Addison Cooke and the Tomb of the Khan Read online

  Addison checked over his shoulder. “This is the pig’s whistle,” he said in alarm. He wasn’t sure if this was an actual expression, but he liked the way it sounded. “Pick up those feet, Eddie! They’re gaining on us!”

  Molly, always the fastest, scrambled up a service ladder onto the three-story roof of a rickety tenement.

  Raj, Addison, and Eddie scampered after her, ducking linens on clotheslines and scaring up swarms of startled pigeons. The team skidded to a halt at the edge of a three-story roof. They stared down at the traffic below.

  “Cornered by a street corner,” said Addison.

  Triads, fists pumping, galloped closer across the rooftops.

  Raj pointed to the power lines stretching from building to building across the intersection. “We’ll zip-line out of here!” He slipped off his waiter apron and slung it over the wire.

  “Raj, are you sure you want to try this?” asked Addison, glancing nervously at the three-story drop.

  “Of course he wants to try this,” said Molly, who was pretty well acquainted with Raj by this point.

  “What about electrocution?” asked Eddie.

  “I’m only touching one wire—I’m not completing a circuit.” Raj pushed off from the roof, gripping the apron in both fists as it slid along the wire. He dangled from the line, gathering speed as he swept high over the intersection.

  Triads shouted as they drew close, branding guns and knives.

  “Works for me,” said Molly. She stripped off her apron.

  Addison and even Eddie followed suit. They draped their aprons over the power line and leapt off the edge of the roof.

  All things being equal, Addison felt pretty good about this decision. Granted, he possessed a healthy fear of heights, but he possessed an even healthier fear of knife-wielding criminals. He watched them slip away behind him as his zip line gathered speed. Cars and buses careened along the street below his flailing feet.

  Addison was rather bullish about his prospects of reaching the far side of the intersection when he noticed his speed slowing down. The power line was bowing under the weight of four people.

  Their zip line lost its zip. Raj reached the middle of the intersection first and slowed to a halt. Molly slammed into his back, with Addison and Eddie ramming her in quick succession.

  “What now?” asked Eddie.

  Addison was rarely at a loss for words; he usually ran at a surplus. But in this particular situation—the kind where one finds oneself dangling over a Kowloon street like a Christmas ornament on a breaking branch—he was unable to dredge even a few useful syllables up from his gullet. He could only stare at the heavy traffic rumbling ten feet below his wobbling wingtips. “Well, here we are,” he managed.

  The electric line strained and sagged under its groaning weight. The nearest telephone pole began to tilt like the leaning Tower of Pisa.

  “And this seemed like such a good idea,” said Raj wistfully. And it really was, all the way up until the line snapped in a shower of sparks.

  Addison’s team plummeted through the air.

  • • • • • •

  Addison didn’t have long to contemplate life choices before he landed hard in the bed of a passing garbage truck. He groaned, feeling his ribs bruised from the impact.

  Raj, Molly, and Eddie crashed down beside him, instantly buried in food wrappers, nibbled bread crusts, orange rinds, and used Q-tips.

  Addison struggled to sit up in the mounds of trash. “Alaric, king of the Visigoths!” He was pleased to be alive but not if it meant ruining his best wool slacks. He coughed a few times, which only hurt his ribs. “Let’s get out of here,” he croaked.

  “I don’t know,” said Eddie. “At least we’re safe in this truck.”

  The dump truck squeaked to a stop at a row of Dumpsters. Its hydraulic arm hoisted a Dumpster high in the air and turned its contents south. Addison’s team was buried under a fresh mound of garbage.

  “Okay,” said Eddie, clawing a greasy clump of noodles from his hair. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They wallowed through heaps of reeking trash and clambered over the iron tailgate of the dump truck. Surprised onlookers watched Addison’s team emerge, perhaps wondering why anyone would throw away four perfectly decent American kids.

  Addison shook trash from his clothes. He stood on the crowded Kowloon street and turned in a slow circle. He never thought he would regret climbing out of a garbage truck, but that was his immediate feeling. His ears were split by the roar of motorcycle engines closing in. Peering over the incoming high beams, Addison saw that each bike was piled high with triads. “Here they come!”

