Addison Cooke and the Tomb of the Khan

by Jonathan W. Stokes

  “Yeah, fifteen kilometers,” said the boy, in surprisingly good English.

  “And dangerous?”

  “Are you kidding? Every year kids get thrown and injured. Half the horses cross the finish line without riders.” He turned to spit on the dirt floor.

  “Don’t you wear helmets?”

  “Of course not.”

  “They must not have many liability lawyers in Mongolia,” Eddie put in.

  “Well,” said Addison, favoring the jockey with a sympathetic eye, “I guess they give you a lot of money if you win?”

  “No, nothing,” said the jockey bitterly. “We’re just kids.”

  “Well, at least credit?”

  “No. The way they see it, the horse did all the work.”

  Addison saw that several of the jockeys were listening now. They were getting worked up. He continued stirring the pot. “So you’re risking your lives for what? Just to entertain some fanatical grown-ups?”

  The jockeys considered this. The thirteen-year-old finished lacing his boots and cocked an eye at Addison. “What’s your angle here?”

  “I have a proposition.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Instead of getting paid zero tögrögs to risk your life, how about I pay you fifty thousand tögrögs to skip the race.”

  “No good. Someone will notice we’re missing.”

  “Not if we’re riding your horses.”

  The jockey sized up Addison’s team, mulling the idea. He waved over three of his comrades. “Fifty thousand tögrögs. Each.”

  Addison did the math in his head. Fifty thousand tögrögs was about twenty-five dollars per horse. In America, horses cost thousands of dollars. Twenty-five dollars was a 99 percent discount. Normally, Addison would negotiate, but this was the deal of a lifetime. “Done.”

  The jockeys stripped off their jerseys and boots, showed Addison’s group to the stalls, and helped them mount up. The thirteen-year-old grinned up at Addison. “If anyone asks us, we’ll say you jumped us and stole the horses.”

  “Fair enough.” Addison handed over the last of his cash and saluted with two fingers. Trainers guided their horses out of the stable, across the yard, and up to the starting gates.

  • • • • • •

  The crowd greeted Addison with a delightful medley of cheers, boos, and what he was pretty sure were death threats. He looked down at his red jersey. Whichever district of Mongolia he was representing, it wasn’t a popular one.

  He shifted on his mount, trying to get comfortable. It was Mongol custom to ride bareback, so there was no saddle to cushion his ride except a thin horse blanket.

  Trainers locked each horse into its starting gate. Molly whispered from the stall next to Addison’s. “What is the plan?”

  “The street barricades will give us a clear path right out of the city.”

  “Everyone in Mongolia watches this race!” she hissed, noting some TV cameras. “Don’t you think we’ll get noticed?”

  “We’re hiding in plain sight!” Addison had no sooner spoken than several triads in the front row of spectators began leaping, shouting, and pointing at him. They called for the racing officials but couldn’t be heard over the din.

  “They’ve found us!” cried Eddie. “We’re done!” When the starter pistol fired, Eddie clutched his heart, convinced a triad had shot him. Luckily, the horses knew their business and leapt out of the gates.

  Addison suddenly knew how a bullet feels when it’s shot from a gun. One moment, you’re minding your own business, and the next, you’re hurtling through space at the speed of sound. Addison’s hands clung to his horse by the withers, but his stomach was left a hundred yards behind at the starting gate. He reminded himself that the horses were carefully chosen from around the country, and were quite possibly the twelve fastest in Mongolia. Addison had only a few days’ experience on horseback. He felt like he was taking driving lessons on a Ferrari.

  The horses galloped past the VIP stand. Addison saw the mayor of Ulaanbaatar and the prime minister of Mongolia pointing at him. “Hey! That’s the French ambassador’s son!”

  “Bonjour!” Addison waved as he charged past. Checking over his shoulder, he was alarmed to see the mayor shouting directions at the police lieutenant. He didn’t like where this was going. He called to Eddie and Raj behind him. “Pick up the pace a bit!”

