III
•
THE
TOMB OF THE KHAN
Chapter Thirty-Three
Raj’s Mistake
IT WAS A DISHEVELED Addison Cooke who awoke the next morning to the sound of the ancient cell door scraping open. Hu shoved Molly, Eddie, and Raj inside the windowless cell and locked the door shut again. Addison fished his flashlight from his messenger bag in the dark and checked the time on his watch. Eight a.m. He fixed his hair and straightened his tie. “Where were you guys?”
Molly groaned. “They locked us all in a tiny supply closet in the kitchen. And Raj still smells like a radiator explosion. Sort of a gassy smell.”
“It was horrendous,” Eddie agreed. “They only let us out when the cook arrived to make breakfast and threw a fit that he couldn’t open his pantry.” Eddie scanned his new surroundings and found them lacking. He gripped the iron bars and shook them as hard as he could. They did not budge. “Every morning I wake up and tell myself, Eddie, don’t get stuck in a Mongolian prison. And so far, I’ve been pretty good at not getting stuck in a Mongolian prison. And yet, here we are.”
“I’m glad you’re back.” Addison flicked out his butterfly knife and began sawing the duct tape from everyone’s wrists. “Madame Feng wanted to keep me alone to lower my morale. And I have to admit, it was working.”
“There is always room for hope,” Raj announced, beaming with pleasure, “because I have my lock-picking set!” He held it proudly in the air like an Olympic torch. He set to work on the padlock of the iron cell door.
Addison settled in for a long wait.
Molly, tired of being cooped up, practiced her roundhouse kick. Her muscles were sore, but she felt she was sticking it now. All she needed was someone in need of a proper kicking. “Where do you think Nobody and I Don’t Know are? They just abandoned us last night.”
“It was the smart move,” said Addison. “We should have done the same thing. We’re just not as smart.” He thought about I Don’t Know—her black eyes, black hair, and black dress. He hoped she hadn’t blackballed or blacklisted him. Sure, she was a horse thief, but she was his kind of horse thief.
Molly turned to face Addison. “So what did you tell Madame Feng? Are we getting murdered with boiling silver this morning, or did you sell out to her?”
“Which would you prefer?”
Molly wasn’t sure.
“I didn’t tell her anything. I just needed to see Uncle Nigel so he could translate the next clue.”
“Do you have it?” Molly asked excitedly.
Addison cracked open his notebook and read his uncle’s scribbled translation.
“‘In the land no living Mongol may pass, I climbed the eagle cliff.
I swam beneath a river, and crawled under a mountain to the city of the dead.
Know the Khan to open the tomb; know thyself to escape.’”
“This one sounds like a doozy,” said Eddie. His fingers were drilling piano scales on the concrete bench. The drumming of his fingers was slowly driving Addison crazy.
“Any ideas?” asked Molly.
Addison shook his head. He studied the map of Mongolia in Fiddleton’s Asia Atlas. “We know the Russians went north. But there’s nothing but wilderness up there on the map.” He sat down against the cell wall, his feet splayed out before him. “Archaeology. It’s caused nothing but trouble for our family.”
Raj threw down the lock-picking set in disgust. “This thing is impossible! I want my money back.”
Eddie covered his ears in the echoey stone cell. “Please don’t shout. I have sensitive ears.”
Molly snapped. “Eddie, all you care about is your delicate fingers and sensitive ears! Can we just focus on the fact that we’re trapped in a cell and about to be tortured?”
Addison saw that his team’s nerves were fraying. He needed a solution, he needed to lead, but he saw no ray of hope. His hand sought the medallion in his jacket pocket and held it for luck. He placed the chain around his neck and hid the medallion under his shirt, close to his heart. Somehow, he felt calmer. Eddie’s thumping on the concrete bench no longer bothered him. Addison watched him thoughtfully. And then, in a moment of clarity, he suddenly smiled. “Eddie, what are you practicing?”
Eddie looked up from his imaginary piano. “Scales.”
