Addison Cooke and the Ring of Destiny

by Jonathan W. Stokes

  Ivan’s men screamed like maniacs, hunting for Cookes from room to room.

  Raj shook Addison by the shoulder. “The smoke’s drifting. There’s fresh air this way!”

  Everyone followed Raj into a bathroom. It was little more than a stone bench with a hole in it. Above the bench was a stone shaft, worn by centuries, feeding fresh air and a trickle of water into the bathroom. Addison peered up the shaft and spotted footholds carved in the slanted rock.

  Molly was aghast. “The Templars’ escape was by climbing on top of the toilet?”

  Ivan’s men crashed their way through the dining room and into the kitchen.

  “Good enough for me,” said Addison. He scrambled onto the toilet and up the narrow water shaft, his dress shoes sliding on the slick stone.

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  The group climbed up the cramped chute. Russian voices echoing behind them sounded nightmarish in the tiny space.

  “Addison, this is horrendous!” Eddie whispered. “If I wanted to be hunted by madmen in a haunted catacomb, I would have stayed in Paris.”

  “I don’t know why you’re so disgruntled,” said Addison. “You should be happy to be alive. Imagine how annoyed you’d be if you were dead.”

  “For your information, I am not disgruntled—I am perfectly gruntled!” Eddie panted, huffing along on his hands and knees. “I am just pointing out that there are better ways to spend a winter vacation. That’s my two cents.”

  “Eddie, your two cents is not even worth one cent. You’ve gotten to see London, Paris, and Istanbul—for free.”

  Addison sensed a fresh breeze ahead. The shaft opened into a vast underground room the size of a football stadium. He climbed out of the narrow opening and splashed down into four feet of water. It was cold, but not as cold as the Paris sewer, and he was pleased to see the purple dye washing out of his clothes. He swam through the pool of water, his team crashing in behind him. They paddled past thick marble pillars and a dry wooden walkway.

  “Where are we?” asked Raj.

  “A Roman cistern,” said Addison. “They’re for storing water in case the city’s under siege. The ancient Romans built hundreds underneath Istanbul.”

  “It’s gigantic,” said Molly.

  It was one of the most beautiful places Addison had ever seen. A few torches reflected their flickering glow in the peaceful pools of water. The vast, shadowy room possessed the quiet, ageless calm of the inside of an Egyptian pyramid. The water went on for acres, supported by hundreds of massive marble columns.

  Eddie split the silence with a yelp and splashed to catch up with the group.

  “What’s the matter?” Addison asked.

  Eddie searched the water behind him. “I was just swimming over here and something came along and nudged me.”

  “Where?”

  “On the tuchas.”

  “No, where in the water?”

  “By that wooden walkway,” said Eddie. “Scared me half to death. Then it happened a second time.”

  Molly frowned. “Eddie, if you were scared half to death twice, you’d be all-the-way dead.” Before she could expand on this line of reasoning, she let out a yelp as well.

  Addison shone his penlight at the water and tried to peer through the reflected glare. The shadow of an enormous fish wriggled past. “Giant koi,” he said. “We’ll live.”

  Russian voices sounded from the tunnel.

  “Where do we hide?” Raj asked.

  Addison took a calming breath. “They’re going to fan out and search this whole place. There’s only one spot they won’t find us.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” said Eddie. “Where?”

  “Under their feet.”

  Addison turned around and swam back toward the wooden walkway built in the pool of water. He guided the team underneath the wooden beams.

  The Russian voices grew louder.

  “Are you sure about this?” whispered Molly, treading water under the walkway.

  “The trick to hiding in water,” said Raj, “is holding your breath. I can hold my breath for nearly a minute and a half.”

  “We know, Raj,” said Molly. “But that doesn’t help the rest of us.”

  “I prefer to keep breathing,” said Eddie, his voice rising. “It’s a habit of mine.”

  “Eddie, could you keep it down?” Addison whispered. “Somewhere there are some construction workers trying to jackhammer concrete, and they can’t hear themselves think.”