  The more experienced riders were pulling ahead. Addison leaned low over his horse’s neck, streamlining his body. Police officers on walkie-talkies stepped into the racecourse ahead and attempted to grab Addison’s reins as he careened past. He swatted at them with his riding crop.

  Addison swiveled his neck to see a police car burning up the racecourse behind him, flanked by two police motorcycles. They caught up to Eddie’s mare. One of the motorcycle riders stretched out a gloved hand to snag Eddie’s reins. Eddie managed to swerve out of reach at the last minute. The crowd, who had a lot of tögrögs riding on this race, loudly booed the police, showering them with rotten fruit.

  A police motorcycle pulled up close, spooking Addison’s horse with its roaring engine. The policeman drew his baton and jabbed between the horse’s ankles, trying to trip the galloping animal. Addison decided things were getting out of hand. It was time to take these horses off-roading. “Follow me!” he cried to his team, and steered his horse straight for the nearest barricade.

  He assumed his mare would leap the barricade, but instead she crashed right through it. The crowd screamed and dove for cover. After his experiences in the Hong Kong night market, Addison was quite used to the sight of crowds diving for cover. His horse, however, was not. The panicked mare flailed her hooves, and Addison struggled to control her as they galloped clear of the thick press of the crowd and into the wide streets of downtown Ulaanbaatar.

  • • • • • •

  Addison checked to see if his group was keeping up and heard the roar of hundreds of angry Mongolians. They were tearing up their race tickets and shaking fists at him for wrecking the most important horse race in the country. Addison had upset a few people in his day, but never an entire city. He found he quite liked the attention. Dozens of enraged spectators began chasing him down, hungry for blood. Addison was thrilled he could now say he’d been chased by a horde of Mongols.

  The New Yorkers cantered ahead of the angry throng. Weaving through side streets, they found the rest of downtown Ulaanbaatar somewhat empty.

  Addison opened his mare up to a full gallop. Behind him, Mongolians vented their rage on every shop and food cart they passed, tearing open storefronts and looting the city. Ulaanbaatar was descending into a full-scale riot. Addison was not proud of this, but he thought it might help keep the police occupied.

  He was mistaken.

  The full might of the city police department cruised in from all directions, patrol cars skidding to barricade intersections. They may have been riding the fastest horses in Mongolia, but they were no match for the fastest police cars in Mongolia. With each street blocked off, Addison felt himself being hemmed into the maze of the city.

  “Addison, where are we going?” called Molly.

  “I don’t know and I’m not stopping for directions!”

  He pulled Roland J. Fiddleton’s Asia Atlas from his pocket, craning his neck, and turned the map in all directions as they galloped from north to west to south and back to west again.

  “The police are boxing us in!” called Molly. They galloped into an intersection and found all their exits walled off by police cars.

  Addison spurred his horse down a side alley. “Chu! Chu!” he shouted, and the horse kicked into a higher gear. A police car roared down the alleyway behind them. Addison was sure they were going to be mowed down. There was no escape.

  Looking forward, Addison caught a sight that stopped the breath in his throat. Two Mongol warriors at full g
allop, swords drawn, black hair streaming behind them as they barreled toward him. Before Addison could react, the warriors swept past him, past his team, and swung their swords down at the police car, slashing all four tires.

  The police car’s rims struck the raw concrete in a shrieking shower of sparks. It skidded to a stop, wheels grinding against the pavement. A conga line of police cars rear-ended the first car, clogging up the alley like plugging a dike. The Mongols reined their horses and reversed course, catching up with Addison’s crew.

  “Who are these guys?” asked Eddie, astonished.

  “I Don’t Know!” shouted Addison. “And Nobody!”

  The Black Darkhad unwrapped the scarves from their faces and smiled at the New Yorkers.

  Addison recognized their horses and remembered they had stabled them by the Muddy Duck. “How did you find us?”

  “You’re kind of hard to miss!” said I Don’t Know.

