. Reid. However, please remember, to date we have not had the same kind of ongoing discussion with them as you have had. If the Chad Huang Foundation were in fact to commit support, that of course confers immediate legitimacy. However, a key component of their application is the purchase of the studio and part of the building that it’s housed in. Naturally, we understand real estate, but a recording studio is something that none of us here knows anything about. We would definitely want to see it before we make a decision. And we will not budge from a total donation of more than 25 million.”

  Twenty-five million is not seventy-five, but it’s better than a kick in the shorts. Noah can’t argue with that. He looks to Olivia who looks to Queenie. She makes a quick phone call. “Good morning, Jonny ... yes, I know it’s early but I have some potential donors that would like to examine the studios ... 5:30 today? Let me check.”

  She looks around the room and sees nods of agreement. “5:30 is good. See you then.”

  CLICK. “That’ll be the end of the business day, and after that we can have a celebratory dinner,” says Queenie.

  “Noah,” Byron says, “I just want to confirm that I am not wasting my time. If we’re in, you’re in. Is that right?”

  “Yes and no. Even if you’re not in, the foundation is still good to go.”

  “And we will cement this by end of the presentation today?”

  “Assuming the presentation this afternoon goes according to plan. That’s why I’m in New York.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Outside the building, Noah, Olivia and Queenie have a quick conference.

  “Should I bring Abby tonight?” asks Olivia.

  “Definitely. Did you see those old lechers staring at you and me? Sex sells and the more sex, the better.”

  “What about Wangdan?”

  “Is he part of your package, Noah? None of those guys are gay, so if we don’t need him, just leave him be.”

  “You seem a little testy, Queenie,” remarks Noah.

  “I hate dealing with guys like the Manhattan group. They know they’ve got me over a barrel and they’re only in for twenty-five.”

  “Twenty-five million is a lot of money, Queenie,” says Olivia.

  “I asked for a hundred and fifty. Real estate in New York isn’t exactly cheap and it’s going up. I’m going to try again and see if I can get them to bump it back up.” Queenie stares directly at Noah. “If I can get the budget increased, will you still match?”

  “It will be the biggest deal we’ve done but yes, we are willing to commit. I like you, I like the concept,” says Noah. And if there’s any way to leverage this back to a deal with Olivia, I’d like it even more.

  However, cold water gets thrown on Noah’s hopes when Olivia gently says, “Noah. This does not change things for you and me.”

  “Of course not. I’m excited for the same reasons you are.”

  “I just wanted to let you know up front,” says a relieved Olivia.

  “I’m here because of you, not for you,” says Noah, hoping his lie doesn’t show on his face.

  “You really are a nice guy, Noah.”

  Yeah and nice guys finish last. “It’s for the kids. It’s a great cause.”

  “Speaking of the kids, how long would it take before we get the funds?” asks Queenie.

  Noah turns to Olivia. “You have a better idea of funds timing than I do. What do you think?”

  “If it’s seventy-five, it will take five business days. Less money, less time. You could probably get twenty-five in three.”

  “But what if Byron doesn’t come through?” asks Queenie.

  “For a project this size, we would want someone local to have skin in the game too so the money will not be released until matching funds are committed,” says Noah.

  “I’ll be watching your back, Noah,” says Olivia. “The foundation could do it by itself. You don’t need their money.”

  “Let me think about that one.”

  “I think there’s a conversation happening under the conversation that I shouldn’t be part of. See you all at 5:30 at Skyscape. Ciao.” Queenie hops in a cab and takes off.

  ***

  Queenie immediately makes a call.

  “Hello,” says the familiar Chinese male voice.

  “I need 75 million dollars fast,” says Queenie.

  “I don’t have that kind of cash to commit,” says the voice on the phone.

  “It’s a temporary loan. I will give it back,” says Queenie on her cell.

  “No. And even if I had the money, I wouldn’t lend it to you.”

  “How about 25?”

  “No.”

  “What am I going to do then? Noah won’t give the funds until I show that I actually have matching funds in hand or bona fide commitments.”

  “You keep telling me about your rich friends. Tap one of them.”

  Queenie groans. “Do you think a drug dealer, money launderer or casino owner is going to lend anyone that kind of coin?”

  “Give them a piece of the action.”

  “They are worse than you.”

  Insult ignored, there are moments of thoughtful silence.

