Before Ivan could begin tying his wrists, Addison took a confident step forward. “Ivan, how dumb do you think we are?”
Ivan crinkled his brow at Addison, unsure how to answer.
Raj spoke up. “Addison, are you being rhetorical?”
Addison shook his head and pressed his point. “Ivan, you really think you’ve got our backs up against the wall, don’t you?”
Ivan looked from Addison, to Eddie, to Molly, to Raj, and to the castle wall. He nodded.
Addison chuckled and shook his head with genuine pity. “Ivan, Ivan, Ivan. Do you really think we’re stupid enough to waltz in here without any protection? How staggeringly dense would we need to be to shimmy into a Collective stronghold with nothing but three seventh graders and a sixth grader with a leather sling?”
Ivan pouched his lip in thought, his brow creased like a juiced lemon. He clearly had no idea what Addison was driving at.
Addison paced in a circle in the way he’d seen courtroom lawyers do on TV. “No, Ivan. We have protection. You can’t lay a finger on us.”
Ivan growled. “What are you babbling about?”
“Take off your hat,” said Addison.
“Are you going to make fun of my hair?” asked Ivan.
“Would you like me to?” asked Addison.
Ivan frowned. He wasn’t sure where Addison was going, but he saw no harm in playing along. He slowly took off his brown fedora.
“Good,” said Addison. “Now hold your hat high in the air.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see,” said Addison.
Ivan held his hat in the air.
“Higher,” said Addison.
Ivan lifted his arm higher.
“Perfect,” said Addison. He made an imaginary gun with his fingers and held it up for all the Russians to see. Then, with his pretend gun he carefully aimed and pointed at Ivan’s hat. Addison pulled his imaginary trigger.
A deafening rifle shot split the air. Russians covered their ears and ducked. The hat was blasted from Ivan’s hand.
Molly, Eddie, and Raj stared in slack-jawed amazement.
Ivan turned white like he’d been soaked in Clorox.
The courtyard erupted in pandemonium, with Russian gang members diving for cover.
Addison smiled and blew smoke from his imaginary gun. It had been a perfect shot. The kind of shot that could be made only by an incredible sharpshooter. A sharpshooter who used Pizzazz shampoo.
He sniffed the breeze and smelled it again. Somewhere up on the ramparts was the deadly aim of Tilda d’Anger.
Addison heard more shots ring out and saw more men ducking and running. He watched the chaos of the courtyard with satisfaction and turned to his team. “If you’re all in favor,” he said, “I think we should be leaving now.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
The Hidden Map
ADDISON DARTED UP A flight of stone steps and onto the parapet. Molly, Eddie, and Raj scurried after him, their rope-bound hands clasped in front of them like penitent monks.
They sprinted along the high walkway until they rounded a corner and nearly ran smack into T.D.
“I knew you could not survive without me,” she said in her flowery French accent.
“We had everything under control!” said Addison. “Why did you take our rope?”
“I did not want anyone to know you were in the castle. What if a patrol guard had noticed it? You should never leave a trail.”
“Well, what about you with your Pizzazz shampoo? Isn’t that leaving a trail?”
“Ah, so that is how you knew I was up here,” said T.D. “Well, if I had not used Pizzazz, you would not have known I was covering you.”
Addison was pretty sure T.D. was contradicting herself somehow, but he didn’t want to argue with the person who had just saved his life.
She beckoned them to a rope slung over the castle wall.
“That’s my rope!” shouted Raj.
“Yes, thank you,” said T.D. “It helped me climb in here. Now hurry up.”
Molly swung a leg over the parapet and began climbing down the rope. Her, Eddie’s, and Raj’s wrists were tied, but at least they were tied in front. They could still grip the line.
T.D. kept a sharp eye on the courtyard below. Anytime a Russian gang member showed his face from behind a barrel or crate, she fired off another shot from her rifle. “A pity,” she said wistfully as Addison climbed over the parapet. “The Shadow never shows his face.”
“I saw his face,” said Addison. “You’re not missing much.”
* * *
• • • • • •
The group raced across the cow pastures in the darkness. They ran until they were out of breath, and then they ran some more. T.D. insisted they build as big a lead as possible, because Ivan would be herding his men into trucks and coming for them soon.
At last T.D. agreed to allow them a one-minute break.
Eddie bent double, sucking air.
Addison paced in a circle, his hands massaging a cramp in his side. He fished out his butterfly knife and began sawing the ropes from Molly’s wrists. Her hands free, she took the knife and set to work cutting the ties from Eddie and Raj.
“So,” said T.D., “Malazar has the tablet?”
Addison was annoyed to realize that T.D. was not even the slightest bit out of breath.
“Yes,” he admitted. “He has the tablet. And we opened it for him. Now he knows the treasure map and we don’t. We’ve lost.” Addison sat down on the ground, exhausted. He felt completely and utterly defeated. He let his chin sink onto his chest.
