Addison Cooke and the Tomb of the Khan

by Jonathan W. Stokes

  Addison dusted himself off. He was going to thank everyone, but was distracted by Boris Ragar’s screams from beyond the stone door.

  “The helmet!” said Molly. “Addison, we don’t know the clue yet, and it’s about to be crushed into scrap metal.”

  Addison was aghast. “Molly, you’re not suggesting we let Boris out of there?”

  “Of course I am! We’re archaeologists, not murderers!”

  “We’ve already killed one Ragar brother,” Eddie pointed out.

  Addison wasn’t sure how many Ragar brothers he needed on his conscience. He listened to the Russian’s desperate shouts as the passageway slowly crushed him. Addison grimaced. He stepped firmly onto the white granite threshold and the trap reversed course, opening the stone door and releasing the vor gang member.

  Boris crawled out of the corridor, clutching Sir Frederick’s helm. He passed a few seconds on his hands and knees, catching his breath. Once his hands stopped shaking, he clambered to his feet, rising to his full height. “Okay. Now I’m going to kill you.”

  “But we just saved your life!” said Molly.

  “That’s your mistake, not mine,” said Boris. For such a big man, he moved with the light grace of a ballet dancer and was now blocking Addison’s group from escaping the chamber.

  There was no way past him, and Addison was not keen on stepping back into the death trap. Boris closed in. Addison had nowhere to move his feet, so he moved his mouth instead. “How did you find these caves?”

  Boris stretched his arms wide, filling the tunnel, and circled in on Addison. “For twenty yuan, a camel trader told me he saw you in the cantina. Then I questioned the cantina owner with these two fists.” Boris held up his two fists, for clarity.

  Addison felt he had a score to settle with this camel trader, provided he could survive his present conversation with Boris. “What does Malazar want with the Khan’s treasure?” he asked, just to keep Boris talking.

  The gang member continued bobbing and weaving, waiting for Addison to slip within striking range. “Malazar does not care about the treasure. He’ll sell it for profit. He only cares about the golden whip.”

  “Why?”

  “‘The last Templar wins the prize.’”

  “What prize?”

  “The prize, boy. Hasn’t your uncle told you the prophecy?”

  Addison was now thoroughly confused. He had heard about this prophecy from Ragar’s brother in Peru, and it hadn’t made any sense to him then, either.

  “Here’s a prophecy,” said Raj, popping up behind Boris. “You’re about to get hit on the head.” Raj swung his backpack at Boris and put his full weight behind it.

  Unfortunately, Raj’s full weight wasn’t all that much. When Boris ducked easily, the momentum of Raj’s backpack sent him sailing off his feet.

  Boris swung out with his left hand, the one that happened to be clutching Sir Frederick’s steel helmet. He walloped Addison in the stomach so hard, it knocked the wind out of him.

  This is it, thought Addison, since he could not speak. I’m about to be pummeled to death by a man wearing stolen pants. He waited for an earth-shattering punch that would reorganize the general layout of his face. It never came.

  Tony Chin dashed into the corridor at full speed and attacked the big Russian with a blinding flurry of kicks and punches. Stunned, Boris retreated, raising his fists to shield his head.

  “Tony, I could hug you,” gasped Addison.

  “Don’t even think of it,” said Tony. He rained punches down on Boris so rapidly, Boris barely noticed when Tony stole the helmet.

  Unfortunately for Tony, Boris was thick-boned, milk-fed, and extremely difficult to injure. Tony seemed to realize he might have better luck beating up a dump truck. Boris lowered into a wrestler’s crouch and charged, mashing Tony against a rock wall and nearly flattening Eddie in the process.

  Tony discovered that holding Sir Frederick’s helmet meant he could only fight one-handed. And fighting Boris, like eating lobster, was an activity that required two hands. Tony set the helm down on a rocky ledge to deliver a two-fisted punch to Boris’s concrete jaw. When he turned back to pick up the helm, it was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mr. Jacobsen

  ADDISON SPRINTED DOWN THE haunted corridor, clutching the helm like a rugby ball, his team racing after him. He expected rocks to be hurled from the shadows of the Mongol statues, but none came. Addison fancied his luck was finally changing until Eddie shouted that Tony was now chasing them and catching up quickly.

