The infuriated bleeding beast circled Chin, repeatedly thrusting a dangerous paw in his enemy’s direction. Each time, though, the steel-faced 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 its fangs.
Suddenly, the tiger exploded into the air. Voice thundering and teeth gnashing, it landed on Chin, who needed every ounce of wit, concentration and strength to avoid the tiger’s claws trying to gouge his body to bits and the 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 unconventionally, 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. It was totally unexpected. The tiger momentarily lost focus, allowing Chin to deliver a series of bone-crunching blows to its head and body. The feline tried desperately to retaliate but, with broken ribs and a fractured skull, it was in too much pain.
Chin triumphantly lifted the beast over his head, whirling it around in a dizzying fashion like a figure skater executing 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. Catching a second wind, the tiger roared and with redoubled effort charged back at Chin.
Again, the unexpected. Chin held his ground, and a fraction of a second before the tiger arrived, he quickly side-stepped, locking 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.
Chin, like a ruthless robot, hammered the tiger on its already broken and bleeding nose with his 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.
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.
This was not a show, nor was the fix in for the feline. The danger was real. Chin, long ago, decided that he could only keep his edge if his life was on the line for any circumstance.
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 smirk 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
Tommy entered the familiar upper floor of the studio where the aging sifu lived. Not elaborate or ostentatious, the living quarters were 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 with 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 carefully. 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, a gift from Tommy, who knew how much the master appreciated fine tea. 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 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 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, especially Tommy and Garret.
They had provided this building for Master Wu years ago, taking personal responsibility for its design and furnishings. Tommy and Garret made frequent but secret visits, feeling more at home in Wu’s humble environs than their own homes built on the backs of human misery.
Tommy sat at the long table and handed the seated Master Wu a plain-wrapped parcel about the size of a shoebox. “A going-away present.”
Master Wu unwrapped the plain package. It was an expensive pu-erh black tea. “You should save your money.”
Tommy’s voice was somber but matter of fact. “I don’t need money where I am going.”
Master Wu silently 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. “I chose the road I traveled. I chose my traveling companions. And we failed you and failed The Way.”
Wu intoned, “The river always flows to its destiny, to its freedom.”
“Sifu, you know I am right.”
“It is not your fault. It is mine. I taught you improperly.”
Tommy shook his head. “You taught us well. It was we who were wrong. There must be justice.”
“Yes, I know but...”
Tommy interrupted. “You know this has to be the final step, but I have a concern. Noah. I worry about him. That the fire will devour him.”
Wu nodded. “That could happen to anyone. You. Garret. Chin.”
Tommy sensed a faint concern. “What’s wrong, Sifu?”
Wu looked down at the table. The f
ingertips of each hand tapped the corresponding fingertips of the other. “Noah got soft in America. He has lost his edge. When we sparred, I could have beaten him blindfolded... and he was late for work on the first day of his job.”
Tommy’s brow furrowed. “But do you still think he’s the one?”
Wu took a long thoughtful breath. “I have known and trained him since he was seven years old, preparing him for this moment. Does he have the potential? Absolutely. Does he have the skills? Without doubt. Does he have the heart?”
Tommy stated pointedly, “That’s not the answer to my question. Is he the one?”
Master Wu measured his words carefully. “I can see no other choice... and yes, I believe that, when the time comes, the real Noah will emerge and unleash the terror.”
Chapter 12
Olivia strode briskly down the long corridor of the Pittman Saunders office with Noah following.
“Hey, hey. Wait up,” called Noah. “How about a little bit of meaningful conversation?”
Olivia kept truckin’ as she snapped, “So what do you know about the Orient, Mr. Hung Gar, 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?” retorted the brainy beauty with a dismissive toss of her head.
Rather than being cowed by her disdain, Noah became more intrigued... and determined. “I was born and raised in Shanghai for the first part of my life and then moved to Hong Kong. The school my parents set up gave scholarships to anyone who couldn’t afford tuition.”
Olivia tried to hide that she was somewhat intrigued. Maybe, just maybe, Noah might not be the idiot jock she thought he was. “Do-gooders are stupid.”
“No worries there. I am very evil. My evilness IQ is off the charts.” He fluttered his eyelashes at her.
She rolled her eyes as the two continued down the hall.
“I’m Noah Reid. And you are?”
“Olivia.”
“That’s a nice name.” Noah waved his hands in a circular motion. “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 be presentable,” 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.
With a sardonic expression, her voice softened. “Well, Noah Reid, if you want to impress the biggest stuffed shirt in an office full of stuffed shirts, you can start by looking like a real lawyer.”
In a big firm, there were offices, and there were offices. The bigger a fish you were, the more trappings you had. And when you were the biggest fish in the sea, like Garret Southam was, you had everything from a Jackson Pollock painting on the wall to a custom-built, NASA-inspired espresso machine sitting in the corner, waiting to satisfy your every caffeine craving.
Garret’s private secretary, Jill Graham, greeted them in the well-appointed reception area of Garret’s private office. She greeted Olivia warmly. “Olivia, I have so looked forward to this day. Mr. Southam is expecting you.”
Olivia responded with a half-hearted smile. “Thanks, Jill.”
As Jill led them into Garret’s office, Noah speculated on how the hell Jill knew Olivia. And what am I? Chopped liver?
“Here you are,” Jill said.
