Addison Cooke and the Ring of Destiny Page 3

  Addison picked up the key and weighed it in his hands. It was small, silver, and as light as a penny. “Some inheritance.” He handed it to Eddie. “You’re the expert with locks and keys. What does it open?”

  Eddie held the tiny key up to the light and read the manufacturer’s number engraved along its side. “This is called a five-pin key. And you can tell from the size . . . it’s a bank key.”

  “We inherited a bank?” asked Molly.

  “Well, a safe deposit box.”

  “What’s a safe deposit box?”

  “It’s where you keep something so valuable you can’t keep it in a house,” said Eddie.

  “So you lock it in a box inside a bank vault.”

  “Which bank?” asked Addison.

  Eddie shrugged. “It could be anywhere.”

  Addison picked up the torn envelope from the Law Offices of Pinfield & Hipwistle, Esquires, and read the address aloud. “47 Piccadilly, St. James’s, London.” He fished in his hip pocket, retrieved his well-thumbed copy of Fiddleton’s World Atlas, and opened the crumpled map of London.

  Molly moved to his side of the sofa. “You’re thinking Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel chose a bank on their way to the lawyer’s office?”

  “That’s a leap of faith,” said Eddie.

  “It’s a place to start,” said Addison, using his felt-tip pen to circle a bank on the map near Trafalgar Square.

  Dialing Uncle Jasper’s ancient candlestick phone, Addison began calling banks, inquiring after the safe deposit box. He lowered his voice and did his best impression of Uncle Nigel’s twee British accent.

  Eddie and Raj kept downing glasses of water.

  “Don’t expect to find the bank,” said Eddie.

  Molly frowned. “Why would you say that, Eddie?”

  “I’m a pessimist. That’s my philosophy in life. If I always expect to be disappointed, then when I get disappointed, I’m not disappointed.”

  Molly squinted and slowly nodded.

  Eddie and Raj finished the entire water pitcher and took an emergency bathroom break. By the time they returned, Addison was calling his sixth London bank. He called three more before he found the one where his uncle owned a safe deposit box.

  Addison jotted down the bank address and hung up the phone. “Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel opened a bank account five years ago. On January third.”

  Molly gasped. “That’s the same day they wrote the will!”

  “Well,” Addison said, buttoning up his blazer. “Who still wants to go to the stables?”

  Chapter Five

  The Bank Vault

  ADDISON KNEW THE TRAIN routes from his regular pilgrimages to London’s world-class archaeology museums. Train fare was not an issue, because he had won a monthly train pass off his roommate Wilberforce in a dice game. He didn’t tell Wilber that his uncle Jasper had taught him from an early age how to memorize the odds and never fade an any-seven bet. Addison felt no remorse, however; Wilberforce rarely left their dorm room and was more likely to use a bar of soap than his monthly train pass.

  Addison’s group alighted at the Charing Cross Railway Station and waded into the crowded streets of downtown London. The prime minister’s residence at 10 Downing Street was just to the south. Buckingham Palace was just to the west. And it was just two days before Christmas, so all the shop windows were hung with twinkling holiday lights. Wreaths brightened the lampposts. Festive holly boughs, festooned with bells, adorned the fence posts along St. James’s Square.

  “I like London,” said Molly. She turned in a slow circle, admiring the scenic charm. “Let’s try not to get kicked out of this city.”

  “I shall do my best,” said Addison.

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  It was nearly lunchtime when they arrived outside the Blandfordshire Bank at 1 West Chiselton Place. Eddie announced his burning desire to visit one of London’s famous Indian restaurants, but Addison insisted they stick to business and visit the bank first.

  Addison stared up at the imposing doors of the ancient bank building. He turned to survey his team. “We need to look respectable. Aunt D and Uncle N’s will is a little on the vague side. This bank is not obligated to open their vault for any random bloke, bloater, or blighter who wanders in off the street, especially a gaggle of thirteen-year-olds. So let’s all look our sharpest.”

