“That’s no big deal about ‘the Lord providing.’”
Noah shakes his head. “No, they were pretty whack. We didn’t have a lot of money. Sometimes, we said grace for a meal even though there was nothing on the table.”
“And?”
“Food always came. We’d pray sometimes for an hour or two, but sooner or later, something would show up.”
“You prayed for two hours? How often would that be?” asks Olivia in a tone that says I hope you’re not planning for me to do this.
“Um, well… at least once or twice a month.”
“You’re right. Your parents were whack. So is that why you don’t care about money?”
“Who said I don’t care about money? I do. Just not a whole lot.”
“Well, you better start because our kids are gonna be brought up the way I was. They’re going to have an ahma, private schools and tutors in everything from math to ping-pong to piano. Horseback lessons, vacations in Europe. Got that?”
“I didn’t have any of that.”
“Yes, and look how you turned out.”
“Hey, what’s wrong with me?”
“Don’t get me started, Noah Reid. You should be thankful I married you.”
Noah looks at Olivia—she’s dead serious.
***
Chin looks at his computer monitor where he sees Noah and Olivia getting back into the limo. He’s had them tailed since they were in New York.
The stranger seated behind them on the plane to Hong Kong was a plant of his, hired to listen in on the conversation between the two, hoping to get a sense of their schedule and direction. The plant made the joke about the morbidity of their conversation because he sensed that Noah might have thought that he was trying to listen in. The joke put the foundation president at ease.
Asia is Chin’s home turf, and it is no problem for him to track the couple’s itinerary without detection. The thought of bombing their plane in the private airport where Olivia’s mother’s plane had been blown up would have been poetic, but Chin resisted.
In these days of public terrorist attacks and bombings, investigative work would be dogged, and there might be a way to trace their deaths to him. Chin can’t afford that risk.
No, better just to keep tracking them on their journey to Shanghai until there’s an opportunity for a more remote rendezvous.
While Noah and Olivia were looking at the hospital, someone on the street accidentally dropped a Chinese egg tart by the back of the Reids’ limo. She discreetly hid a tracking device on the rear bumper.
***
It’s a bit off the beaten path, but they travel to the former Jewish ghetto of Shanghai. It’s an old area—many apartments don’t have running water, witness the hoses in front of some of the buildings.
“Reminds me of parts of old Hong Kong,” says Olivia.
Noah nods. “Yeah. Master Wu’s studio was in an area like this. Actually, my family has lived in areas like this for a hundred years. What about your grandparents?”
“Mom’s side were Czech nationalists who were persecuted by the Russians. I don’t know how my grandparents got my mom out, but they did. I don’t know how they got out.”
Olivia shakes her head and sighs. “Racism runs in my family. My grandparents on my dad’s side disowned him when he ran away from England to Hong Kong. They could never accept that their son ‘went Chinaman.’ I never met any of my grandparents, and with Mom and Dad gone… ”
She looks with tender melancholy at Noah. “… There’s only you.”
The somber comment silences the conversation. There’s not another white face seen as the driver makes his way to their destination: the Shanghai Jewish Refugees Museum.
***
“Reminds me of the Holocaust Museum in DC,” says Olivia as they wander through the artifacts, photos and exhibits of Jewish refugees who had escaped Austria to come here. “Except these are the ones that made it.”
“Every time I have a chance, I come here when I visit Shanghai. My father, grandfather and great grandfather were all missionaries to China.”
“But this is a Jewish settlement.”
“Yeah, during WWII, there was a ton of people coming from Austria. You know this exhibit room we’re in?”
“Hard to miss. Says, Dr. Feng Shan Ho everywhere.”
“My grandfather helped him out. He knew a little bit of German and was able to teach refugees enough Chinese to function here.”
“That’s why your dad became a teacher?”
“Yeah.”
“So what happened to you?”
“I hated school. Because when your father is the headmaster, principal and chief disciplinarian, you have to be made an example of.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You never had to work for your dad.”
“No, but every time I visited him, almost everybody in the office would say, ‘Are you going to be a lawyer like your dad, Olivia?’”
“That’s not so bad. So what made you become a lawyer?”
“It’s because of what everyone around me said when I was growing up. ‘Oh, Olivia’s so pretty. She’d never make it as a lawyer. She’s going find some rich guy and marry him and have ten kids and live happily ever after.’”
“How about we get started on the ten kids part?”
“I thought we were here to see JJ’s parents.”
“Right.”
***
Exiting the museum, the couple walks through the narrow lanes. Hundred-and-fifty-year-old homes line either side. Made of broken bricks and eroded concrete, but still standing, these narrow tenements used to house fifty Jewish refugees in a small flat. Now poor Chinese live here. There’s still no running water; communal kitchens are outside and honey pots are evident to the nose if not the eye.
The block of JJ’s parents is a little better. At least there’s a fruit store and a barber on the street.
Noah and Olivia step inside to an old rundown martial arts studio where JJ’s father, Sifu Wang, leads a class in hung gar, Tiger and Crane martial arts forms. He barks and leads eight preteen students in a series of drills as if he were the leading a master class of a hundred in the courtyard of a Shaolin temple in a Bruce Lee movie.