  “Eddie, I promised you Asia would be an exciting adventure!”

  “Please. If I wanted to be filthy, claustrophobic, and afraid for my life, I would have stayed in New York and ridden the F train.”

  Addison arrived at the climbing chute and reached for a wooden peg. He realized there was no way he was going to climb out of this chasm faster than Tony Chin. Particularly while holding a heavy steel helmet.

  “Let’s go,” shouted Molly. Tony was running at her heels.

  “No, I’m going to fight Tony.” Addison tossed Sir Frederick’s helm to Molly. She caught it with both hands. Addison figured it was high time for Molly to copy the clue into his notebook, so he tossed his notebook and pencil at her as well. Molly was holding the helm in both hands, so the notebook and pencil bounced off her forehead.

  Addison turned to square off against Tony. He just needed to buy Molly time. He flicked out his butterfly knife and beckoned Tony forward.

  Tony paused, rolled up his sleeves, and nodded approvingly. “You’re holding your knife point down. I’m impressed.” Tony twitched his wrists, and the trench knives were suddenly in his grip.

  Addison lunged and Tony parried.

  Tony lunged and Addison parried.

  Molly was desperate to watch the fight, but remembered she needed to copy Sir Frederick’s clue into Addison’s notebook.

  Addison circled and struck with his knife. It met one of Tony’s in a clash of metal.

  Tony grinned broadly. “Good. You’re improving!” He danced around Addison, flipping the trench knives so they glittered in the dark passage. “Now, we need to work on your footwork. Always keep your balance. When you lunge, you’re overextending.”

  Addison lunged and Tony knocked him over easily. Tony stepped back, letting Addison return to his feet.

  In an instant, Tony knocked him down again. “Balance, Addison! Keep your feet spread apart and no one can knock you down.”

  Addison tried it and immediately felt sturdier. Before he could lunge at Tony, Madame Feng’s voice screeched from somewhere high above. “Quit playing around down there! I haven’t got all day.”

  Tony shrugged at Addison. “Duty calls.”

  Addison saw a blur of motion followed by his butterfly knife sailing out of his hand. Tony caught the knife in midair and tossed it back to Addison. He grinned. “Keep practicing.”

  Tony swiveled to face Raj and Molly, tripping one and clotheslining the other. He caught Sir Frederick’s helmet as it flew from Molly’s grasp. He needed to free his hands to climb out of the cave, so he simply popped the helmet on his head. Within seconds Tony had scaled the wooden pegs up the chute, disappearing into the darkness above.

  Molly shook her head. “He’s really good.”

  “Let’s hurry,” said Addison. “Maybe we can still get the helmet back.”

  The group climbed from peg to peg up the shaft. Their progress was slow until Boris appeared at the bottom of the chute and began climbing up after them. Addison found this to be extremely motivating. He raced up the climbing pegs like a cat up a tree.

  When they hauled themselves up into the cathedral-size room, they spotted Tony, completely outnumbered by Russian gang members. One large Russian punched Tony so hard, the helmet flew off his head. It bounced across the stone floor, clangi
ng like a dinner gong, and rolled right into Addison’s hands. “Goes around comes around,” said Addison.

  The Russians continued to attack Tony, knocking the trench knives from his grasp. Addison, wishing to keep things sportsmanlike, slid his butterfly knife across the stone floor to Tony, who scooped it up and kept the Russians at bay. Boris crawled out of the pit and joined the fight against Tony, backing him up against a wall.

  “Tony’s in trouble,” said Addison. “And I think he’s a pretty decent guy.”

  Molly tugged at Addison’s sleeve. “We can’t help him. We’ve got to run.”

  Addison’s conscience nagged at him. “You’re right, Molly. We can’t help him. But maybe Madame Feng can.” Addison charged up the hidden steps under the forty-seventh Buddha and burst back into the first cave. His team followed, leaping down each row of Buddha statues. Addison sprinted to the entrance tunnel of the cave and found Madame Feng standing guard over his aunt and uncle.