  His ribs aching and stiff, he tried not to take deep breaths. He led the group into a crowded Kowloon night market, weaving between food stalls heaped with shark fins and octopus, ducking past duck dealers in duck trousers hawking mallards dangling from strings.

  Triads gunned their motorcycle engines, scattering crowds, catching up quickly.

  Addison scooted under carts laden with pig heads, shortcutted through linen shops billowing with hanging fabrics, and sidestepped through incense shops reeking of scented oils. A tenacious triad throttled his motor, keeping pace behind them.

  “Raj,” Addison called, yanking a yard of silk from a display hook, “grab hold.”

  Raj took the other end and pulled the fabric taut.

  The surprised triad, punching the gas, was clotheslined off his bike. He hit the ground on his back and lay there stunned and blinking.

  Addison admired the sleek black racing bike lying toppled on its side, rear wheel spinning. He marked the roar of other bikes closing in. “Anyone know how to ride a motorcycle?”

  “I’ve seen my cousin do it,” said Eddie.

  “Eddie, you are the Executive Vice President in charge of Not Driving Anything Ever.”

  “Can I be the president?” Eddie watched anxiously as another triad bike shoved its way closer through the throngs of shoppers. “Addison, there’s four of us. We can’t all ride one motorcycle!”

  “Can’t we?” Addison righted the motorcycle. It was surprisingly heavy. He climbed on. The forward pitch of the racing bike forced him low over the handlebars, like a jockey on a thoroughbred. “Okay, Eddie. You control the clutch because I have no idea how that works. But I’m steering.”

  Eddie was about to refuse, but the incoming motorcycles were so deafening that he knew his argument would be drowned out. He climbed on behind Addison.

  Molly leapt onto the back—she was used to sharing a bicycle with Addison and didn’t see how this was much different.

  Raj perched on the front, feet balanced on the fork tube of the wheel.

  A triad motorcycle burst through a neighboring stall, heading straight for them.

  “Now!” shouted Addison.

  Eddie gunned it.

  The bike took off so fast, Addison felt his eyeballs pushed back inside his head. His first instinct was to shut his eyes. But he quickly discovered he could steer the bike far better with his eyes open. Hollering pedestrians fled from his speeding path. It filled Addison with a strange sense of power that he quite liked. “This isn’t so bad,” he said, over the sound of Eddie’s screaming.

  The trick was to stay one step ahead of the pursuing triads. This became increasingly challenging, what with all the local police brandishing nightsticks and blocking the way.

  “More gas, Eddie,” Addison shouted, taking a quick shortcut directly through a giant display of watermelons. He wiped juice from his shirt with his pocket handkerchief. He was not looking forward to his hotel’s dry cleaning bill.

  “Addison,” shouted Molly, “now the police are after us, too!”

  Addison drew deep breaths despite his aching ribs. He tried to remain calm. “First of all, there is no need to shout in my ear. Eddie already has that department covere
d. And second,” he continued, “I see the police.”

  “Well,” said Molly, “if we don’t want the police after us, maybe we shouldn’t destroy this Kowloon market.”

  “Look, it’s not our fault someone put a market right here,” said Addison, ramming a display of exotic birds, toppling their cages, and releasing several dozen cockatoos back into the wild. “Besides, Madame Feng already said the police were on her side.”

  “Addison, we need to stop messing around and get out of here if we’re going to help Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel.”

  “I’m working on it!” He steered left to avoid a police barricade and right to avoid an advancing triad. Up ahead, the market crowd grew too dense and he could drive no farther. Addison careened to a stop with the help of a row of mopeds, three pedestrians, two shopping carts, and an iron Dumpster.

  Molly tumbled off the back of the bike, landing hard on her side.

  Addison leapt off the bike. “Are you okay, Molly?”

  She grimaced, clutching her elbow. “I skinned my arm.”

  “Hop back on! We can still lose them!”

  A triad motorcycle skidded to a halt, closing off Addison’s escape path. The triad flipped down the kickstand, dismounted, and swept off his helmet.

  Addison sized up his opponent. The triad clutched twin trench knives, his fingers laced through the brass knuckles on each handle, allowing him to punch or cut. He was handsome with spiked hair, a black leather jacket, dark sunglasses, and a hint of a smile. Style went a long way with Addison, and he decided he rather liked the fellow. Granted, the man was about to attack him, but first impressions aren’t everything.

