Addison Cooke and the Tomb of the Khan
Page 3
Uncle Nigel dropped to one knee. He traced a reverent finger over the crest etched in the iron shield: an open eye in the center of a radiant sun. “He was a member of the secret order . . . A Templar knight.”
“I thought you’d appreciate that,” said Eustace. “From his gravestone, we know his name. May I introduce Sir Frederick Oeil-de-Boeuf.”
“Oeil-de-Boeuf?” said Molly, struggling with the French pronunciation.
“It means ‘bull’s-eye,’” said Eustace. “And it’s very fitting—he certainly had a bull’s-eye painted on his back. Once he discovered Genghis Khan’s tomb, half of Mongolia tried to kill him before he escaped the country.”
Uncle Nigel peered closely at Sir Frederick’s shield. “He’s scratched a message into his shield. Delia, your French is better than mine . . .”
Aunt Delia knelt close to the ancient shield and read aloud. “‘I am the Templar knight sent to explore the Kingdom of the Tartars. On the road to Zhongdu I met an old Mongol slave, covered in scars and dying of plague. I gave him water and all the medicine I could find in the wilderness, but I could not save him. On his deathbed, he confessed a secret . . .’”
The knight’s words were etched around the shield’s edge, spiraling in toward the center. Aunt Delia circled the coffin, reading Sir Frederick’s tale. “‘The slave helped build the tomb of Genghis Khan. Mongol warriors slaughtered them all, leaving them for dead. Only this slave escaped, crawling away under darkness, stricken with injuries. For years he lived in hiding until dying in my arms.’”
Addison felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
Aunt Delia shifted her glasses and studied the ancient text. “‘I, Sir Frederick, followed his directions and uncovered the tomb of the Khan. I have held the golden whip . . .’” She stopped short. “Good heavens.”
Addison saw she had tears in her eyes.
“I never dreamed it was possible,” said Uncle Nigel, one hand against his chest. His glasses were fogging up as well.
“What?” Molly demanded. “Aunt Delia, what’s the golden whip?”
“Just a second, Molly.”
“Keep reading!” said Addison.
Aunt Delia read faster now. “‘When I escaped the tomb, I was attacked by the Ghost Warriors—”
“He must mean the Black Darkhad!” Uncle Nigel cut in excitedly.
“Nigel, I thought they were only legends!”
“Wait,” said Molly. “Ghost Warriors?”
“Molly, are you going to let us read this or not?” said Aunt Delia.
“C’mon,” said Molly. “You can’t just drop something like ‘Ghost Warriors’ and then leave us guessing!”
Uncle Nigel responded impatiently. “Some Mongols believe the Khan’s grave is guarded by an army of ghosts.”
“Oh, is that all?” said Molly.
Aunt Delia continued translating the tightly curving script. “‘The Ghost Warriors wounded me in combat. They took me captive. After much debate, they released me. I did not know if I would live to see France again. So at each marker I passed on my return, I hid a secret message pointing the way to the Khan’s tomb.’”
“A treasure hunt,” said Addison.
Aunt Delia kept circling the coffin, deciphering the inner etchings toward the center of the shield. “‘Three months ago I was ambushed by bandits who shot my horse out from under me. I took an arrow in the leg. Nestorians cared for me at their hospital along the Silk Road . . .’”
“My word,” said Uncle Nigel in awe. “This knight limped from Kashgar to Samarkand with an arrow wound? He would have crossed the Altai Mountains of Kazakhstan at eighteen thousand feet.”
“They were made of sterner stuff then,” Eustace agreed.
Aunt Delia translated the final piece. “‘The arrow wound gave me fever. I know I am to die, and cannot bear the Khan’s treasure to be lost forever. My shield is the fourth and final marker. I pray a Templar knight will find my message.’”
“So there’s a clue somewhere on this shield?” Uncle Nigel asked excitedly.