  Then, a carefully considered thought. “You have learned some valuable information. The money is accessible and it is readily available. Work with that. If you are hunting elephants, use an elephant gun.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means if the situation says to take no prisoners, you need to have prisoners to start with. And the more valuable the prisoners, the more likely you are to get what you want. Push the most valuable asset you have and play it for all it’s worth. But don’t kill it. Dead golden geese don’t lay any eggs. Or just as bad—they become distractions. You know Noah’s soft spot. But think about it. You don’t need to have the matching funds first if you can just force the money out of him.”

  Click.

  Okay. Who’s got Noah’s ear? Olivia and Wangdan
. Olivia’s on my side pretty well. Wangdan ... he’s a damn pain in the ass.

  An idea starts germinating. Brawn and brain. She’s taken care of the brains part. Now ... If Queenie’s going to pull this off, she’d better start working the phones. What the hell?

  Sleep is a stupid habit anyway.

  Another phone call. “Alexei, have you got anyone you can lend me right now for an hour?”

  The Russian accented voice responds, “Anything for you. How’s the shipment coming?”

  “Everything’s cool.”

  “I haven’t been able to find Hassan. Thought he might be with you.”

  “Haven’t seen him for a while. I think he’s mad at me because I won’t put out for him.”

  “You got good taste. So what is it you need?”

  Dodged a bullet. “Something you’re good at.”

  ***

  Wangdan has been in Central Park since 6 a.m. The first two hours were spent by Turtle Pond in mindful meditation. His soul has been troubled for months and the time in New York is exacerbating this feeling of uneasiness, that something is wrong. He has no insight into the problem. Is it his physical surroundings? Is there something he has done? Is it something that is happening to him? Is it a time of life? Or possibly some combination of these or something completely different? He has no insight but feels the only thing that could bring clarity is for him to focus on being, on nothingness. It may take a few minutes, a few hours, or days but eventually—or hopefully—the clouds will be lifted.

  After the time of meditation, he walks through the park. Not seeing anything, he focuses on trying to find answers.

  One key issue is Abby. The awakening sexuality in the former monk gives him the same feelings of desire that Dr. Lisa Mah, doctor of Traditional Chinese Medicine and snake venomologist, gave birth to. Although Lisa tried to kill him, eventually she turned into his savior, sucking in the poison of a snake, sacrificing herself to save him. It was at that moment he knew his days as a monk were over. Before coming to the park, he spent some time on the Internet searching “Abby Sung.” There were over four thousand potential sites to explore so he kept drilling down.

  He was astounded at the speed of communication—someone had already posted pictures of last night at Café du Music up on Facebook. There are pictures of Abby up onstage with Olivia and Benjamin as well as pictures of him, Noah and others in the crowd.

  But there was another picture posted that he found disturbing. Wangdan didn’t notice this person at the club because the man was facing the opposite direction and sitting a few tables behind him. Although it was dark and the images are unclear, this Facebook photo shows someone who resembles the Good Samaritan who helped the gorilla after his fight with Wangdan. While he’s standing up and clapping, Samaritan doesn’t seem to be looking at the stage. He seems to be looking at Wangdan and Noah.

  Is that a coincidence or is there something more? What is the connection?

  Walking through Central Park, there have been so many crazy sights and people that Wangdan has stopped paying attention. First there was a crazy dressed up as Big Bird from Sesame St. There was a trio of white supremacist neo-Nazis drinking and screaming obscenities at him as he passed. There were zookeepers trying to chase down an escaped peacock ... all kinds of crazy stuff happening, so he doesn’t pay particular attention when a couple of street people pass by, pushing a shopping cart.

  That’s exactly what the supposed street people, Dima and Boris, hope for. As soon as they pass Wangdan, Boris takes out a small club hidden underneath the blankets in the shopping cart. A quick blow to the head and Wangdan is knocked out.

  Boris and Dima put Wangdan into the shopping cart and push him half a mile to their panel truck. Two Russkis pushing a sleeping Chinaman in a shopping cart. A little weird? Yes, but then again, this is New York.

  ***

  Noah and Olivia walk down the street. At 10:30 a.m., the city is now wide awake. Shops are open, sidewalks are full of people in a hurry, and the din is overpowering. Not exactly conducive to a private conversation.

  “Olivia, can we talk?”

  “I don’t think so ... I ... I might cry and then do something really foolish.”

  “Being with me is foolish?”

  “No, being on the rebound is foolish.”

  “You’ve got someone else that you were with?”

