The Noah Reid Series: Books 1-3: The Noah Reid Action Thriller Series Boxset

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  The cat was fast, but the athletic Chin was equal to the task, running with the blazing speed of a world-class Olympic sprinter, matching the tiger stride for stride. Gradually, he gained ground on the animal, chasing it with relentless determination.

  With innate jungle survival instinct, the feline terror sprang from the sidewalk to the top of a passing station wagon. The vehicle’s passengers screamed in terror as the cat’s paws swept downward, trying to break the window. Picking up the pace, the driver swerved back and forth, trying to dislodge his unwanted passenger.

  Chin was relentless in his pursuit of the furred, black-striped creature. He effortlessly sprang onto the roof of a moving SUV and then leapfrogged from vehicle to faster vehicle to keep up with his man-eating prey.

  Chin was almost there when the tiger launched itself to the top of a hundred-foot-long van driving alongside the station wagon. Chin didn’t miss a beat. With a superhuman leap, he followed suit, bounding and then landing at the opposite end of the van from the tiger. Tiger and man, both on top of a moving truck with nowhere else to go except the inevitable destination: each other. The two locked eyes—hatred shone from the feline’s and confident mastery permeated the human’s.

  The two charged, taking less than two seconds before the battle’s next phase. The beast, gnashing its razor teeth, leapt at Chin. Simultaneously Chin, combining grace with power, sprang into the air. Almost as if choreographed, the two collided in midair. As the tiger furiously tried to sink its teeth through Chin, Chin restrained it by adeptly grabbing the animal firmly by the fur on its neck and then, using his other arm, choked it by the throat with his forearm.

  It looked like an unfair battle. The tiger had the strength to bring down an animal eight times its size, and its bite could decapitate a deer. Strong as Chin was, he was no match for an infuriated tiger, and the tiger quickly freed itself from Chin’s hold.

  But this was not unexpected by Chin. Realizing that subtlety was not part of the feline’s intellectual make-up, he used this maneuver to deflect its single-purposed goal—there was no way the tiger knew what Chin would do. Chin grabbed the tiger and pulled it off the top of the van. The two plummeted to the ground. Chin was on top, and he used the surprised tiger to cushion himself from the fall. With its back badly injured, the struggling beast writhed, but Chin locked the tiger’s head into a vise grip and secured its body with his legs.

  The wounded animal could not escape. Chin began grinding his knuckles into the tiger’s temples. The feline tried to bite its way to freedom, but it could not withstand Chin’s relentless assault. It grew weaker and finally fell unconscious. Chin stood up and stepped aside as the handlers arrived. They threw a mesh net over the insensate animal.

  The Yellow Cab carrying Noah was one of the vehicles whose roof Chin stomped on in pursuit of the tiger. It drove slowly by Chin’s entourage and booty.

  Noah, peering through the window, sensed Chin’s intense, depthless eyes boring into him. He turned to Rajiv.

  “Now that’s one crazy, scary mother.”

  “Who? The ninja or the tiger?” asked Rajiv.

  Noah looked back to see Chin’s hard angled face with unwavering eyes boring into him, penetrating his soul. “My mistake. Those are two crazy, scary mothers that I would never want to mess with.”

  “Be careful what you don’t wish for. Brahma has a habit of humbling us.”

  “Well, my karma’s good,” Noah said confidently.

  Chapter 2

  FIFTEEN YEARS EARLIER

  Airports could be treacherous places. Despite all the omnipresent precautions―checkers, bureaucrats, security staff—there were just too many bad guys out there who could find a way to sneak something in that could wreak havoc. Too bad they didn’t realize this years ago.

  Garret Southam, a ruggedly handsome man in his early forties, stood at the window of the Hong Kong Business Aviation Centre where private planes could get in and out discreetly and quickly. Garret, a British expat, watched his cute-as-a-button eleven-year-old daughter, Olivia. She, in turn, looked in wonder and anticipation at every incoming plane.

  “Is that the one, Daddy?” asked the skinny young blonde.