Noah and Olivia entered. While the view from the eightieth floor made no impact on Olivia, Noah was awed. With windows that went from floor to ceiling, he could see all of Hong Kong, from the green and cream-colored Star Ferries in Victoria Harbor to the skyline of some of the world’s most spectacular skyscrapers.
Garret beamed as he extended his hand to Noah. “Welcome, Noah. Good to have you aboard. Please take a seat.”
“Thank you.” Wow, he didn’t say anything to Olivia.
Noah sat down slowly, cowed by the grandeur, but Olivia was nonchalant as she sat on the two thousand-dollar leather-covered ergonomic office chair.
Noah cleared his throat and began a well-rehearsed speech. “I want to thank you, Mr. Southam, for giving me this outstanding opportunity...”
Garret put a firm hand on Noah’s knee. “Just call me Garret.”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” The neophyte began anew. “Thank you for the privilege of working with you. I was truly inspired by what you were saying just now...”
Garret interrupted again, “Reid, let me tell you a secret.” He leaned toward Noah and whispered, “I hate suckholes. Unequivocally, completely, absolutely without reservation. Got that?”
Humiliated, Noah nodded as Garret leaned back and relaxed. Throughout all this, Olivia had been trying to stifle her mirth but could no longer control herself, and she burst out with a hearty laugh.
A bemused Garret continued. “Mr. Reid, have you met my daughter Olivia yet?”
Noah tried to keep from screaming as Olivia gave the same silly little wave to him that he gave to the obnoxious suit on the elevator.
“We’ve met,” said Olivia. “Mr. Reid told me of his family’s school.”
Garret nodded. “Ah, yes, the Good Shepherd. I’m on the board of trustees. Never hurts having God on your side, especially when you live in a land where everybody thinks you’re a white devil. Don’t you agree?”
Noah was cowed. First, Olivia was Garret’s daughter. Second, Garret knew about the school his parents founded. “Um. Yes, of course.”
Garret waved his finger sternly. “No suckholing. Remember?”
“I mean that. Like I’ve spent my whole life trying to un-devilize myself,” stammered Noah.
Garret and Olivia both snickered at the mortified Noah.
Garret sobered. “Noah and Olivia, you are both my new assigns. That means I dictate your lives.”
“As if you don’t already,” muttered Olivia.
Garret ignored the jibe and handed each one of them a six-inch file and a USB flash drive. “You’re going to work with me on the Golden Asia file.”
“Oh, come on, Dad,” objected an exasperated Olivia.
“In the office, I am your boss, not your father,” said Garret sternly to an unamused Olivia. “Golden Asia Land, Golden Asia Holdings, Golden Asia Imports, Golden Asia Exports, Golden Asia Foods, Golden Asia Land Corporation and that’s just a start.”
“I know who Golden Asia is,” said Olivia, gritting her teeth.
“This is the most important file we have, the most important file I have, the most important file Pittman Saunders has.”
“Oh come on, Da..., Mr. Southam. Can’t I do something else?”
“Olivia, you speak Mandarin, Cantonese and English. You read and write Traditional as well as Simplified Chinese script. You went to the right schools here, in Europe and in North America, but these are not the overriding factors.”
Noah detected the change in Garret’s tone, a little softer but maintaining its iron firmness. “You are my daughter but, most important, you are Abby’s best friend, the daughter of Mr. Golden Asia. You will concentrate primarily on the real estate holdings for now. Brush up on your commercial conveyancing. We are working the kinks out of a major development.”
“You mean you want me to get a sewer permit or maybe evict some penny-ante squatters? What the hell did I slave for sixteen hours a day for four years at Harvard for?” said the exasperated new attorney. “I was hoping I could do something a little more exciting.”
“Excitement thrills, but real estate bills. And I couldn’t give a r
at’s ass about thrills. We will have dinner with Tommy and Abby tonight. I believe that will meet with your approval?”
Before Olivia responded, Noah cut in. “Um, sorry, but I can’t make it tonight. Previous engagement. I lined it up before I got on the plane weeks ago.”
Olivia and Garret scrutinized Noah in amazement with the same thought. You gotta be kidding.
“Cancel it. Tommy is our rep at Golden Asia.”
“I can’t.” Noah was uncomfortable but firm.
“Well, in that case, you can pack up and leave for your engagement now. Don’t bother coming back.”
Noah swallowed, building up his nerve. “Uh, Garret?”
“Call me Mr. Southam.”
“Mr. Southam, didn’t you just say you hated suckholes? Well, isn’t going to meet my friend, who I’m setting up a charity with, the most anti-suckhole thing in the world to do? And didn’t you also say that integrity was important?”
“I lied.” Garret’s eyes seared at Noah.
A tension-filled silence chilled the air as Noah handed the file and USB stick back to Garret.
“What is so urgent that it can’t wait until after our business dinner?” Garret asked.
“Kids, Mr. Southam. The paperwork could easily wait, but the kids Chad’s working with want to meet me. I can’t let them down, and I won’t.”
“Is that really worth giving up your career for?”
“Mr. Southam, Olivia isn’t the only lawyer in town who reads and writes Traditional and Simplified Chinese. And not only do I speak Cantonese and Mandarin, I speak Shanghainese as well. I’ll get a job somewhere.” Noah made his way toward the door.
“Reid,” called Garret.
The Noah Reid Action Thriller Series: Books 1-3 (plus special bonuses) Page 11