“Left, right, kick. Right, left, kick, down. Up, right, left… ”
Sifu Wang spots Noah and Olivia and nods. He turns to his class.
“That’s it for today. Will see you tomorrow.”
The students bow deeply to their master then dash out. Furtive glances shoot at Noah and Olivia. They are the first white people they’ve seen in this building. Aspiring monks or not, the boys can’t help but notice the gorgeous babe.
Noah and Olivia bow to the sifu.
“Please. Let’s have some tea.”
Olivia and Noah follow Sifu Wang up the flight of hundred-year-old stairs to the family residence.
***
What do you say to grieving parents, especially if you are responsible for their son’s death?
Nothing.
The Wangs conduct a Chinese tea ceremony, complete with tiny cups, hot water to rinse leaves and several rounds of drinking tea. All in silence.
Finally, Noah speaks. “I’m sorry, Sifu. I’m sorry, Mrs. Wang. It is my fault.”
The sifu shakes his head. He would be about Noah’s father age if the senior Reid were alive.
“There is nothing to be sorry about, Noah. My son is Shaolin. Shaolin are warriors, and there is nothing nobler for a Shaolin than to die a warrior’s death.”
Relief sweeps over Noah and Olivia. They had no idea what to expect.
“Did he suffer?” asks Mrs. Wang with a mother’s concern.
“In battle, you do not think of pain. You just do. Your son was a hero. He saved twenty young girls from prostitution.”
Noah takes out two urns from his carrying case.
“One of these belongs to your son, and the other belongs to the woman that he wanted to marry,” says Noah.
“JJ?” asks Sifu Wang.
“Oh, I forgot. Abby never knew your son as Wangdan. We always called him ‘JJ.’”
“Why did you do that?” puzzles Mrs. Wang.
“One of our colleagues said he needed an English name. JJ stands for ‘Jackie Junior.’”
“Like Jackie Chan?” asks Sifu Wang.
Noah nods. “Jackie Junior.”
“We will call him that, too,” states Sifu Wang. “Tell us about Abby.”
“Abby? Her father was Shaolin as well, just like my father. We were best friends since childhood. Neither of us wanted anything to do with martial artists, kung fu, hung gar, or Shaolin. Somebody has a sense of humor because that’s what we both got.”
“The Way is unpredictable. Sometimes, it gives us exactly what we ask for. Sometimes, it is exactly the opposite,” says Sifu Wang, eyes sparkling with intrigue.
“Abby has no family, so I brought her here. I… I thought she would want to be close to JJ.”
“Of course.”
“But what about their ashes?”
“We should keep his ashes here,” says Wangdan’s mother. “I want to be close to my son.”
“Mama, Wangdan—JJ—left because he had the heart of a warrior. He had a warrior’s spirit, and he died in battle,” murmurs Wangdan’s father with pain that far exceeds any martial arts match that he’s ever been in. “He should be in Heaven, just like the other masters and grandmasters.”
“But you know Heaven is no more,” cries the mother.
“The buildings are gone, yes. But the hearts of the monks are immortal. They will always guard the valleys, the mountainsides and glades.”
“What about Abby?” asks Olivia.
“If they cannot be together in life, they will be together in death,” says Sifu Wang.
***
With almost a quarter of China’s population as smokers and double that for the number of people with smartphones, it is nothing unusual to see a teenager smoking on the street underneath the open window of Sifu Wang’s studio, playing on his smartphone.
He’s been there for about twenty minutes, and no one, inside or outside, has paid any attention to him. After his third cigarette, he walks down the narrow street and disappears around the corner.
However, one of the cigarettes in the package in his shirt pocket is no ordinary cigarette, and the smartphone is no ordinary smartphone. The cigarette is a miniature, laser directional microphone, and the smartphone is a transmitter, which has beamed every word of the conversation in Wang’s apartment directly to Chin.
Chin has heard every word of the conversation in the Wang’s apartment.
This is a most difficult time for the Tiger Master, something few, if any, can understand. The problem in dealing with any psychopath is that they are driven by unknown motives, and Chin fits that profile.
He smiles. He has the information he needs.
Chapter 10
Sifu Wang and his wife have never been on a plane, let alone a helicopter. He has also not been back to Heaven, the Shaolin martial arts monastery in the Huangshan Yellow Mountains, since he left thirty years ago. There was no shame in his leaving. He had been there for over half of his twenty-eight years but realized that while he was dedicated to Buddhism, martial arts and The Way, he was not capable of making a lifetime commitment of chastity.
And now he’s going back for a final time. This time not as a single chaste monk but as a family man with a wife and a son.
Even Noah and Olivia, seasoned travelers, have their eyes glued to every visual morsel that the hundred-million-year-old mountain range offers.
“You’ve got the best job in the world, Henry,” says Olivia to the seasoned helicopter pilot. “Doing this every day.”
“Yes, but it’s the first time I’ve ever been here though. After ten years, I thought I’d been to all the monasteries out here.”
“It’s out of the way but not really hidden,” explains Sifu Wang. “You had to want to come here. Searching was part of the journey of The Way.”
