The Noah Reid Action Thriller Series: Books 1-3 (plus special bonuses)
Page 55
“Here, take this,” said Willie Mays, handing Olivia his service weapon.
“And these.” JJ handed Abby his last few martial arts stars.
Olivia and Abby’s hands shook as they put the weapons into their pockets. After the raking he had just given them, they weren’t going to let Noah know they had never used them.
“JJ and I will create a distraction. If you get a clear shot, take it!”
Adrenaline pumping, Sam asked, “What about me, Noah?”
“Get inside the equipment room. When we got the grand tour, I saw it was crammed full of junk. Find something to create a diversion. You’ll know it when you see it.”
“You got it, Noah.” This was so cool. Think on your feet. Clandestine. Chase the bad guys.
“Walrus and Willie, it’s time for some father-son time. I want you to do some research from the NYPD database and make me a little movie. Can you do video editing on a cell phone?
“Does grass grow after it rains? Do cows avoid McDonalds? Do birds turd on your head?” asked Walrus. “I can do anything with a cell phone.”
“Okay, you two stay here on this floor. We may need you to help evacuate the kids once we rescue them,” Noah said.
“You got it,” Willie told Noah.
“And JJ, you get to do something you’ve always wanted to do. Hit me.”
JJ bowed deeply with a grin, “I serve at the pleasure of my master.”
Noah pointed his index finger at JJ. “I knew you’d see the light someday.”
Hey, this was like being Spider Man, only better because this was real. Sam climbed into the air duct. Starting from the eleventh floor, it was tricky getting up to the twelfth floor because he had to push his hands and feet against the duct’s sides without making noise or slipping.
Ten feet up, Sam lost his grip and toppled. He pushed his legs hard and fast against the duct’s walls to stabilize himself. Restarting his ascent was much more difficult. Gun shy of making another mistake, his sweaty palms made it even harder to stick to the duct’s sides.
And then, another problem when he hit the top. The duct split into two horizontal paths, going in opposite directions. Now which way? Sam made an arbitrary choice. He took the one on the left and hoped it was the right one.
Seeing Queenie take Jeff’s life and waiting for Noah to appear made the tension unbearable. When one kid started bawling, Leonard picked him up and screamed, “You want to be next to die? Shut up.”
Byron, knowing that losing a hostage meant losing leverage, yanked Leonard off. “Man up, idiot.”
“You’re the idiot,” retorted Leonard as he took a swing at Byron. The older man, deceptively strong, snatched Leonard’s arm mid-air and broke it. He delivered a short, chopping right hand with the power of Mike Tyson to Leonard’s jaw, sending him into oblivion.
And then the room lights came back on.
JJ stepped in with a battered and bruised Noah, his hands tied behind his back. JJ announced simply. “I want in. Seventy-five million.”
No way. Queenie cooed, “JJ, I knew you were the man for me the moment I saw you.”
JJ gave her a casual once-over. “I can have any woman I want. Seventy-five million.”
“You might be able to have any woman you want but none of them are me.”
“So what? None of the men you’ve had are me. I did what your father could not do, what your brother Duke could not do, what your brother King could not do. I have brought down the mighty Noah Reid.”
“I’ll give you five million dollars.”
“Stop wasting my time. I could go to anyone. Another snakehead, the radicalists, the supremacists. I could even go to your Russian friends.”
“But you didn’t. You came to me because you want me,” murmured Queenie.
“Oh, please. I came to you because we can get the deal done now. Also, I know you won’t kill me.”
“How do you know that?”
JJ took out his cellphone and showed her a picture. “Because I have control.”
The picture was of a nasty black cop holding Elizabeth Watson, Queenie’s mother. Mother and daughter shared the same names. With bruises and cuts, the older Elizabeth was even worse off than Noah.
JJ hit the play button. The video and audio were distorted but the voice was unmistakably that of Queenie’s mom. “Save me, Queenie. I can’t take this anymore.”