“Practice this, instead.” Addison picked up Raj’s lock-picking set from the floor and handed it to Eddie.
Eddie regarded it doubtfully. “I keep telling you, Addison. These fingers are for piano keys.”
“Maybe they’re meant for a different kind of keys.”
Eddie’s entire face seemed to clench with thought. He selected a pin in one hand and a pick in the other. He turned them carefully in his long, thin fingers. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try.” He knelt down by the padlocked door, fed his hands through the iron bars, and quoted Sir Frederick. “‘Praise be to the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle . . .’”
He pressed his ear to the lock, carefully inserted the pick, and nudged it a millimeter. A beatific calm spread across his features, like a saint at prayer. “Wow,” he whispered. “I can hear the spring click when the tumbler locks into place.”
Addison held a hand in the air, signaling the group for complete silence. They watched Eddie in fascination. It was like watching Mozart sit down at a piano for the first time in his life.
“I’ve got a second tumbler,” Eddie whispered, his eyes shut in concentration. “And a third. Just one more, I think . . .” The padlock sprang open. Eddie opened his eyes and pushed the cell door ajar.
“Amazing,” said Molly.
“There’s nothing to it.” Eddie shrugged. “You just need delicate fingers and a sensitive ear.”
Raj rose to his feet, a solemn expression on his face. He rolled up his lock-picking set and handed it ceremoniously to Eddie. “You should have it, Eddie—you’ve earned it. You’ve found your calling.”
A slow smile spread across Eddie’s face, and he nodded his thanks.
Addison wanted to spare his flashlight batteries, so they crept out of the dungeon chamber in darkness, traced their fingertips along the cold stone walls of the wine cellar, and climbed the steps into the morning light of the kitchen.
Ducking the short cook pulling a frozen duck from the short freezer, Addison Cooke pulled up short, froze, and ducked. His team crawled into the dining room and crossed into the great room where the glowing embers of last night’s fire still crackled in the fireplace. They listened to the boot steps of a triad guard making his early morning rounds upstairs.
“We’re almost out of the palace,” said Molly.
“Not so fast,” said Addison. “If we’re lucky, we have a chance to find where they’re keeping the A & U.”
Molly nodded her agreement. They glided silently down the wooden hallway until they reached a closed door. Eddie carefully opened it and discovered a room full of triads. They were sleeping on a sofa, with a few in sleeping bags on the floor. Struggling to avoid a heart attack, Eddie carefully clicked the door shut. “They’re not in there,” he reported.
The group crossed through a den with a magnificent bookshelf. Addison admired the leather-bound first editions of the complete works of Rosie M. Banks. Molly had to tug Addison’s sleeve before he got too distracted.
When the group reached a second closed door, Eddie refused to open it. So Molly carefully twisted the handle and eased the door open. They stepped inside to find a storage room piled high with ivory tusks. Some of the larger ones were ten feet long. Addison’s face darkened. “These triads are monsters.”
“Why?” asked Eddie.
“They’re trafficking illegal tusks. Poachers kill endangered elephants in Africa and sell the tusks throughout Asia.”
“That’s not all Madame Feng’s trafficking,” said
Raj, pointing to the far end of the storage room.
There, Addison saw boxes of rifles, crates of bullets, and even barrels of gunpowder. Addison had not thought he could like Madame Feng any less, but he kept discovering new things to dislike about her. It was like the opposite of a love affair.
Molly guided them out of the room. “We have to keep moving. The sun is up, and Madame Feng will come looking for us.”
Raj tried the next door in the hallway: a utility closet with buckets and brooms stacked next to the hot water heater. “Perfect!” Raj unscrewed the supply hose from the gas line, so methane gas hissed into the room. “This ought to slow them down.”
Addison leapt back a foot. “Raj, what are you doing? That’s dangerous!”
“The gas will leak into the house and put everyone to sleep.”
“They’re already asleep. Besides, gas is highly flammable! Raj, put it back the way it was.”