  Ivan and his team emerged from the shaft and splashed down into the water just a few feet away. Addison lowered himself into the water all the way up to his eyes and ears. He watched the men scramble up onto the wooden walkway and scan the cathedral-sized space. They spoke in hushed voices.

  Addison whispered to Eddie. “I want to know what they’re saying. Come with me—you have the best ears.”

  Eddie stared at him openmouthed. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “Not yet.” Addison tugged Eddie by the shoulder, and they drifted soundlessly through the water. Stealth training was a key part of Addison’s drills with Uncle Jasper. His uncle often tasked him with sneaking across the entire manor house undetected. This was easier said than done in a house as old and creaky as Runnymede. At first Addison had suspected that Uncle Jasper simply wanted more peace and quiet while he was in his study, but eventually, Addison saw the value in learning stealth. People are good at spotting movement, so the key to stealth is moving slowly and patiently.

  He and Eddie lapped quietly through the water, gazing up through the slats in the wooden walkway. Soon, Ivan was directly overhead, growling in Russian. Addison then heard a new voice that froze the breath in his lungs.

  The man’s voice was a harsh, raspy whisper, as if he had once spent a full night screaming and his throat had scarred and never recovered. Addison struggled to catch sight of the man’s face through the floorboards, but could only glimpse the pale, burn-scarred skin on the back of his neck below a wide-brimmed hat. Still, Addison knew who the mysterious figure must be. It was the man called Malazar . . . The Shadow.

  Addison listened intently to the Russian voices. It chilled him to know he was only three feet away from the man who had ordered the deaths of his aunt Delia and uncle Nigel. He quietly drew his notebook from his jacket pocket. It was soaked through, but he found a corner that was still dry. Pencil poised, he jotted down a word that Malazar mentioned repeatedly: “Cantoo.”

  Eddie listened carefully as well. He had a natural ear for languages. He took the pencil from Addison’s grip and added a second repeated word to the margin of Addison’s notebook. “Politsiya.”

  Addison suspected he knew what the second word meant. His fears were confirmed when the Turkish police arrived at the far entrance of the cistern, sealing off any escape.

  Malazar waved to the police officers and strolled down the wooden walkway to greet them. Ivan and his men spread out across adjoining walkways, searching the dark reaches of the reservoir.

  Addison listened to their overhead footfalls growing quieter, and beckoned to his team. Not even daring to whisper, he mouthed the words, Now’s our chance to escape.

  He knew the vast cistern must be fed by an aqueduct. He waded north, following the gently rippling current to its source. In the farthest corner of the reservoir, he scrambled up a slimy, moss-covered slope. Hip-deep in the rushing stream of water, he struggled against the rising rapids, his team behind him.

  Raj pointed to a manhole cover immediately overhead. With all his strength, Addison shoved the round iron cover aside, revealing daylight. He breathed a sigh of relief and began to climb out of the cistern. Addison had no idea his situation was about to get much, much worse.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Shrimp Cocktail

  ADDISON RAISED HIS HEAD through the manhol
e to peek outside, and immediately ducked to avoid the tire of a speeding truck. He was bewildered to discover himself in the middle of a busy Istanbul street. Roaring Vespa motorbikes zipped past, beeping their horns.

  The driver of a delivery van spotted Addison’s head poking out of the center lane of the road. The man mashed his brakes and swerved into a vender’s passing fruit cart. This caused an explosion of twisted metal and juiced fruit, and set off a chain reaction of fender benders and vender benders across Sultanahmet Square.

  Addison stared in guilty shock at the deafening chaos he had just unleashed on Istanbul. A single dented hubcap rolled up to Addison and scored a hole in one, falling into the open manhole.

  Somewhere deep below him, Eddie yelped. “Ouch, my head!”

  Addison spotted the Turkish police as they spotted him. The police blew their whistles, drew their batons, and sprinted for the open manhole. He called down the shaft. “Time to go!”

  Addison squirmed out of the manhole and legged it south, Molly, Eddie, and Raj racing after him. The Turkish police seemed to be in excellent shape. Addison could see his team was not going to outrun them. He needed to get his group off the streets. Swerving hard around a street corner, he led them into the front entrance of the Grand Sultan Hotel.