JJ hit PAUSE. The wonders of a teenage geek. Abby had phoned Elizabeth, requesting a two-minute video conversation. Strung out and broke, the long washed-up Elizabeth refused until a courier arrived at her door with five hundred dollars. Walrus set up and recorded a FaceTime video, and edited it in with a video of his father.
“She’s dead to me. No big deal,” said Queenie harshly.
“Suit yourself. But let me play a bit more.
JJ hit PLAY.
Elizabeth came back on. “If you don’t give it to him, I will give the cop everything I have on you. I kept records on everything I could.”
JJ stopped the video. “Do we have a deal?”
Queenie inhaled. Her mother didn’t know much about her, but it was enough to ensure that she would never taste freedom again. “Thirty million.”
JJ laughed sarcastically. “Fifty and we have a deal.”
Queenie nodded. “Get a laptop, Kenny.”
JJ deserves an Academy Award. Noah looked on cautiously. The knots that JJ tied behind his back were easy to undo but, without a stellar performance from the Shaolin martial artist, attention would have returned to his direction.
Chapter 38
Out on the ledge of the twelfth floor window, Abby and Olivia stood precariously by an open window. Olivia had Willie Mays’ gun in her hand and Abby had JJ’s metal stars in hers.
“He’s right, you know,” said Abby.
“Who’s right about what?” asked Olivia.
“Noah was right to tell you off. I mean, wow! His being tough was kinda macho, kinda sexy.”
“How can you think about that now? We’re seconds from killing or being killed.”
“Exactly, which is why I’d rather talk about men.”
“All right, Abby. Forget Noah and me. How about you and JJ? And don’t give me that ‘no Asian guys’ rule.”
Before Abby could answer, a strong gust blew at them. They dropped their weapons to get firm two-handed grips on the window frame.
They held each other’s hands as they pushed themselves right up to the wall.
“Now what?” whispered Abby.
Sam, seeing light shining through a grill a hundred feet away, crawled quickly to its source. “You’re the man, Sam,” he muttered to himself as he studied the room from behind the metal grate. It was the equipment room. He had picked the right direction when he hit the fork. He carefully removed the grill and jumped down.
Now the real work could begin.
Noah was right. The room was piled and crammed with lots of stuff, some useful, some junk, all of it disorganized. Sam found ten thousand dollar microphones shoved next to ten dollar brooms; a double bass stood beside a pinball machine; a bag of marijuana was hidden in a guitar case.
Then he smiled. He spotted two cases of compressed air used for blowing fine dust particles away from sensitive equipment and fifty bottles of isopropyl alcohol used to clean equipment and rejuvenate metal strings.
Removing the cans of air from their boxes, he lined them a foot apart around the room. He pointed a dozen of them at the door. Then he quickly opened the bottles of alcohol and poured the contents over the cans, equipment and on the floor.
Prep done, he hopped up on a bass drum and hoisted himself back into the air duct. He removed a book of matches from his pocket, courtesy of Willie Mays’ pack-a-day smoking habit. Lighting several individual matches, he dropped them onto the alcohol before igniting the whole matchbook and tossing it toward the equipment room door. The fire spread rapidly as Sam clambered away.
Queenie, Byron, Kenny and the kids, standing outside the equipment room, w
ere surprised by the sound of explosions. The flying equipment room doors knocked them and the kids to the floor, stunning them.
Thanks, Sam! JJ and Noah were prepared for something spectacular, so were ready to leap the moment they smelled smoke.
With flames creeping up on the children’s bodies, there was no time to waste. Noah and JJ each picked up a couple of them and ran to the boardroom.
Dropping off the children, Noah told JJ, “Help Olivia and Abby with the kids.”
Noah ran back to the studio and re-entered to rescue the last two child musicians.
As Queenie sat up, shaking the cobwebs off, she saw Noah throwing the kids out of the studio, then yanking the door shut.
“I’ll never let you get them back,” yelled Noah.
And then the sprinklers turned on. No gentle downpour, the driving water extinguished the fire and drenched everyone in the room.
“Kenny, check the equipment room,” ordered Queenie. She then punched a number into her cell.