  “No, not that one. But I’m sure it will be soon,” said Garret in a rich baritone voice.

  Tai Shan, or “Tommy” Sung, a robust Chinese man in his late thirties, approached Garret with his ten-year-old daughter, Abby. Tommy looked like he stepped out of a kung fu movie, whereas Abby was the Chinese version of Olivia. Both girls were jailbait in the present and, in a few years, they would be objects of attraction to any male with a pulse.

  Abby saw Olivia and ran to her in delight. “Olivia. Olivia! What are you doing here?”

  Olivia hugged Abby. “I’m here to see my mommy.”

  “Me, too!”

  Garret looked up toward the glimmering tapestry of stars and points. “Well, we won’t have to wait too long. I’m pretty sure that’s her plane landing over there.” He turned to Tommy. “I thought Jocelyn was coming in tomorrow.”

  Tommy shrugged. “Chin pulled a rabbit out of his hat. This flight was fully booked, but somehow he got her onboard.”

  Garret hid his sudden chill. “I wish our wives would stop trying to save the world. Going to Thailand right after a tsunami was hardly a smart idea. They could have had a building crumple on them or gotten typhoid.”

  “Would you rather they stayed home and played mahjong? Besides, what’s the point of having a trophy wife if you can’t show her off? Having them do charity work is good for business.”

  “You’re incorrigible, Tommy.”

  “As if I knew what that meant, Mr. Fancy Lawyer,” snorted the high school dropout.

  “It means...” but before Garret could finish, Olivia and Abby began waving and jumping in delight as the plane taxied closer to the arrival bay.

  “Hi, Mommy. Hi! Welcome back,” called the excited young girls in their high-pitched voices.

  “It’s about time,” muttered Garret. “We have some things to discuss.”

  He grimaced at Tommy, who nodded solemnly. “Yes, we do. Does Mary know?”

  “She will soon. Jocelyn?”

  “Same here.” Tommy shook his head. “This was a bad idea from the beginning.”

  “The plane’s coming! It’s almost here!” shouted Abby.

  All turned their eyes and focused on the plane gradually making its way toward them. It seemed like an eternity to the young, screaming girls, who hadn’t seen their mothers for seventeen days.

  BOOM! BOOM! The plane suddenly exploded! Instead of a plane on the tarmac, there was a long cylindrical inferno burning out of control. Pandemonium burst inside and outside the terminal. Time hung suspended as if the next thirty seconds floated like a movie in slow motion.

  Olivia screamed, “Mommy! Mommy!”

  Garret willed himself to calm himself for his daughter’s sake. Instinctively, he took the bawling child and hugged her close to his chest.

  Abby dived into Tommy’s arms, sobbing. “No, that’s not Mommy. It’s not Mommy! That’s the wrong plane.”

  BOOM! The plane split in half.

  BOOM! The plane exploded into smithereens. Fragments of plane and people exploded like a hundred Roman candles going off simultaneously. Except, in addition to the fiery stars, fragments of plane and people were launched into the air above the tarmac.

  The two girls screamed—their mothers, the most important people in their young lives, were gone. Their cries of agony filled the airport and could be heard all the way to Heaven.

  The two men winced at each other; each worried, suspicious and afraid. No, it was not the wrong plane. It was exactly the right plane. They both knew it, but damned if they were going to say anything to anybody at any time.

  With an explosion of this magnitude, it had likely destroyed everything, including the supposedly indestructible black box. But even if the flight data recorder survived, it would never be found.

  Garret and T
ommy were sure of that. And this was no Hollywood blockbuster; it was stone cold reality.

  The inferno from the mangled wreckage of the aircraft burned to the essence of their souls.

  ***

  PRESENT DAY

  Talk about a mansion. This place was a gargantuan, elegant, contemporary edifice erected to show off the ostentatiousness of the nouveau riche. Even by the luxurious standards of Hong Kong’s Victoria Peak, this was a home rivaled by few. A tall brick wall, complete with embedded electrical wires to zap potential intruders, encompassed the perimeter of the mansion. Upon entering, one encountered a Mercedes, a BMW, a Tesla and a Land Rover sitting in the circular driveway. Off to the left was an Olympic-sized swimming pool, and to the right was a tennis court.