  The group stood for a minute on the red lobby carpet, dripping. There was gilt trim on the vaulted ceilings, and gold tassels on the starched uniforms of the hotel staff. Dazzling chandeliers illuminated the space in a warm, hazy glow. Addison raised his eyebrows—this was one classy establishment. He sized up his team: they were soaking wet, but at least they were no longer purple.

  “Addison,” said Molly. “What are we doing here?”

  “We just need a spot to lie low for a sec.”

  “In a five-star hotel?”

  “I wouldn’t settle for less.” Addison marched up to the front desk clerk. “Addison Cooke, pleasure to meet you.”

  The prim hotel clerk looked like he parted his hair with a laser. His suit was finely tailored down to the molecular level. He looked doubtfully down at Addison’s wet and bedraggled clothes. He swiveled his eyes over to Molly, Raj, and Eddie with even more concern. Still, these newcomers were clearly not Turks, and were therefore tourists. And tourists meant money. “How may I help you, sir?”

  Addison was pleased so many Turks spoke excellent English. “I’m visiting my good friend Vrolok Malazar,” he said breezily. “I forgot the old kook’s room number. Could you ring the good fellow and tell him I’m in the lobby?”

  “So, you are a friend of Mr. Malazar, no?”

  “That is correct,” said Addison. He was not a friend of Malazar’s, but luckily the clerk had phrased the question in the negative.

  “One moment, Mr. Cooke.” The desk clerk picked up his phone. Addison cocked an elbow on the countertop and watched closely as the man dialed room 901. That was all the info he needed.

  The clerk waited a few rings. “Mr. Malazar does not seem to be answering. Would you like me to leave a message for him?”

  “No, thank you. I’m hoping to surprise him.” Addison winked conspiratorially at the desk clerk. “I’ll take it as a favor if you don’t tell him I was here.”

  The clerk returned Addison’s wink and nodded sharply. He figured there might be a tip in it for him down the road.

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  Addison made for the exit.

  “How did you know this was Malazar’s hotel?” Eddie whispered.

  “It was logical,” said Addison. “He’s on the same quest we are, so he would grab the nicest hotel closest to the Hagia Sophia.” Once Addison was out of sight of the desk clerk, he hooked a right and shepherded his team down the main hallway. He had spotted Turkish police patrolling just outside the hotel’s revolving glass doors.

  “Where are we going, Addison?” asked Eddie.

  “Elevator bay.”

  “But we need to get to the fish shish kebab restaurant to meet Uncle Jasper’s operative,” said Molly.

  Addison checked the two remaining Rolexes on his wrist. “It’s too late. We can’t be out on those streets with the police everywhere. We just need to hide out for a tick until the police realize they have bigger fish to fry.”

  “Fish kebabs,” said Eddie longingly.

  Speed walking, the group zipped past the hotel’s main ballroom. A bedazzled sign advertised an international ballroom dance competition. Dancers of all ages in elegant tuxedos and elaborate gowns gave Addison’s bedraggled team a wide berth.

  Addison found the elevator and punched the button for the ninth floor. Glancing up at the brass floor indicator, he was pleased to see they’d be heading to the top of the hotel. “Malazar must have a nice room.”

  “Addison, what’s your plan, exactly?” asked Molly.

  “Remember how we evaded Malazar by hiding right under his nose?”

  Molly cast her mind back eleven minutes. “I think I remember that.”

  The elevator doors parted. Addison rushed inside, accidentally bumping a maid pushing a cleaning cart. “My apologies, madam!” He held the elevator door for her, bowed, and ushered his team inside.

  On the ninth floor, Addison found suite 901 right by the elevators. He casually leaned against the wall and crossed his feet at the ankles. “Top floor. The presidential suite.”

  Eddie examined the door lock. “Electronic card readers. I don’t know how to pick these.”

  “Not a problem,” said Addison. “I borrowed the all-access card from the maid.” He held up a key card with two fingers and dipped it into the door lock. The light flickered green and the door opened.