  Addison couldn’t help but admire the way I Don’t Know’s long hair tumbled across her shoulders, but before he could get too distracted, he heard fresh sirens bearing down from the east. “Can you get us out of this city?”

  “We want to go north,” said I Don’t Know, “but there’s a race in the way.”

  Addison cut a path due north. A horse race is not an obstacle when one is on a horse. He knew he was heading in the right direction when the crowds grew so thick, it was hard for the police cars to follow. He steered directly for a course barricade, and this time his mare made the leap.

  He touched down on the racecourse, expecting to be loudly booed or pelted with fruit. After plowing around a few curves, Addison noticed the crowd was actually cheering him. Somehow, his team had taken a massive shortcut and they were suddenly in the lead. Addison had never entered a national horse race before, but his competitive instincts kicked on like a stadium floodlight. “C’mon,” he urged his excited horse. “Chu, chu!”

  Molly’s gelding pulled within a horse’s tail of Addison before they galloped over the finish line, snapping the yellow racing tape. Addison was showered in confetti. Champagne bottles popped and the crowd cheered. The horses slowed, enjoying their moment, but Addison spurred them to keep right on running.

  Nobody grinned radiantly. “All my life, I’ve dreamed of competing in the Naadam Horse Race. I never thought I would someday cross the finish line.”

  “Stick with me, Nobody,” said Addison.

  Police cars closed in on Addison’s left hand and his right. They skidded into place, walling off escape routes. A few squad cars crept up on Addison’s rear. The team’s horses were laboring hard, heaving for breath.

  Addison was not worried. “Nobody, have you ever seen a ‘spinning duck’?”

  “What’s a spinning duck?”

  “Just a little trick we learned when we were chased by the policia in Ecuador. First you spin . . .” They galloped their horses around the blind corner of an intersection. Following Addison’s lead, they reined into a crowded horse paddock. “Then you duck!” They jumped down off their mounts and lay flat, hiding among the crowd of horses.

  Addison peered through the wooden fencing and counted seventeen police cars that thundered past at full speed, red and blue sirens blaring, before disappearing around the next bend.

  The team walked their horses through alleyways and backyards, keeping off the main roads until they reached the perimeter of the city. It wasn’t until they’d crossed an empty highway and climbed into the cover of the wooded foothills that they paused to look back. From the shouting and police sirens, at least half of Ulaanbaatar was embroiled in a riot. Smoke still rose from the heart of the city where they had blown up Madame Feng’s palace.

  Molly shook her head. “We’re running low on cities we haven’t completely wrecked.”

  Addison shrugged, admiring their work. “Plenty of fish in the sea, Molly.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Forbidden Lands

  ADDISON’S GROUP WALKED THEIR horses along the crest of a hill, high above the coal heaps and slag pits of Ulaanbaatar.

  “Where to?” Nobody asked.

  “To ‘the land no living Mongol may pass,’” said Addison, quoting Sir Frederick’s last clue.

  Nobody and I Don’t Know shared a dark look.

  “What?” asked Addison. “Does that mean something to you? A land where Mongols are forbidden to go?”

  Nobody stopped his horse and turned to Addison. “You speak of the Ikh Khorig, the Great Taboo. At its heart lies a sacred mountain called Burkhan Khaldun, guarded by the Darkhad. Any person who trespasses there is punished by death.”

  “Why?” asked Molly.

  Addison surprised the Darkhad by knowing the answer. He had read The Secret History of the Mongols. “When Genghis Khan was young, the Merkit clan tried to assassinate him. He hid in the Burkhan Khaldun and believed the mountain saved his life. He declared the mountain sacred and decreed that his children and grandchildren should pray to the mountain every day of their lives.”

  I Don’t Know nodded, impressed.

  What Addison did not say was that ideas were now bouncing around in his brain like popcorn in a microwave. It made sense that Genghis would want to be buried on the mountain he declared sacred. And the fact that no Mongol would set foot there went a long way toward explaining how the Khan’s tomb had remained hidden for eight centuries.