  Through the open living room window, one had a bird’s eye nocturnal view of the former British colony’s dazzling lighted skyscrapers as well as the flickering lights of vessels in Victoria Harbor. Just as mesmerizing is a soulful, luscious female voice singing, “Danny Boy.”

  Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

  From glen to glen, and down the mountainside.

  The summer’s gone, and all the flowers are dying.

  ’Tis you, ’tis you must go, and I must bide.

  A glance through the huge glass living room window revealed the singer—it was Abby. Accompanying her on a nine-foot Bösendorfer grand piano was Olivia. Intertwining jazz, Celtic nuance and breathless sensitivity, they delivered a unique take on this Irish classic.

  But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow

  Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow.

  ’Tis I’ll be here in sunshine or in shadow.

  Oh, Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.

  These two women, now in their mid-twenties, had lived up to the potential they exhibited as kids—they could be heartbreakers or home wreckers. With her lithe, lean body, simple make-up accentuating her large sensual eyes and short elegantly coiffed hair, Olivia had the classic beauty of a sandy-blonde Audrey Hepburn. Abby was more like a contemporary Chinese movie star, with big eyes, big lips, long wavy hair and sumptuous hazel eyes. The only thing that came close to matching their beauty was their dazzling musical talent. The performance was worthy of an upscale jazz club in the Big Apple.

  And if you come, and all the flowers are dying.

  If I am dead, as dead I well may be,

  I pray you’ll find the place where I am lying,

  And kneel and say an Ave there for me.

  Watching with intense interest was Tommy. Unlike his daughter, he had not aged well, or maybe he had just lived too well. He was thirty pounds overweight, balding, and his leathery skin was far from baby’s bum smooth. His style was more pimp than prosperous, with flashy gold rings, a gold necklace and a diamond-studded Rolex watch.

  His focus shifted when his cell phone vibrated. He answered, and the whispering caller caused consternation to appear on his face. As the girls finished their performance, he quickly composed himself. Wrapped up in their music, the girls didn’t notice Tommy trying desperately to keep his back from snapping with the tension of a coiled spring,

  And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me.

  And then my grave will warm and sweeter be.

  And then you'll kneel and whisper that you love me.

  And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.

  Olivia finished playing, and her gaze traversed to Abby, who finished singing the ode a cappella.

  And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.

  Like an act of worship that was complete, Abby lowered her head and inhaled. Tommy jumped to his feet, applauding. “Bravo! Bravo! You must have sung that song a thousand times for me, and every time it gets better and better.”

  Abby opened her eyes and lifted her head. “Thanks, Dad.” Abby knew her father loved Irish songs, and like millions, maybe billions, throughout the ages, “Danny Boy” was his favorite tune, sung in times of celebration... or sadness.

  Tommy hugged his daughter. “So that’s what the two of you do in New York. You’re keeping all the jazz clubs there in business.”

  The girls joined him on the sofa. Abby leaned over to the coffee table and shut off her iPad, which had been recording the performance.

  Olivia feigned indignity. “Mr. Sung, please. Abby and I were extremely diligent in our studies.”

  Tommy cracked up. “Yeah, you took courses at every bar and club in town. Birdland, Iridium, Village Vanguard or whatever they have there now.” He wagged his finger in mock warning. “Don’t try to hide it because I have the credit card statements to prove it.”

  “That’s called research,” protested the petulant songstress.

  “Of course. And I’m Santa Claus.”

  “I’m serious. Daddy, it’s a genuine fusion of international cultures coming together. Irish, Asian, American...”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. We’ll philosophize later.” Tommy got up and stretched out the stiffness from sitting still listening to Abby and Olivia for the last hour. “I have to go out now to earn some cash to pay for your Irish-Asian-American singing lessons.”

  Abby kissed her father. “Bye.”

  The girls watched Tommy exit through the oak double doors.