  “What if Malazar’s in there?” asked Eddie uncertainly.

  “He won’t be—the desk clerk just checked for us.” Addison held open the door.

  Eddie hesitated. “Are you sure this is a good idea?

  “It is not a good idea,” said Addison. “It is a great idea. Look, Malazar will be searching all of Istanbul for us. What’s the one place in Istanbul he won’t look?”

  Molly nodded. “His own room.”

  Addison grinned and beckoned them inside.

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  It had been a rough twenty-four hours, so Addison felt the team needed a morale boost. It took three room service waiters to wheel in the gargantuan amount of hotel food he ordered on Malazar’s tab. Addison called it the United Nations special: five Spanish omelets, four French omelets, three French toasts, seven orders of French fries, six strips of Canadian bacon, an English muffin, nine Belgian waffles, eight Vienna sausages, seven Prague hams, a Swiss chocolate fondue, a Russian salad, ten Danishes, two dozen Swedish meatballs, one Greek yogurt for Molly, a Sicilian pizza, a plate of Louisiana shrimp cocktail, a dozen Maine lobsters, some Boston baked beans, a Denver omelet, two New York cheesecakes, and a teeth-gratingly sweet dessert called Turkish delight that Addison—to his surprise—did not find at all delightful.

  After room service left the food piled in the living room of Malazar’s presidential suite, Addison stripped off and examined his still-wet jacket. He was distressed to see it had wrinkled up like a beige prune. There was nothing for it but to cross his fingers and drape it on the radiator to dry. He flopped down in an easy chair and kicked up his feet on an ottoman. It felt good to use an ottoman in the former Ottoman Empire. “Molly, be a good sister for once and bolt the front door—we don’t want any unexpected guests.”

  Molly locked the chain bolt and returned to the living room. “We should think about leaving.”

  “We’ve only just arrived.” Addison picked up a platter of shrimp cocktail off the nearest dining cart. He had never met a shrimp cocktail he didn’t like. For him, it seemed to be a food impossible to get wrong. He plucked up a shrimp and plunked it into his mouth. Perfection.

  �
�What is it with you and shrimp cocktail, anyway?” Molly asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Addison mused. “Maybe it’s because you only eat shrimp cocktail at fancy occasions, so it feels special. Nobody ever says, ‘What’s for dinner tonight? Shrimp cocktail, again?’” He dipped another shrimp in cocktail sauce, nibbled it down to the tail, and chased it with more shrimp and cocktail sauce. He sighed contentedly. “It tastes like adventure.”

  “Uncle Jasper says we have to keep a balanced diet.”

  “Molly, I am as balanced as a gyroscope,” said Addison. “Besides, free food is one of the greatest gifts in life.”

  Eddie, tall and thin as a coat rack, was bent double over the dessert tray. He vigorously nodded in agreement. “This chocolate fondue is life changing.” He mopped chocolate from his chin with the edge of the tablecloth. “Though it will do nothing for my figure.”

  Raj picked up an enormous lobster with both hands and set to work tearing it apart like a caveman.

  “Unbelievable.” Molly cocked her fists on her hips. “A little free room service and you guys completely forget we’re being hunted by a deranged killer.”

  Addison dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Molly makes a fair case. We are not in Malazar’s hotel room just for the shrimp cocktail. We require information. Who is Malazar? What makes him tick? What are his hobbies, his interests? Does he have any credit cards we can borrow?” Addison folded his napkin and stood up. “I propose we make a thorough search of the place.”

  Addison, Molly, Eddie, and Raj each searched a different room of the palatial presidential suite. Raj checked all the pockets of the suits and trousers hanging in Malazar’s walk-in closet. Addison felt under the mattress in the bedroom, hoping to find a passport or a money clip. Eddie successfully cracked the hotel safe, only to find it empty. It was Molly who, rooting through the bathroom garbage, found a stack of receipts.

  She marched into the living room and fanned them out on the coffee table for everyone to see. The receipts were all Greek to Addison. But luckily, he could read a fair amount of Greek. Modern Greek writing was not all that different from the ancient Greek he studied at Dimpleforth.