Noah couldn’t figure out why Queenie wasn’t coming after him but, whatever the reason, it wasn’t good.
JJ handed the kids to Abby and Olivia, then dashed back out to get the last kids from the hallway.
Abby and Olivia gently lowered the children to Willie Mays and Walrus on the eleventh floor.
At the wall, Sam’s head popped out of the vent. “Hey, Walrus, come on and check something out with me. It’s awesome.”
“For sure.”
“Stay here, Gaylord,” ordered his father.
“And miss the fun? No way!” Walrus scampered to the wall and leapt up to have Sam snatch him and yank him into the vent.
“Come back here, Gaylord,” shouted Willie Mays. “I need help.”
But Walrus ignored him and disappeared with Sam into the air duct.
It took just scant seconds before JJ returned with the last two children. He assisted Olivia and Abby in getting them down to Willie Mays.
After all six of the young musicians were safe, JJ took Olivia’s hands and lowered her to Willie Mays. Abby was next and, as he held her hands, Abby squeezed hard and said softly, “Please be safe.”
“I’ll try.” With a grin bigger than an actor winning an Oscar, JJ gently let her down to the big cop.
With all the kids, Olivia and Abby safe on the eleventh floor, JJ called to Willie Mays, “Ready?”
“Anytime.”
JJ jumped and grabbed Willie’s hand on his descent.
Chapter 39
Queenie smirked as she asked Noah, “Do you remember my father’s cranes?”
Noah’s heart skipped a beat as his thoughts flashed to a few months ago. In Chin’s penthouse high-rise complex in Macau, Noah battled not only Chin, his henchmen and his ferocious tigers, but vicious, genetically-modified cranes. Putting on a face of bravado, he said, “They were a nuisance but no big deal.”
“Well, mine are worse. Look outside, Noah.”
Noah’s heart started pounding like a jackhammer. Flying toward his friends on the eleventh floor was a flock of hybrid red-crowned cranes.
“Those are a big deal, Noah. I’ve bred them specifically to kill and die. If their talons and beaks don’t tear your friends to pieces, they’ll die from modified bacteria from Psittacosis, parrot fever if it gets into their bloodstream. So, are you ready to make the transfer now?”
“I need time to pull that off. That’s way too big an amount.”
“Then that’s too bad because I’m not waiting any more. You have about a minute before they arrive. I can still call them off... they listen only to me.”
Think, Noah, think.
Noah ran to the second grand piano stored against the wall and pushed it. With its wheels unlocked, the instrument moved easily and Noah rammed it through the floor-to-ceiling window.
JJ saw hatred and death in the eyes of the approaching cranes. Like the birds in his hotel room, the birds had been brutalized, tortured, and were diseased. There were too many of them coming and not enough time to evacuate.
Then a gift from above.
The grand piano fell on several birds as they were about to fly into the floor’s open space.
JJ recognized a loud, squalling call coming from the floor above. It was the mating call of a crane. As part of his Hung Gar Tiger and Crane martial arts training, he also learned the animals’ behavior, movement and speech.
The calls could only come from Noah, who received similar training. JJ understood what Noah wanted. Noah wanted him to imitate the call.
“Imitate me as best as you can. It’s our best hope for survival,” JJ said to Abby, Olivia, Willie Mays and the young choristers.
Put that way, it was a convincing argument to act like lunatics.
The diverse troop imitated JJ’s calls. To their shock, the birds called back. As the birds’ squalls became more poignant, JJ followed with another surprise. He began to dance.
Talk about bizarre. On the eleventh floor of a New York building were four adults and six kids honking like cranes and emulating a crane-mating dance.
The birds were confused, but they did not attack as they landed by the human performers.
“Be careful. They’re still dangerous,” said JJ as his “wings” flapped.
JJ mouthed a silent prayer, asking for forgiveness—he would be taking innocent, unsuspecting lives. Twisting his arm slowly toward the crane standing beside him, JJ’s hand shot out and grabbed the bird by its neck, then snapped it.