Raj shook his head and sighed. “Okay.” He twisted the spigot rod, but it wouldn’t budge. He twisted it harder, and it snapped in his hand. More gas spewed loudly from the main.
“Honestly, Raj,” said Addison, in a rising panic. “You’re one of my favorite people in the world, but sometimes you have a real genius for stupidity.”
“So, what you’re saying is, I’m a genius.”
“The gas is spreading fast,” said Molly.
“This is the pig’s whistle,” said Addison.
The group took wing like a flock of birds spooked from a tree. There was no debate—they simply ran, searching for a rear exit from the palace. The group took a wrong turn into a bedroom and doubled back.
“Wait a second,” said Addison, skidding to a halt. “What about Madame Feng’s fire?”
“Oh, right,” said Raj, his eyes widening. “Sorry about that.”
The gas explosion that followed was many decibels too loud for Eddie’s delicate ears. The center of the house erupted like a rocket launch. A concussion of hot air blasted the team off their feet, sending them sliding down the polished wood floor. A fireball surged down the hallway, incinerating everything in its path.
“Raj,” Molly shouted. “Can’t you go ONE DAY without burning down a building?”
• • • • • •
The group sprinted away from the spreading flames. Addison flung open each doorway they passed, searching for Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel. Glass shattered across the palace as triads leapt from the windows. Madame Feng’s voice screeched above the din, shouting frantic orders.
“On the bright side,” Addison called over the roaring inferno, “this fire is the perfect cover for our escape!” He quickly realized he had spoken a bit too soon. A trio of triads burst from a side door, hunting for an exit. They spotted Addison’s team and raced toward them like three dogs chasing the last four squirrels on earth.
Molly attempted her Mongol-Zo roundhouse kick, but her balance was off. She airballed it, missing a triad and somehow landing on her back. It didn’t matter. The raging fire was racing up tapestries and chewing the wood-paneled walls. The triads quickly reassessed their priorities in life. Although they were dying to catch Addison’s group, they didn’t want to actually die catching Addison’s group. So instead, they ran for their lives, fleeing the burning house. The three triads did not trouble themselves with doors, they simply crashed headfirst through the windows.
“If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em,” said Addison. He took a running start and dove out of a window after the triads. He was getting rather used to diving headfirst out of windows. Molly, Eddie, and Raj followed suit.
It was when they were leaping rock to rock across one of Madame Feng’s koi ponds that the roaring fire must have reached the storage room . . . the storage room that was filled with gunpowder. The entire palace exploded as if struck by a missile.
Addison’s team covered their heads as floorboards and shards of Ming dynasty vases rained down around them. One of Madame Feng’s porcelain teacups shattered at Addison’s feet.
Safe from the blast radius, they turned and watched the burning ruins as chunks of mortar and wisps of charred wallpaper fell from the sky. No one spoke for a long moment. “Can we all agree,” said Molly at last, “to never, ever tell our parents or guardians we blew up a palace?”
Everyone silently nodded.
Triads ran in circles on the far side of the lawn. A few were trying to rescue elephant tusks from the flaming wreckage. Fire engines clanged in the distance. To Addison and Molly’s intense relief, they spotted Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel—alive and well—being herded by triads to the safety of a koi pond.
“Can we rescue them?” asked Molly.
Addison counted the number of triads guarding his aunt and uncle. He then counted the number of triads furiously charging directly toward him. Addison’s math was not spectacular, but it was good enough. “The A & U will have to fend for themselves a little longer. We have our own problems to sort out.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Naadam Horse Race
ADDISON PUSHED OPEN THE estate’s main gate, and the team escaped into the chaotic streets of downtown Ulaanbaatar. They fought their way upstream against a river of pedestrians. Addison was shocked by the crowds. Streets were barricaded from vehicle traffic, and cheering throngs waved Mongolian flags.
Molly spotted a tidal wave of triads pouring from Madame Feng’s compound. They pointed at Addison’s group and shoved their way through the crowd.