  • • • • • •

  Madame Feng spotted the helmet under Addison’s arm and gestured to her bodyguard Hu. Hu was a thickset man with a face like a slab of mutton. “Hu, stop him.”

  “No, I need your help,” said Addison. “Boris is going to kill Tony!”

  Hu paused. Madame Feng frowned in confusion. Apparently, she was not one to be troubled to know the names of her employees. “Boris is going to kill who?”

  “Whom,” said Addison.

  “I don’t know, that’s what I’m asking you.”

  “Yes, but you mean ‘whom,’ not ‘who.’”

  “Who is going to kill Hu?”

  “No one is killing Hu!”

  “That’s it,” said Madame Feng, stepping forward. “Hu and me are going to kill you!”

  “Hu and I are going to kill you,” said Addison, thoroughly exasperated.

  Hu screamed and attacked.

  Addison retreated from Hu, and, to his team’s consternation, fled back inside the cave. He saw that Tony had somehow fought his way past the doorway of the forty-seventh Buddha. Boris was busy shaking Tony around like a bulldog with a chew toy. Addison whistled to snag Boris’s attention and tossed him the helm.

  Boris unceremoniously dropped Tony and caught the helmet with pleasure.

  Addison was pretty sure he had just saved Tony’s life. But before he could savor the moment, Hu slammed Addison to the ground and pinned him. For the second time in ten minutes, Addison mentally prepared to have the entire map of his face redistricted. He looked up at Hu’s face, which could have benefited from its own redistricting, and was surprised to see a dog peering over Hu’s shoulder. “Mr. Jacobsen?”

  Hu turned his head and was startled by the sight of the giant, slathering beast.

  “Get him, boy!”

  The Great Dane cocked his head and bent one ear, confused.

  Hu held one clenched fist hovering over Addison’s nose, ready to punch. He hesitated, eyeing the massive dog.

  “C’mon, boy!” said Addison. “Attack!”

  The giant dog only panted.

  Hu laughed. He wound up to punch Addison an even larger mouth.

  “Mr. Jacobsen, attack!” Addison shouted.

  Mr. Jacobsen leapt onto Hu, rolled the triad onto his back, and began licking him.

  Hu wiggled and squirmed, trying to escape the slobbering Dane.

  This was all the distraction Addison needed to escape. He jumped to his feet and sprinted for the exit.

  Mr. Jacobsen loped along after him, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

  Addison caught up with Molly as they raced toward freedom.

  “Some dog that is,” she said, pouring on the speed.

  “Hey, he just saved my life.”

  “By accident.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  Addison’s team reached the final tunnel that led to daylight and skidded to a halt. Madame Feng blocked the cave mouth. Two triads were still handcuffed to Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel.

  “Let my aunt and uncle go,” Addison said firmly.

  Madame Feng looked down her nose at Addison and emitted a full, ringing gale of laughter. “You’re just kids! You have nothing to bargain with. Go, run into the steppe. You have no horses or camels. No water for five hundred miles. Go and die in the Gobi!”

  “Addison, we’ll handle this,” said Aunt Delia. “You guys get as far away as you can!”

  Several triads were already rushing closer across the cave floor.

  Addison, Molly, Raj, and Eddie sidestepped Madame Feng and fled down the final tunnel. Daylight glimmered at the far end.

  Russian gang members ducked into the opening, sealing off the escape. Addison spun and saw triads closing in from behind. They were trapped in a criminal sandwich.

  “We’re going to die!” shouted Eddie.

  “Eddie, you can die when you’re dead!” said Addison. He reached behind his blazer and drew Dax’s flare gun from his belt. He aimed it at a rushing Russian and fired.

  The flare struck the man square in the chest, blasting him backward. It lit up the tunnel like a giant red firework, ricocheting off the tunnel walls and showering everyone in sparks. The triads, eyes accustomed to the dark gloom of the cave, were blinding by the dazzling light. The vori, coming in from the daylight, could not yet see in the tunnel.