Craggy granite peaks emerging over mystic seas of clouds, ancient, gnarled trees that somehow manage to grow out from the rocks, an occasional short wooden bridge, hints of steam rising from hot springs, ancient mountain monasteries. It’s no wonder that thousands of years of Chinese paintings have immortalized its alpine beauty,
“There it is!” shouts the Sifu.
And yes, far away and high on the side of a mountain, seeming to touch the sky, are the remnants of the humble monastery. Even in the distance, they can see giant boulders—some the size of small houses that have piled on to a few broken-down buildings. As they approach, Henry circles the chopper so that they can get a more comprehensive view of what was and now is.
Some of the huge rocks reside inside a twenty-foot crater as well as stone and wood debris. Getting closer, they can see parts of the shell of a helicopter; all this destruction is courtesy of powerful thermite grenades, unleashed by King, Chin’s son, on the unsuspecting mountain and its community.
Mrs. Wang tears up as she grips the urn of her son’s ashes. She will say her final goodbyes in just a few short moments, but suddenly there is the growing sound of another firebird in the sky.
A military-grade Sikorsky chopper, approaches the smaller Eurocopter and without warning, opens fire.
Onslaughts of bullets launch at their chopper, which quickly ascends to evade potential massacre. A quick look shows a gunman perched at the chopper’s open door.
The Sikorsky is persistent and much more powerful. It rises too and resumes its military-precision assault. The barrage of bullets continues, but the gunman is having a harder time positioning himself.
“Irregular movement!” commands Noah.
With both hands firmly on the controls, Henry jerks the Eurocopter randomly. Used to instability because of his martial arts background, Sifu Wang shifts his feet to keep balance and takes out five martial arts throwing stars.
He flings them at the Sikorsky.
One hits the helicopter on the side. No effect.
Three hit the helicopter blade. The propeller shreds the metal and starts sending bits of it at the gunman. It hits his hands. Even from their distance, they can see that they start to bleed.
The fifth star narrowly misses the gunman’s head.
“Got any more of those?” asks Olivia.
“I didn’t think I needed them. They were supposed to be for JJ's ceremony.”
Enraged, the gunner holds his weapon steady and fires an avalanche of bullets at the Eurocopter.
“I can handle that and more,” sneers Henry.
“No, no. Act like you’ve been hit!” yells Noah. “Fly me on top of their chopper. Go where the machine gun can’t get at us.”
The Eurocopter begins plunging and twirling right at the Sikorsky.
“Hang on!” shouts the pilot, an unnecessary instruction.
“Zig and zag.”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
Almost directly overhead, it’s an impossible angle for the Sikorsky’s gunner to aim at the Eurocopter.
Noah opens the door and stands at the doorway.
“What are you doing, Noah?” screams Olivia.
“Nothing,” says Noah. Then he leaps out of the Eurocopter and lands with a thud on top of the Sikorsky.
The impact rocks the big chopper, and it begins to sway.
It knocks Noah off balance, and he grabs at anything, but there’s nothing to hold onto.
He tries to dig his nails into the chopper’s skin, but it’s impossible to get a grip.
The pilot in the Eurocopter sees Noah’s dilemma and starts to dip toward the ground.
However, the machine gunner has restabilized and readies to fire again, but before he does, Noah sends his two shoes flying in through the open door.
One of them hits the ma
chine gun, and bullets spray harmlessly in the air.
The other hits the pilot in the back of the head, disorienting him just enough that he inadvertently jiggles the cyclic control, causing the chopper to shudder.
It’s just what Noah needs to reposition himself as he falls, and he pulls the machine gun off the sniper. As he drags the gunner down, Noah’s right hand quickly grabs him as he hoists himself inside.
Noah yanks the machine gun from the gunner and throws it out the door.
The chopper starts rocking erratically, the pilot hoping to shake Noah out. However, it’s not just Noah who is affected but also the gunner.
Both men rock back and forth in the metal bird. Constantly off balance, it’s impossible for any of the blows that Noah or the gunner throw to have any impact.
However, the gunner has one advantage that Noah doesn’t. He knew he was coming on a kill mission, and he is prepared.
The gunner takes out a huge knife and begins slashing at Noah. Noah bobs and ducks, but the gunner is relentless.
One aggressive launch cuts Noah on the ear. Only Noah’s incredibly fast reflexes in moving his head to the side stopped it from being severed.
Normally, Noah could make use of his acrobatic ability—handsprings, somersaults… But in this confined space, there just isn’t the room to perform these athletic tours de force.
Noah can’t keep avoiding the blade forever and decides the best defense will be offense.
Noah lunges at the gunner. The gunner puts the blade in front of his chest.
This is exactly what Noah wanted.
He drops down and takes the gunner out at his feet. The gunner lifts the knife to plunge it into Noah’s back, but Noah rolls over quickly, and there is a clang as metal blade hits metal floor.
Noah leaps up and elbows the gunner in the head, but this gunner has got one hard head.
RITUAL SACRIFICE: The Ultimate Alpha Female & Political Corruption on the West Coast (Noah Reid Action Suspense Thriller Series Book 5) Page 7