“Hurry!” cried Molly. She tried to squeeze her way through the press of bodies, but there was no way past the police barricades. She wrung her hands in frustration. “Why are all these streets shut down?”
“The horse race!” Addison shouted over the noise of the crowd. “Nobody said this is a national holiday.” He gestured for everyone to duck low as the triads scanned the teeming legions of people. The barricades marked the route of the horse race, and none of the Mongolians wanted to give up their front-row spots. “We’re not getting anywhere on foot—we need transportation.” Addison did most of his best thinking aloud. “We know the Russians went north and there are no roads in the wilderness. If we want to follow Sir Frederick’s clue, we need horses.”
Molly feathered her way through the masses of Mongolians. It seemed less crowded as they approached the starting line of the race. All the action would be happening at the finish line. “Where are we supposed to find horses?”
Addison slowly smiled.
Molly began shaking her head vehemently. “No, Addison. Absolutely not.”
But he was already on the move, heading straight for the race stables.
Addison’s team had no choice but to follow, keeping one step ahead of the triads.
Molly eyed the security guard manning the stable entrance. She didn’t need to read Mongolian to understand the “Do Not Enter” signs. “Addison, we’re not allowed in there.”
Addison did not break his stride. “Good. That means Madame Feng isn’t allowed in there, either.”
“At least tell me you have a plan this time.”
He reverently quoted Sun Tzu. “‘Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.’”
“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you.”
“I’m improvising!”
Addison waved to the guard manning the entrance. The young man was reclining on a chair, his feet propped on a porch railing, his legs blocking the doorway. He wore a New York Yankees cap and was reading a horse-racing magazine. Both were in English, so Addison felt he was on good footing. “Good morning. We’re just popping in to the stables for a quick look around.”
“No, you’re not,” said the guard.
“Look, I hate to name-drop,” said Addison, pointing to Eddie, “but this is the prime minister’s son. We need to check on the prime minister’s investment.”
The guard licked a thumb and turned a page of his magazine. “Uh-huh.”
Addison could see he was dealing with a rather intelligent security guard. Judging from the guard’s taste in magazines, he knew a thing or two about horse races. Addison just needed to lure him onto that topic. He baited the hook. “All we need is a minute with the jockeys.”
“I can’t let you enter. How do I know you’re not doping horses?”
Addison had never been mistaken for a horse doper. He had not considered this angle. He sensed an opportunity and folded his arms across his chest. “If we were horse dopers, that would be valuable information to you.”
“Yes, so I could throw you in jail.”
“You could throw us in jail. But that wouldn’t put money in your pocket.”
The guard squinted up at Addison, looking at him for the first time.
Addison could see that he finally had the man’s attention. “I can’t tell you which horse is going to win. But I can guarantee you which four horses are going to lose. There are people who would pay a lot of money for that information.”
The guard scratched his chin. “I work for the stable—I can’t gamble on the race.”
“Of course not,” said Addison, reeling in the hook. “But your friends can. And your friends can share the wealth. Let us in and you’ll be up to your ears in tögrögs.”
The guard returned to his magazine, but he slowly lowered his legs from the railing, allowing Addison’s team to pass. They percolated past the porch and into the stable. In the nick of time, thought Addison, spying Hu searching the stable yard.
Inside the stable, Addison’s nose was greeted with a bouquet of cigar smoke, horse sweat, and dung. The smell was so intense, he forgot about Raj’s odor entirely. He led the team into the locker room where all the jockeys were strapping on their boots for the race. To his surprise, the Mongolian jockeys were all young, probably for their small size. One girl looked young enough to be in elementary school. The cigar smell was so strong, someone might as well have lit a skunk on fire. Taking the temperature of the room, Addison sensed the jockeys were a disgruntled lot, and not too pleased about the upcoming event. He sidled up to a boy who looked to be his own age. “Sounds like a tough race.”
Addison Cooke and the Tomb of the Khan Page 23