  Addison’s team charged through the fiery chaos and into the light. They sprinted a hundred-yard dash down the mountain path. When they turned back to look, the flare still burned and fizzled red in the tunnel where triads fought vori. Addison gazed down at the flare gun, still clutched in his hands. “What an excellent product. I must buy their stock.”

  Mr. Jacobsen, for lack of a better word, embarked. He bounded past the group and greeted Dax at the base of the hill.

  Dax wrapped an arm around the Great Dane. “Good work, Mr. Jacobsen!”

  Molly was nonplussed. “What did he do?”

  “I told Mr. Jacobsen to go find you.” Gunfire rocked the cave above. “What exactly did you do up there?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Dax shrugged. He was getting accustomed to the amount of chaos Addison’s team could generate if left to their own devices for an hour. “C’mon, I found transportation.”

  He led the team around a bend in the pass. And there, to Addison’s amazement, was a string of Mongolian horses.

  They were beautiful animals. Addison stroked one by the mane. “Where did you get them?”

  “Stole them from that camel trader.” Dax winked and mounted a chestnut mare. “Told you I can get you in and out of any situation.”

  Addison’s team climbed onto their horses and kicked them into a gallop, escaping into the wilderness of Mongolia.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Next Clue

  SPROUTS OF FEATHER GRASS and millet showed through the dunes, quickly thickening into grassland. Soon, the horses were galloping across the open steppe. Molly spotted black-tailed gazelles leaping in the distance. The hills rose like storm-driven swells on a turbulent green sea. The wild manes of the horses flared in the stiff wind.

  Dax trailed a string of extra mares behind him, their hackamores tied to a catch rope.

  “Why’d you take so many horses?” Molly called over the blustering prairie breeze.

  “Spite, mostly.”

  “We can use them as spare mounts, like the Mongols,” shouted Addison.

  Mr. Jacobsen bounded alongside the horses, tongue lolling, taking frantic detours to pursue every marmot in Mongolia without success.

  This was only Addison’s second time on a horse, the first being a mare he had stolen in Central Park in April while evading the New York Police Department. Addison loved Central Park in April. And to be fair, the horse was eventually returned. Cantering across the ancient steppe, he found he rather had the r
hythm of it. He was pleased to have his own mount, instead of sharing one with Molly. The horse was a fly magnet, but it beat walking.

  Eddie bounced along on his gelding, constantly on the verge of falling off. Addison counted it a near miracle Eddie was staying on at all. The overall impression was of a ping-pong ball being bounced on a paddle while hurtling over rough terrain.

  Whipping across the high plateaus, the grass passed beneath them in a green blur. Dax taught them that “chu” was the Mongolian word that made the horses go faster.

  “What’s the Mongolian word for ‘stop’?” shouted Eddie.

  “There isn’t any,” called Dax.

  They rode until the horses were lathered in sweat and the sun was swan diving into the western horizon. Dax found an abandoned stable with a rusted water pump. He dismounted and worked the iron hand pump, filling the water trough for the horses to drink. The sunset was a brilliant orange and pink. “We’ll rest here for the night,” he declared.

  Addison scanned the empty basin and the rolling primordial hills. “Will the Russians find us here? Boris really seems to have it in for us.”

  “He’d have to be one ace of a tracker,” said Dax, scanning their back trail. “Mongolia is a land of nomads. You’d be hard-pressed to find a road or a fence within a hundred miles.”

  Dax hobbled the horses and left them to crop grass on the mesa. Raj and Molly scavenged wood, scrub, and dried moss to feed the fire. Addison found the tarnished key that unlocked the barn doors. He and Eddie gathered old straw for bedding.

  They relaxed by the campfire, drinking well water and dining on dried apples and sheep jerky Dax found in the horses’ saddlebags.

  Addison kept trying to train Mr. Jacobsen to stop licking, but the Great Dane kept at it with dogged persistence. “I wish he’d give the licking a rest. He thinks I’m ice cream.”

  “Hey,” said Molly, “his licking may have saved you from Hu.”