  He straightened his navy-blue blazer, smoothed the collar of his dress shirt, and lined up his team for inspection.

  Molly wore sneakers and khaki cargo pants with extra pockets. Their father’s leather survival bag was slung across one shoulder. Addison thought she looked more like a war correspondent than a respectable bank customer, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Raj looked even more out of place in the ritzy Mayfair neighborhood. He wore a black T-shirt and his favorite camouflage pants, and topped it off with his signature red bandana. Addison imagined Raj’s entire closet was filled with nothing but red bandanas and camo pants, but he respected a person whose clothing made a statement.

  It was Eddie’s attire that Addison found unacceptable. Eddie dressed like a person who had only narrowly outrun a tornado. His public school blazer was hopelessly wrinkled from his transatlantic flight. His tie looked like it had been square-knotted by a drunken sailor. And his pants were so short around Eddie’s long legs that if a flash flood swept the London streets, his cuffs would stay perfectly dry.

  Addison pulled and prodded Eddie’s blazer, trying to wring out the wrinkles. “Eddie, you look frumpled!”

  “Is ‘frumpled’ even a word?”

  “It should be. It describes you perfectly.”

  Eddie squirmed and fidgeted. “Addison, we’re visiting a bank, not the White House.”

  A cowlick of hair stood up on the top of Eddie’s head like a deep-space antenna. Addison figured the cowlick could only be cured with a buzz saw. He stopped fussing over Eddie’s jacket creases and sighed. “Well, it will have to do.”

  He led the team up the stone steps of the bank.

  “Guys, I’ve been working on my situational awareness,” said Raj. “You know, checking for sniper positions before entering a building—that sort of thing.”

  Addison paused at the front doors and stared at Raj quizzically. “And?”

  Using only his eyes, Raj indicated a black SUV parked on the far side of the street. “We’re being watched.”

  Addison’s eyebrows lowered to their bottom floor. Turning slowly, he feigned interest in a passing double-decker bus and risked a glance at the black SUV. Inside were four large men wearing dark suits, dark sunglasses, and dark expressions. Addison would lay ten-to-one odds they were staring directly at him from behind their black shades. It did not give him a rosy feeling. “Interesting,” he said thoughtfully. He heaved open the door for his group, and they filtered into the bank.

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  They stood in the high-ceilinged bank lobby, gaping at the magnificent splendor. Every surface was polished marble, maple, or mahogany. Addison crossed to a narrow window and drew aside the curtain an inch. Peering onto the street, he saw that the suspicious men were already gone. Before he could reflect too deeply on this, he was approached by a rather snooty-looking bank manager.

  “I’m sorry, the restrooms are for bank customers only.” The manager wore a two-button jacket with his three-piece suit; the four-carat diamond on his tiepin flickered like a five-alarm fire.

  “We don’t need the restrooms,” said Addison.

  “I do,” said Eddie.

  “Same here,” said Raj, hopping from foot to foot. They had each guzzled down two bottles of water on the train.

  Addison quieted them with a stern look and returned his most pleasant smile to the manager. “We are bank customers. I would like to see your vault.”

&nbs
p; The bank manager’s eyes widened at Addison’s bedraggled group. He gazed all the way down his long nose to view this spectacle through his spectacles. “This bank possesses a very distinguished clientele. I know every customer personally. I have never laid eyes on any of you before.”

  Addison felt he had lost his mojo. Not so long ago, he could have smooth-talked his way past this oozing blister of a man without even breaking his stride. But ever since Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel had vanished over the side of that cliff in Mongolia, Addison had been second-, third-, and fourth-guessing his every move. Life had bumped him off his seat, and he could not get his feet back on the pedals. “I have a safe deposit box,” he said simply.

  “Impossible. We do not rent safe deposit boxes to minors.” The manager waved to a guard across the floor. “Security!”

  “The box belongs to my family. My aunt and uncle.” Addison produced the key from his pocket. “And they’ve given the key to me.”