Putting the bird down and acting as if nothing had happened, he motioned for Wille Mays, Abby and Olivia to move the frightened children to an empty “iso booth,” a solidly constructed room used to shield performances from leaking into the microphones of other musicians.
After the children were safely inside, JJ said, “Stay with the kids, Willie Mays. Abby, Olivia, come with me.”
The girls followed JJ, and the dance of death continued until JJ had taken the lives of another six cranes.
The sharp-eared JJ noticed that the remaining cranes had changed their calls, as if they understood what JJ did to their brethren and were preparing for revenge.
JJ, carrying three dead birds, motioned for Olivia and Abby to follow him into another partially-built iso booth. He shut the door.
Abby burst into tears. “That was awful.”
“It gets worse.” JJ wrenched off the heads of the birds.
Abby and Olivia had no words for JJ. They were staring at the birds outside their small protective room, maniacally pecking and scratching at the thick soundproof glass.
JJ sent a text to Noah and Queenie.
WE’RE ALL ALIVE AND WILL STAY THAT WAY.
Noah faced Queenie and Byron. “That’s it, Queenie. The birds didn’t kill anybody and I don’t care if I die, and you still don’t have any money. Give it up.”
“Not so fast, Noah,” called Kenny from the equipment room. “Guess who I found crawling out of the air ducts?”
The studio manager stepped out, holding Walrus and Sam by the scruffs of their necks. He dropped Walrus and kicked him over to Queenie’s feet.
“I think we just secured our investment,” commented Queenie sardonically as Walrus grimaced in pain. “So let’s try this again. Get me a laptop.”
As Byron left to fetch a computer, Kenny lifted Sam in the air, allowing him to dangle.
“Let me go before I kick your ass,” said Sam, kicking and punching the air.
Noah watched Sam’s act of foolish bravado. During the months he’d known him, he’d seen the transformation from young hoodlum to young ambassador. Was he overly cocky, a pain in the butt and too often irresponsible? Yes, yes and yes. But that was why the Chad Huang Foundation existed. To help kids like this and there was no way on Earth he could allow Sam to die.
Byron was back in less than a minute and placed the laptop on the small table beside the conductor’s podium.
Queenie handed Noah a card with numbers written on the back. “You know what to do.”
Sam whipped out a faucet he’d taken from an unfinished bathroom on the eleventh floor and bashed it against Kenny’s nose, breaking it. Screaming in pain, Kenny dropped him. Sam promptly launched the faucet at Byron and hit him in the middle of his forehead.
With everyone distracted, Noah picked up the laptop and chucked it toward the open window.
“No!” Unable to see properly, Byron lunged after the portable computer. Misjudging the distance, he overextended himself and followed the laptop out the window and down twelve stories.
Kenny wiped the blood from his nose and grabbed Sam again. “You’re not getting away this time.” He began squeezing Sam in a bear hug.
Sam retaliated with a flurry of fists against Kenny’s head. Walrus, now recovered, climbed on Kenny’s back, trying to yank his arms off Sam.
While the two computer-game-playing teens’ conditioning and strength were no match for battle-hardened Kenny’s, there was no doubting their heart.
And, sometimes, heart wins. The pummeling they administered to Kenny was having its effect.
Kenny fell backward, the hard landing knocking the wind out of him. As he started hyperventilating, Sam kicked him in the head and knocked him unconscious. He and Walrus bound Kenny’s arms and legs with microphone cables.
With a gritty, take-no-prisoners, kill-or-be-killed assault rage, Queenie slashed at Noah using cranes’ legs with sharpened talons, one in each hand. Noah, evading her onslaught by backpedaling, picked up a chair and threw it at her.
The lithe acrobatic Queenie leapt into the air and kicked the chair away. In mid-air, she targeted the deadly feet at Noah.
Noah dropped to the floor. Rolling quickly, he watched the razor-sharp claws embed into the floor.
Relentless, Queenie pulled a handful of peckers from inside her feathered top.
Only nimble footwork, ballet dancer-like flexibility and Shaolin-honed senses prevented Noah from being skewered as the pointed missiles flew at him.