Eustace was about to answer when his eyes flitted to a security monitor mounted in a corner of the vault. A tall woman with black hair was entering the front doors of the museum, followed by a string of dark-suited bodyguards. Eustace grimaced. “Ladies and gentlemen, Madame Feng: the Casino Queen of Macau and our museum’s largest donor. I must hurry upstairs to meet her. Whatever you do, do not tell her where I’ve hidden Sir Frederick!”
In a mild panic, he shooed the group out of the basement room. Before shutting off the lights, Eustace quickly pulled Addison and Molly aside. “I have something for you two. When your father passed, I had to clean out his office and couldn’t bring myself to throw everything away. This is the curse of every archaeologist, I suppose—we cling to the past.”
He heaved open an antique steamer chest and presented Molly with a leather shoulder pack covered with pockets, buckles, and carabiner straps. “Molly, this is your father’s survival kit. He took it on all his adventures. It is filled with items that can save your life.”
Molly shortened the strap and slipped it over her neck like a messenger bag. It was surprisingly comfortable.
Eustace handed Addison a worn, leather-bound book. “This is your father’s copy of The Secret History of the Mongols. Genghis Khan’s court recorded his life story nearly eight hundred years ago.”
Addison cracked open the musty, faded book. His father’s name, which also happened to be Addison Cooke, was penned in excellent cursive on the inside cover.
“Your father was an insatiable reader, fascinated by the Mongols. He dreamed of one day finding the tomb of Genghis Khan. He would be so excited by this discovery. You’re going on this journey for him, Addison.”
Addison nodded his thanks. He had done so much to forget his past. But even here on the far side of the world, he could not escape his father’s ghost.
• • • • • •
Eustace shepherded the group out of the secret passageway and behind the Burmese temple. They spilled into the main atrium and ran directly into a tall, striking woman with one hand cocked on her hip and one eyebrow arched in the air. Eustace gave a nervous start, collected himself, and then cranked up the charm. “Madame Feng, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Eustace,” said Madame Feng, peering suspiciously behind the Burmese temple, “you have more hidey-holes than a field mouse. One wonders what you are concealing.”
Addison sized up Madame Feng. She wore a severe black business suit with her dark hair drawn up in a bun. Her black-painted nails put Addison in mind of a panther’s claws. She possessed the coiled feline grace of a jungle cat who had learned to walk upright.
“Madame Feng has generously offered to sponsor our excavation,” said Eustace. “And she is providing you with accommodations at her Hong Kong hotel.”
Uncle Nigel took Madame Feng’s hand. “Thank you for your hospitality. It is an honor to meet you.”
“The honor is mine,” purred Madame Feng. “I’ve heard all about your family’s exploits in Peru. Finding the lost treasure of the Incas after five hundred years.”
Uncle Nigel was incapable of taking a compliment. He blushed and stammered a few times.
Madame Feng smiled. “Asian history is my passion.” She strutted a few steps closer to Eustace, her sharp heels clicking on the marble floor. “I’ve heard rumors among the museum staff that Eustace has unearthed an important clue to the location of Genghis Khan’s tomb. Yet Eustace refuses to share it with me.”
“I’ve told you, it’s in storage, Madame Feng. It is a very fragile relic.”
“So you say,” said Madame Feng, taking a long-lashed glance behind the temple. “I’m sure it is very safe in one of your mouse holes.” Madame Feng was flanked by steely-eyed bodyguards so serious and expressionless that Addison felt
tempted to tickle them under their chins just to see what would happen.
“It is important to protect relics from thieves,” Eustace said icily.
Addison looked from Eustace to Madame Feng and sensed an undercurrent of tension so strong, it could pull them all out to sea.
Uncle Nigel must have sensed it, too, because he clasped his hands together, laughed nervously, and changed the subject so abruptly Addison nearly lost his balance and tipped over. “I’ve chartered a bush pilot for our expedition: Dax Conroy. By coincidence, we’re actually meeting him at your casino in Macau tonight.”
“I will make sure you are given first-class service,” said Madame Feng airily.