  “Oh really?” said the bank manager, his voice dripping with several fluid ounces of condescension. “Who are you? And who, pray tell, is your uncle?”

  Addison sighed. He drew himself up to his full height. “I am Addison H. Cooke, son of Addison Cooke, brother of Lord Jasper Cooke, the Seventeenth Earl of Runnymede.”

  Addison could not have changed the bank manager’s expression more if he had flattened the man’s face with a frying pan. The gaping manager cycled from abject shock to abject humiliation. Addison usually got out of situations by claiming to be someone he was not, rather than someone he actually was. He found he could quite get used to this.

  “A thousand apologies,” the bank manager gushed. “Please, forgive me, Mr. Cooke! I shall lead you to the bank vault personally. Is there anything I can offer you? Perhaps tea, or a cooling beverage?”

  “I need the bathroom,” said Eddie.

  “Of course,” said the bank manager.

  Addison read the burnished metal name tag on the manager’s lapel. Leopold Dalton. “Waters for my friends, Leo. With slices of lemon.”

  “And for you, sir?”

  Addison straightened the cuffs of his blazer. “Do you know how to make an Arnold Palmer?”

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  Leopold Dalton ushered the group down marble steps, through the basement, and into the spacious bank vault. It was decorated like a plush Victorian living room, with cozy leather sofas, a hat rack, and an umbrella stand. Addison found a coaster and set his Arnold Palmer down on the oak coffee table. Eddie and Raj, fresh from the bathroom, showed up looking quite relieved.

  Eddie rapped his knuckles against the vault wall and admired its sturdy door. “You’re looking at a twenty-four-bolt vault door. Steel-reinforced concrete. Twelve-inch-thick walls. Forty-five-thousand-pound door. Dual-control time lock.” Eddie sniffed and hitched up his pants. “Yeah, she’s a beauty.”

  Leopold raised one manicured eyebrow precisely seven millimeters. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were casing the joint.”

  Eddie shrugged, his face the portrait of innocence. He had spent the previous five months learning his way around safes the way he knew his way around a grand piano.

  Leopold showed Addison to his safe deposit box and hovered eagerly over his shoulder. It was evident that he had spent years wondering what the Cookes hid inside their vault.

  Addison inserted the tiny key in its lock and glanced up at Leopold. “May we have some privacy?”

  “But of course.” His face a mask of disappointment, Leopold bowed deeply and shuffled backward out of the room.

  The old Victorian table lamp flickered, casting eerie shadows around the vault as Addison unlocked the box.

  “Maybe it has information about our parents,” said Molly.

  “Maybe it’s filled with cash,” said Eddie.

  “Maybe it’s a mummified head,” said Raj.

  Everyone turned to stare at Raj.

  “What?” said Raj. “Some people would pay a lot of money for a mummified head!”

  Addison shook his nonmummified head and opened the small safe deposit box door. Inside was a single object, wrapped in frayed sackcloth. He carried the heavy object over to the coffee table and carefully unwrapped the decaying fabric.

  He was astonished by what he found inside.

  Chapter Six

  The Ambush

  IT WAS AN ANCIENT bronze tablet. The group stared at it, mystified.

  “What is it, exactly?” Raj breathed.

  Addison shook his head. “It’s either the world’s heaviest paperweight or the world’s ugliest doorstop.”

  “Thanks, Aunt D,” said Molly.

  Eddie tapped it with a finger. “I think my mom would love it as a coffee table ornament.”

  Addison picked up the heavy tablet and held it to the flickering light of the Victorian lamp. The tablet was about the size and shape of a good-sized dictionary. The top was inscribed with a small circle filled with strange runes. Something about the ornate carvings looked centuries old. Addison had the strange sensation that he’d seen the cryptic runes somewhere before. But where? He scrounged around in the deepest pockets of his memory, but couldn’t come up with the answer.