  Abby carefully scanned the crystal decanter on the table before picking it up. She poured merlot into two wine glasses with large bowl designs. “I don’t think Dad touched this. It’s been sitting in the same place for three years.”

  “Maybe merlot’s not his thing.”

  Abby handed one glass to Olivia, and the two women swirl the wine in the glasses while inhaling the aroma. “I can’t believe that. He drinks everything under the sun.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t like to drink at home.”

  Abby shrugged. “Maybe. But he also sat and listened to us for a whole set. He has never had that kind of patience in his life. Maybe...”

  “Don’t go there, Abby.”

  A reflective but awkward silence descended as Olivia took a slow sip, then swirled it for a moment in her mouth to savor the flavor before swallowing. She broke the quietude. “I wish I were you, Abby, going back to New York. I hate the idea of starting work.”

  Abby spoke slowly as she let out a bombshell. “Actually, I’ve decided to stay and help Dad with the company. I haven’t told him that yet. I’ll never hear the end of it if I do.”

  Olivia made the cuckoo sign, twirling her finger at her temple. “Are you nuts, girlfriend? I wouldn’t blame your dad one bit if he went ballistic on you. You’re an artist, not a businesswoman. You’re worse with money than I am. At least I know how to balance a checkbook. You would have gone bankrupt had your dad not given you such a huge allowance. I’ll drive you to the airport myself. Juilliard Jazz Studies program is where you must be.”

  Abby rubbed her finger over the rim of her glass, deep in thought. “Dad needs me.”

  “Men don’t need anybody,” said Olivia, with more than a touch of defiance.

  “Stop bringing your father into everything, Olivia.”

  Olivia sighed. “It’s not just Dad. It’s just that I hate... I hate lawyers. All they want to talk about is sports and the law. On the rare occasion when they want to talk about something else, it’s anatomy. My anatomy. ‘You’ve got a nice tush,’ or ‘Are those for real?’... I hate it. I want someone who will talk to me about Igor Stravinsky or debate with me about Pascal or have dialogue about the films of Kurosawa.”

  Abby giggled. “I’ll be happy if he just talks... with his hands in his pockets.”

  “You got that right, Abby.”

  They lifted their glasses in toast. A memory tried to surface, but each of the girls willed themselves to ignore the chilling thoughts.

  in their high-pitched voices.

  “It’s about time,” mutters Garret. “We have some things to discuss.”

  He grimaces at Tommy, who nods solemnly in agreement. “Yes, we do. Does Mary know?”

/>   “She will soon. Jocelyn?”

  “Same here.” Tommy shakes his head. “This was a bad idea from the beginning.”

  “The plane’s coming! It’s almost here!” shouts Abby.

  All turn their eyes and focus on the plane gradually making its way toward them. It seems like an eternity to the young, screaming girls, who haven’t seen their mothers for seventeen days.

  BOOM! BOOM! The plane suddenly explodes! Instead of a plane on the tarmac, there is a long cylindrical inferno burning out of control. Pandemonium bursts inside and outside the terminal.

  Time suspends as if the next thirty seconds float like a movie in slow motion.

  Olivia screams, “Mommy! Mommy!”

  Garret wills himself to calm himself for his daughter’s sake. Instinctively, he takes the bawling child and hugs her close to his chest.

  Abby dives into Tommy’s arms, sobbing. “No, that’s not Mommy. It’s not Mommy! That’s the wrong plane.”

  BOOM! The plane splits in half.

  BOOM! The plane explodes into smithereens. Fragments of plane people explode like a hundred Roman candles going off simultaneously. Except in addition to the fiery stars, fragments of plane people launch into the air above the tarmac.

  The two girls scream—their mothers, the most important people in their young lives, are gone. Their cries of agony fill the airport and can be heard all the way to Heaven.

  The two men wince at each other; each worried, suspicious and afraid. No, it was not the wrong plane. It was exactly the right one. They both know it, but damned if they are going to say anything to anybody at any time.

  With an explosion of this magnitude, it has likely destroyed everything, including the supposedly indestructible black box. But even if the flight data recorder survives, it will never be found.