“Dax Conroy,” said Eustace, wrinkling his nose. “The smuggler? He has less conscience than a pirate. He’ll smuggle anything and look the other way.”
“It’s true,” Uncle Nigel said, shrugging. “He’s a liar, a brawler, a cheat, and a gambler.”
“But he’s a great pilot?” asked Addison.
“Oh, rather not. He’s nearly gotten me killed numerous times. His plane is practically held together with Scotch tape, and his copilot is an absolute beast—fleas and all.”
“So why use him?”
Uncle Nigel thought about it, as if for the first time. “Well, customer loyalty, I suppose. He knows the Gobi, and he’s rather useful in a jam. Also, his rates are extremely reasonable.”
“I will leave you scientists to make your plans,” said Madame Feng. She turned to Uncle Nigel. “My Macau casino is just a short trip across the sea by hydrofoil.”
“You have hydrofoils in Hong Kong?” Addison blurted out, deeply impressed.
“They run all night.” Madame Feng seemed to notice Addison and his friends for the first time. She offered him a smile that showed all of her teeth and handed him a black poker chip embossed with the image of a dragon. “If you come to my casino, just show this chip and you will get anything you ask—food, drink, even a room for the night. Just do not wander far—Hong Kong can be a dangerous place.”
Addison accepted the chip with a polite nod.
“I don’t know if Addison will have time for much gambling,” said Aunt Delia. “He’s thirteen.”
But Madame Feng had already turned on her heel, strutting out of the atrium, flanked by her coterie of guards.
Eustace watched her leave and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Be careful of her. Madame Feng has friends in high places, but it’s her friends in low places you should be concerned about.”
“Oh?” said Uncle Nigel.
“Her casino business is protected by triad gangs.”
“We’ll be careful,” said Uncle Nigel.
“Listen to me.” Eustace spoke urgently. “Genghis Khan’s treasure is so vast, it can rebalance world economies. Do you want that wealth and power in the hands of criminals?”
Uncle Nigel shook his head gravely.
“Madame Feng is ruthless. Whatever happens, Sir Frederick’s clues must not fall into her hands.”
Chapter Five
Code Red
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, A bellman led Addison’s group into their massive penthouse suite on the top floor of the Feng Hotel. The golden sun was setting over the bay, and all the lights of Hong Kong glittered like a bed of diamonds. “This will do,” said Addison, handing the bellman a few Hong Kong dollars for his bags.
The sprawling hotel suite was larger than the Cookes’ Manhattan apartment. There was a spacious living room, a full kitchen, and a large bedroom with four single beds for Addison, Molly, Eddie, and Raj. Uncle Nigel and Aunt Delia were staying in their own suite down the hall.
“Finally,” said Addison, “we get some proper accommodations. You see, Eddie? This is much better than South America.” He spread his arms magnanimously. “Molly, I shall let you choose whichever bed you want.”
Molly rather preferred the setup they had in Manhattan. “Can we bunk them?”
“They may ding us for that on the bill,” said Addison. “However, that’s really Madame Feng’s problem.” He and Molly attempted to lift one of the beds, and found they could not. “Well,” said Addison, “if you need the bunk bed experience, you could always sleep underneath my bed.”
Raj busied himself figuring out the entertainment system.
Eddie cataloged and inventoried all the expensive foods in the minibar, though he was afraid to eat anything for fear of going bankrupt.
Aunt Delia poked her head in the door to suggest they all get to sleep early to combat their jet lag.
Addison readily agreed. He flopped down on a white upholstered lounge chair, cradled the hotel phone against his shoulder, and dialed the front desk. “Ni hao ma?” he said by way of greeting. “I would like a fresh start on the day tomorrow. Can you please send a wake-up call promptly at eleven forty-five a.m.?” He flipped through a hotel magazine with glossy shots of a Hong Kong golf course. In the back he found a Hong Kong map and studied it intently, memorizing what he could of the city layout. “Excellent,” he continued breezily. “And a copy of the morning’s Wall Street Journal, English edition. And breakfast tea, also English. Shie shie, ni.” He hung up the phone, reclined the seat, and rested his feet on the ottoman.