  He turned the tablet over in his hands to examine the other side. It was covered with wavy lines in no discernible pattern. If the tablet was a puzzle, it was inscrutable.

  “Why did Uncle Nigel call this a grave responsibility?” asked Molly. “We don’t even know what this is.”

  “Aunt D and Uncle N didn’t give us a ton of guidance here,” Addison admitted.

  “Maybe that’s on purpose,” said Raj, his eyes widening. “Supposing you get kidnapped and tortured for information: you won’t be able to tell anyone anything about the tablet.”

  Addison wasn’t sure why Raj’s mind always went straight to the darkest places. He was pretty sure his aunt and uncle hadn’t explained more about the tablet because they hadn’t planned to fall to their deaths in a Mongolian river gorge. They’d assumed they’d have all the time in the world to tell Addison and Molly about the tablet when they grew older.

  Eddie picked the tablet up, held it to his ear, and shook it. “What if it contains a treasure?”

  “Then it’s better left here,” said Addison. “We should lock it back up.”

  Molly stared at her brother, aghast. “Addison, get ahold of yourself.” She had known him to toddle home carrying everything from snakeskins to eggshells to unusually large acorns. Now, faced with a genuine archaeological mystery, he was suddenly willing to turn his back.

  Addison sensed her bewilderment. “I lost the golden whip in Mongolia. If this tablet is some important relic, I can’t risk losing it. I shouldn’t even be touching it.” He wrapped the tablet back in its sackcloth. He didn’t say what he truly felt . . . that if it wasn’t for him, his aunt and uncle would still be alive. “Whatever this tablet is, it’s not safe with me.”

  He made to stuff the tablet back inside the safe deposit box, but Molly barred his path.

  “Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel only left us this one thing,” she said. “This is all we have from them—it must be important. They wanted us to have it—they gave us a key! Let’s at least bring it back to Runnymede to show Uncle Jasper.”

  Addison wavered uncertainly.

  Molly pressed her case. “We know so little about our family’s past. Maybe this tablet can answer some of our questions.”

  Addison stared down at the strange hieroglyphs etched in bronze. He had to admit he was curious . . . Extremely curious. “Well, okay,” he said at last. “But you have to carry it.” He lifted Molly’s satchel off the sofa, buckling a little under the weight. “Wow, Molly. What do you carry in here, anyway?”

  Molly smiled demurely. “Just a few things I think might come in handy.” As she bundled the tablet into h
er satchel, the Victorian light flickered and went out entirely, plunging the vault into near darkness.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” said Eddie.

  Molly was unperturbed. “You’re a pessimist, Eddie. You have a bad feeling about everything.”

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  When they had pushed their way out the front doors of the bank, Addison pushed up his collar against the gathering winter cold. “Eddie, I know you wanted Indian food, but it will have to wait. We need to get this tablet straight home to Uncle Jasper, where it’ll be safe.”

  “Hey,” said Molly, pointing across the street, “it’s Leo the bank manager!”

  Addison followed Molly’s finger and spotted Leopold Dalton in his dazzling suit, pointing directly at them. This was surprising, to say the least. Addison realized Leo was in urgent conversation with someone in a black SUV—a rather familiar-looking black SUV. All four doors of the SUV opened simultaneously, and four unusually large men simultaneously stepped out.

  A split second later, an identical black SUV skidded to a halt at the far end of West Chiselton Place, sealing it off from traffic.

  “Margaret Thatcher!” Addison sputtered. Unlike Eddie, he was usually an optimist by nature. But even he didn’t like where this was heading.

  The four men marched across the street, closing in on Addison’s crew. They wore black suits, black boots, and black sunglasses. If they were armed, Addison didn’t need to guess what color their guns were.

  Addison briefly considered running back inside the bank, but discarded the thought. Whatever was unfolding, Leo the bank manager was in on it.

  “There’s no need to panic,” Addison told his team. He hurried down the bank’s front steps, leading his group south on Chiselton Place, away from the black-suited hulks.