There were many things about the English language that Addison did not understand. Why, for instance, were “know,” “knot,” and “knock” all spelled with a “k”? There seemed to be knothing to explain it. Why, for that matter, was “people” spelled with a silent “o”? The term “double jeopardy” should be punished for committing this same offense twice. Why, Addison wondered, did a “fat chance” and a “slim chance” mean the same thing? But of all the things he didn’t understand about English, Addison was most perplexed by Molly’s next sentence.
“Well,” Molly said, cocking a fist on her hip, “we have the treasure map, too.”
Addison’s eyebrows crinkled up like well-chewed bubble gum. He turned to look at Molly.
Raj turned to look at Molly.
Eddie turned to look at Molly.
T.D. turned to look at Molly.
Several nearby cows lifted their heads from chomping grass, and turned to look at Molly.
“I noticed it earlier,” she said.
“Well, where is it?” asked Addison.
“Eddie has it.”
“Me?” Eddie pointed a finger at his chest and stared at her in bewilderment.
Molly took Eddie by the shoulder and spun him around. The back of his Public School 141 jacket was splattered with red paint where Raj had clobbered him with the bronze tablet. And there, for all the world to see, was a perfect mirror impression of the tablet stamped on his back. The squiggles of cliffs, the big wavy line of a river, and the six-pointed star marking a spot in the center. There was no mistaking it . . .
. . . It was the Templar map pointing the way to the Ring of Destiny.
III
THE
RING OF DESTINY
Chapter Thirty-Six
The Chase
ADDISON HAD BUT ONE goal in life: to jot down the paint-splatter map on Eddie’s back as fast as he possibly could. But before he could open a fresh page in his notebook and put pen to paper, he heard an ominous sound. A sound that was becoming all too familiar to him. The sound of a fleet of SUVs.
Their headlights appeared over the ridge, along with the sound of their gunning engines.
Eddie, who had been faint with exhaust
ion only a minute earlier, was already rocketing south like a startled pheasant.
Addison chased after him. “Eddie, be careful! You have the map to a billion dollars painted on your back!” His biggest fear was that Eddie would somehow stumble into a pond in the dark, and their map would be washed away.
The dark SUVs raged across the pastures, bumping and jostling on the uneven ground.
Addison’s group hurdled waist-high tufts of grass and dodged dozing cattle. Yet Addison could see that his team was slowing down. The trouble, he saw, was twofold: the first problem was that the SUVs were running on full tanks of gas, whereas his group was running on a quarter tank at best. The second problem was that even if they each had a square meal and a full night’s sleep, they still couldn’t hope to outrun a fleet of six-cylinder SUVs.
“Just a little farther!” Addison gasped, avoiding a crowd of brown-spotted calves. “We’ve got to reach Dax’s plane!” He was so sapped of energy, he had the dreamlike feeling of running in slow motion.
“Let’s hope Dax got his plane working,” Eddie panted. “Otherwise, we’re going to have a very long swim to get off this island.”
The SUVs were eating up the distance. Addison realized there was no way to outrun them.
It was Raj who drew to a halt.
“Raj, don’t give up!” Molly called.
“It’s okay!” Raj cried excitedly. “Babatunde Okonjo!”
“What about him?”
“His second book! It explains how to stampede cattle!”
The pack of SUVs tore up mud and grass, raging across the hillocks.
Raj began whooping and hollering at the herds of Cyprus cows. He smacked the giant beasts on their rear ends. He pushed on them with his hands. The cows regarded him with puzzled curiosity.
Addison decided it was worth a shot. “Guys, pitch in!” he cried. He flapped his arms at the cows and shouted. Eddie and Molly joined in as well.
A few of the cows stopped chewing their cud and gazed at them with mild interest, slowly blinking their enormous eyes.
T.D. shook her head. “Let me handle this.” She unshouldered her rifle, racked the bolt, and fired a shot in the air.
The cattle launched into flight as if lit by a fuse.
Addison figured it was even odds whether the cattle would run in the right direction. They might stampede the SUVs, or they might simply flatten Raj and then head down to the beach for a dip. Luckily, Addison’s friends had already annoyed the cattle enough to set the herd running in more or less the correct path. The cows took off away from Addison’s group and bore down on the SUVs.
The ground soon shook with the thunder of a thousand hooves. A massive dust cloud enveloped the plain. Addison could just make out the headlights of the SUVs as the vehicles slammed on their brakes and reversed course, fleeing the galloping herd of cattle.
Addison’s group managed to limp another quarter mile before they again heard the revving engines of the SUVs closing in. The ground was more even here, and the vehicles chewed up the distance fast.
Addison was so worn out that he found he could muster little more than a slight jog.
“What now?” Eddie shouted as the engines grew louder. “We don’t have any more cows!”
“But we do have friends,” Addison called.
“Who are you talking about?” asked Eddie.
“Whom,” said Addison.
“Whom!” Eddie hollered.
Addison pointed just over the next ridge to where Dax was standing with a convoy of military jeeps. “The Royal Air Force.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The Road to Aqaba
ADDISON’S GROUP CROSSED INTO British territory like they were crossing the finish line of an ultramarathon.
Eddie collapsed on the ground. He was covered in dust from the cattle stampede. He looked like he’d combed his hair with the lint trap of a Maytag dryer.