“Addison, you’re too young to drink tea,” said Molly.
“And you’re too young to tell me what to do.”
“You read The Wall Street Journal now?” asked Eddie.
“I like to keep up on the markets.”
“You don’t own any stocks.”
“So people keep telling me. Nevertheless, I want to be prepared for when my ship comes in.”
Eddie stretched and yawned. “Man, I don’t know why I’m so exhausted.”
“Jet lag. It’s one p.m. yesterday in New York and seven p.m. today in Hong Kong,” said Addison. “Your body is stuck in yesterday, trying to catch up with today, and not realizing that today is tomorrow.”
“Well, that clears it up,” said Eddie.
“We skipped a day flying out here. When we fly home, we’ll cross the international date line and lose a day. Then today will be yesterday again.”
“Ugh, yesterday was awful,” said Eddie. “I don’t think I can do that again.”
“Don’t worry,” said Addison. “Just because today will be yesterday doesn’t mean everything that happened yesterday will happen again today. Otherwise, we’d cross the international date line again and the loop would go on forever.”
“Addison, what are you talking about?” asked Molly.
“I have no idea. Ask me again tomorrow.”
“You mean yesterday?” asked Eddie.
• • • • • •
Aunt Delia poked her head in the door after fifteen minutes and was reassured to see Addison, Molly, Raj, and Eddie each in their beds. “Good night,” she said. “If you need anything, we’ll be right next door.”
After she softly closed the door, Eddie snapped on his sleep mask. “Well, g’night, everyone.”
Addison stared at him, aghast. “Eddie, how dare you insult me!”
Eddie pulled off his sleep mask. “What did I say?”
“After all the years I’ve known you. You put a knife through my heart!”
“What did I do?”
“Do you really imagine for one split second that we’re staying cooped up in this hotel room when there’s an entire city to explore? I would think you’d know me better than that.”
“But we got all ready for bed.”
“No,” said Addison indignantly. “We made a show of getting ready for bed, so that Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel can go to bed.” He swept aside his comforter, revealing he was dressed head to toe in his usual dress shirt, slacks, and British regimental striped necktie. He rose from the bed and donned his school blazer.
“But I’m exhausted from jet lag.”
“Always.” Raj jumped out of bed wearing his black T-shirt and camouflage pants. He tied on his red bandana with a ceremonial flourish.
Molly tugged on her running shoes.
Eddie pulled the covers over his head.
Addison reached for the door handle and sighed. “I’d prefer you did this willingly, Eddie. Don’t make me call a Code Blue.”
Eddie knew that resistance was futile. He tossed away his sleep mask and dragged himself out of bed.
• • • • • •
Addison rode with his friends down the twenty-story glass elevator and was breezing his way across the main lobby when Molly called a Code Red, diving behind a large potted plant. On sheer instinct, Addison yanked Eddie to the ground behind a sofa. Raj somersaulted behind a pillar and stuck two fingers to his neck, checking his pulse; he was practicing keeping his heart rate low in emergencies.
“Mo, what is it?” Addison whispered from behind the couch.
“I saw Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel leaving the hotel restaurant.”
“Hannibal of Carthage!” said Addison.
“Hannibal of who?” asked Eddie.
“It’s Addison’s new shtick,” said Molly. “When he wants to curse, he just names enemies of ancient Rome. It delights Aunt Delia.”
Addison peered over the gilt rim of the sofa. He spotted Madame Feng’s grim-faced bodyguards roughly escorting Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel across the lobby. The A & U looked distressed, but he could not hear their words. He was quite sure his uncle was struggling against the bodyguards’ tight grip. “Molly, this doesn’t look good.”
Molly curled a stray hair from her ponytail behind her ear and peeked through the palm leaves of her potted plant. The dark-suited bodyguards hustled Uncle Nigel and Aunt Delia out of the hotel and into a waiting taxi.