  “No one is allowed in the Great Taboo except the Black Darkhad,” said I Don’t Know, as if reading Addison’s thoughts.

  “Then I know we’ll be safe.”

  “Not that safe. The penalty is death.”

  “Protecting a mountain is more important to you than human lives?” asked Addison.

  Nobody nodded firmly. “The golden whip is the symbol of the Khan and of our country. If it exists in these mountains, it is more precious than a human life.”

  Addison wasn’t entirely sure if there was anything more precious than a human life, but he let the matter slide. “Can you lead me to your fellow Darkhad so I can negotiate?”

  “We can. But they will kill you for entering these lands.”

  Addison turned to I Don’t Know. “Do you believe in these rules?”

  She shrugged. “The Darkhad have been this way for eight hundred years. They’re sort of set in their ways.”

  “We’ve come this far. I want to finish this.” Addison looked back at Ulaanbaatar, filled with a million Mongols who were more than a bit peeved with Addison’s team for setting fire to a museum, blowing up a palace, ruining their horse race, and causing a riot. “I think it’s best if we go to the one place in Mongolia where no Mongolians can get their hands on us.”

  • • • • • •

  Austere mountain peaks presided over the foothills. I Don’t Know spurred her horse along a trail that wound into a deep forest. “Stay close behind me. This a wild land, filled with wolves and hunting eagles. There are brown bears in the mountains, as well as wild boar, lynxes, wolverines and . . . ” She stopped short. “Is your friend okay?”

  Addison turned, and to his horror, saw Raj wiping himself with a handful of horse dung like it was a bar of soap. “Raj, what are you doing!?”

  “Clearly,” said Raj, looking at Addison as if he were the weird one, “I am masking my scent from predators.”

  The forest opened up on a crystalline lake, reflecting the mountain peaks in a pristine way that reminded Addison of the Swiss Alps. The air was cool and clean here, untouched by man.

  Nobody sat his horse and scanned the forested foothills. He drew an ibex horn from his belt and blew a long, low signal that echoed across the valleys. He clicked his tongue, spurred his horse, and kept riding.

  In the afternoon they reached a crag in the mountain where boulders rose up on either side of the path. Addison’s first thought was that it was the perfect site for an ambush. His seco
nd thought was to wonder if he’d been reading too much Sun Tzu.

  Nobody reined his horse again. He drew his ibex horn and blew another low, trilling call. He slid down off his mount in one fluid motion. He allowed the mare to crop grass while he sunned himself on a rock.

  “Wait,” said Molly, shielding her eyes. “I thought I saw movement in those trees.”

  “It’s the Black Darkhad,” said I Don’t Know, dismounting like her brother. “They’ve found us.”

  “I don’t see anything,” said Eddie.

  Addison felt a tingling on the back of his neck. He scanned the impenetrable woodlands just beyond the boulders.

  In a single flicker of movement, two dozen bowmen stepped out from the rocks. One moment there was no one. The next moment there were twenty-four iron-tipped arrows poised on bowstrings, ready to rip Addison’s team to shreds.

  I Don’t Know called out to the Darkhad in her native dialect.

  A thick-browed man whom Addison took to be the chieftain barked a harsh word at I Don’t Know, driving her to silence.

  “Um, excuse me,” Addison began in his most reasonable voice. “Perhaps I should introduce myself.”

  Armed men tore Addison off his horse and threw him to the rocky ground. Addison winced, arching his back in pain. He was pinned down, a knee on his stomach. A twelve-inch steel dagger was pressed to his throat. He looked up into the midnight black eyes of the thick-browed chieftain.

  Addison swallowed hard and managed to croak, “Addison Cooke. Nice to meet you.”

  The Darkhad bared his nicotine-stained yellow teeth. “You are on sacred ground. The penalty is death.”

  “We’re friends with Nobody and I Don’t Know.”