Addison patted dirt and brambles from Eddie’s back. The paint-splatter map was still intact. He breathed a sigh of relief.
The SUVs halted fifty feet from the border fence of the military base and sat there, engines idling, headlights gleaming. The British Air Force stared them down. Finally, after a tense minute, the SUVs reversed in three-point turns and sped away into the night.
Addison plucked prickers from his new ballroom jacket. The magnificent cloth seemed to repel dirt. It had been an excellent investment. Next time he saw Malazar, he was going to have to thank him for picking up the bill.
He turned north to watch the last red glimmer of the Collective’s taillights disappearing over the pastures. “Well, I hope none of you were planning on visiting Cyprus again anytime soon.”
Molly joined him at his side. “This is a first,” she said. “We’ve been chased out of cities before. But never an entire country.”
“It’s good to always set higher goals,” said Addison.
* * *
• • • • • •
Within minutes, the Royal Air Force was waving Addison’s group goodbye as Dax taxied down the runway. Mr. Jacobsen had been well fed and watered by the British airmen, and Dax’s Skyhawk was working better than ever. The plane bolted along the runway, straight toward the Mediterranean Sea, and lifted into the sky at the last possible second. Dax was a former navy pilot, and Addison suspected he was just showing off.
“Any idea where we’re going?” asked Dax, once they were airborne.
“Not yet,” Addison admitted. “Just travel east while we figure it out.”
Dax shook his head. “One of these days you’re going to know where we’re flying before we take off.”
Eddie shuffled off his school blazer in the back seat and handed it up to Addison, who was riding shotgun with Molly. T.D. was wedged in the back seat between a paint-soaked Raj and a drooling Mr. Jacobsen. She did not look ecstatic about the lack of seating options.
Addison copied Eddie’s map into his notebook as best he could. The tricky part was that he needed to draw everything backward, because the paint splatter was a mirror image of the bronze tablet itself. Still, he could see how the rivers and cliffs of the tablet fit cleanly into the empty square of the Templar map.
He compared the completed map with Fiddleton’s Atlas and smiled in satisfaction. “The Arabah Desert,” Addison announced. “In southern Jordan.”
“The Arabah is about three hundred miles from here,” said Dax. “You guys can get in a good two hours’ sleep before we land.”
“Dax, you spoil us.”
“Not that much,” said Dax. “See, the thing about deserts is they’re full of sand. If I land you in the Arabah, we might never be able to take off again. Besides, if Malazar gets there first, my engine will sort of take away our element of surprise.”
“So what’s your plan?” asked Molly.
“I can fly you as far as the Gulf of Aqaba,” said Dax. “From there we need to take local transport.”
“You mean like a taxi?” asked Eddie.
Dax worked his toothpick to the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. Something like that.”
* * *
• • • • • •
They touched down in the city of Aqaba as the enormous desert sun erupted over the rim of the world. Dax insisted that they steer clear of major roads, lest they run into the Collective, so he rented camels from a group of Bedouin traders. The camels, he explained, would do better in the rocky desert than any SUV.
The Bedouins sold them long black robes to protect them from the sun. The robes covered their bodies from head to toe and would help to disguise them should they run into any Russian vori. Eddie, who was ravenous, bought a day’s supply of flatbread, rice, dates, and yogurt from the Bedouins. The nomads even agreed to take care of Mr. Jacobsen for a few days, since the Great Dane was not partial to deserts and heat.
Their pr
ovisions secured, Dax and T.D. were leading the caravan into the Arabah by the time the sun had cleared the horizon. Their path meandered north and west, heading toward the land of Israel.
Addison, poring over his copy of Fiddleton’s Atlas from the swaying saddle of his lumbering camel, learned that “Arabah” is the Arabic word for “desert.” That, he reasoned, was why Dax had not called it the Arabah Desert. Calling it the Arabah Desert would be like calling it the Desert Desert, which would be repetitive repetitive.
Because he was immersed in Fiddleton’s Atlas, the first few miles of the trek passed quickly for Addison. He learned they were crossing the Great Rift Valley, a depression in the earth’s continental plates that runs the whole length of the Jordan River, through the Sinai Peninsula, and all the way to sub-Saharan Africa. The desert around him had once been a part of Solomon’s kingdom. It was as parched and desolate a place as Addison had ever seen.
The sands were an endless tapestry of reds, yellows, oranges, browns, grays, and even blacks. Near the empty pits of long-abandoned copper mines, dotting the earth like termite holes, the sands appeared light green or even blue. Ancient cliffs, hewn by centuries of wind and water, were sculpted into towering pillars and broken arches—like the last fallen ruins of a lost city of giants.
* * *
• • • • • •
It was midday when Addison began to struggle with the heat. The sun battered his head like a jackhammer, and the windblown sand stung his eyes. Already, everyone’s water canteens were dry. It was a great relief when Dax finally discovered the riverbed, or wadi, indicated on the Templar map. The group rested, refilled their canteens, and followed the winding river north, trudging ever closer to the circular mark in the center of the Templar map—the hiding place of the ring of Solomon.
Addison Cooke and the Ring of Destiny Page 19