  “Not someone else. It’s myself.” Olivia stops in the middle of the pavement and faces Noah. “Did you know that being a musician was my life’s dream? When Abby and I were on stage at Café du Music the other night … If I had died that night, I would have been happy because I had fulfilled a dream. And then, to be told that no matter how good I was, it would never be enough ... I’m in mourning, Noah.”

  “I’d be happy to work through it with you. I want to work through it with you.”

  She shakes her head. “For me right now, the road less traveled needs to be traveled alone ... I need space.”

  Noah turns his head away. “Shall I come at 5:30?”

  “Of course. We need you there. That part is business, Noah. Let’s not mix them.”

  Suddenly, an SUV comes screeching to a stop beside them. The side door opens and a huge bald guy grabs Olivia and drags her inside.

  “Noah!” screams Olivia.

  But before Noah can respond, the door slams and the SUV takes off.

  Talk about a crazy driver—try navigating through New York during the business day.

  The sports utility vehicle guns through a red light, avoiding a FedEx delivery truck but sideswiping a cab in the intersection.

  Noah takes off after the SUV, trying to wend his way through the crowded sidewalk. However, there’s just too many people so he starts running in the street, avoiding honking cars and causing others to slam their brakes to miss him.

  The SUV is disappearing from sight so Noah hops up onto the hood of a driving car and then hops from vehicle to vehicle to advance. Some are moving, some are stationary. Lots of nasty looks from drivers, cheers from sidewalk observers.

  Seeing a short stretch of empty asphalt, Noah jumps off the Hummer he’s on and begins to run, focused on the SUV.

  Bad mistake. A car coming out of an alley doesn’t see Noah racing in front of him and hits the speeding runner.

  Two decades of sharply honed martial arts instincts come into play. Noah senses the danger the moment the car impacts him and immediately leaps into the air. He comes down hard on the top of a parked car, smashing its windshield. Miraculously, Noah has nary a scratch.

  He sees the SUV whipping around the corner. He gets off the car and re-doubles his efforts to catch up to it.

  ***

  Inside the SUV, one thug, Dima holds Olivia while the driver, Boris, keeps one hand on the steering wheel and uses the other to rifle through her purse.

  “Damn. There’s only a hundred and fifty bucks in here. What’s wrong with you, Dima?”

  Dima throws back. “Hey Boris. You said look for rich looking bitches. These are real designer clothes she’s got. No fakes here. No Walmart on this lady.”

  Boris looks at Olivia’s driver’s license. “What’s this? This girl’s from Hong Kong. Olivia Southam. Hey, Dima, this is our lucky day. The only white people in Hong Kong are rich expats or expensive hookers. We will make money or we will have fun.”

  Suddenly, there is a thud on the top of the roof. Noah has landed. Trying to stay stable on the roof by lying down, he leans over the driver’s side windshield.

  Seeing Noah, Boris starts swerving, trying to shake the intruder off.

  Noah punches through the window and grabs Boris’s hand on the steering wheel. Noah takes a firm grip, trying to keep the steering wheel steady.

  No such luck. Even with Noah holding the steering wheel, the driver is able to rapidly jerk it right and left, right and left, and the wobbly movement throws Noah off the vehicle’s roof.

  As he falls, Noah reaches through the driver’s window with the other hand an
d now he has both hands on the steering wheel.

  Boris starts pounding on Noah’s arms, trying to get him to release the wheel by breaking his arms.

  Noah screams as loudly as he can in Chinese, “Wěn tā!” Kiss him!

  Olivia yells back, “Hǎo!” Okay!

  Olivia is more than just a spoiled, rich, piano-playing ex-lawyer. Being the daughter of a martial arts master, there was no way that Garret was not going to include Shaolin training as part of her upbringing. While these are talents rarely exercised, when needed, Olivia is almost as lethal as any tenth degree black belt.

  “No Chinese,” snarls Boris.

  “No Chinese? How about French?” says Olivia. She leans over and plants a kiss on Boris’s lips and starts to move her tongue through his mouth. The shocked Russian lets down his guard for just a moment—exactly what Noah hoped would happen.

  An opportunity that Olivia seizes upon. With her face next to his, Olivia claps her hands hard over Boris’s ears.

  Boris roars in pain then throws one mother of a mitt at Olivia.

  She agilely ducks, then launches a straight arm with a balled fist at her captor’s head.

  This bounces off him like water off a duck’s back and he grabs her arm.