  “Listen,” Addison began, backing up with his hands raised, “you seem like a reasonable man—”

  “I doubt that,” Raj interrupted. “He’s a Green Diamond triad.”

  “A what now?” Addison leapt back to dodge a wild slash from the triad’s knife.

  “The most dangerous of the triad gangs! You can tell by his neck tattoo—a triangle of green swords.”

  Molly struggled to her feet. “Raj, how do you know this stuff?”

  “In Chapter Seven of Mission: Survival by Babatunde Okonjo, he enumerates—”

  “Guys,” Eddie pleaded, “can we please focus on the matter at hand?”

  Addison’s group backed up slowly. They were cornered between a brick wall and a fishmonger’s stall.

  The triad took another mighty sweep with his knife.

  Addison had nowhere left to retreat. He saw his moment and lunged to grab the gang member’s blade.

  The triad was too fast. Addison missed, collided with the triad’s shoulder, and went down in a jumbled heap.

  Raj seized an ice bucket from the fishmonger and walloped it at the gang member’s head with all his strength. The man ducked. Raj missed entirely, scattering ice everywhere.

  Molly, wincing from the pain in her arm, grabbed a heavy bottle of fish sauce from the fishmonger’s stand. She swung it hard at the triad’s jaw, looking for a grand slam.

  The gangster stepped lightly backward, dodging the blow . . . only to slip on the ice, crack his head on the pavement, and knock himself out cold.

  “Teamwork,” said Addison.

  “He was fast,” Molly said, deeply impressed. “Who is that guy?”

  “Tony Chin,” said Addison.

  “How do you know?”

  “I took his wallet.” Addison winked at Molly and held up Tony Chin’s driver’s license. “Little trick I learned in Bogotá.”

  More triads rushed closer, but it was a Hong Kong police officer who arrived first. Red faced with anger, he charged Addison, brandishing his billy club high. Winding up for the strike, he slid on the ice, went down sideways, and clobbered the street with his head. He lay there, dazed.

  “Wow,” said Addison, feeling invincible.

  “We need to get away from this ice!” said Eddie.

  A fresh tide of gang members flooded the market.

  “Molly, can you still run?” asked Addison.

  “It’s my arm that’s hurt, not my leg.”

  Addison’s group feathered their way past the fishmonger’s stall and fled.

  Legging it through the Kowloon street, Addison made a quick inventory of Tony Chin’s cash and, more important, the credit card situation. “American Express,” he said. “I love the mileage points.” Addison pocketed the wallet.

  At last the alley opened up, revealing the pier and harbor beyond. Addison spotted the next ferry leaving the dock, sounding its deep horn across the bay.

  The group ran, wheezing for breath. A few triads, marathon runners perhaps, still loped after them.

  “We’ve missed the boat!” cried Eddie.

  “This way!” called Addison, leaping down from the pier and onto a rickety Chinese junk. Three fishermen stared at the group in confusion until Addison whipped open Tony Chin’s wallet and held up a fistful of yuan. The fishermen saw the running triads and grasped the situation. Then they grasped the yuan. They swung into action, unmooring and shoving away from the dock.

  Raj lent a hand at the oars.

  A single triad drew his gun, contemplating a shot that might spring a leak in the ancient ship. Crowds of travelers lining the pier made for too many witnesses. The triad slowly lowered his weapon.

  Addison stood tall at the stern of the ship, the wind tousling his hair. He waved at the triads receding into the distance.

  Chapter Ten

  On the Run

  THE ANCIENT JUNK GLIDED across Victoria Harbor, the dazzling city lights twinkling on the dark water all around them like constellations in a night sky. Addison and Eddie used wooden buckets to bail seawater from the leaky boat.

  “Now I know why they call it ‘junk,’” said Eddie.

  The fishermen pulled hard at the oars, and soon they reached a strong current that carried the boat effortlessly toward the main island of Hong Kong. Only the wail of sirens carried this far out across the water. Otherwise, the chaos of Kowloon was far behind them.

  Raj used his first aid kit to clean Molly’s skinned arm. He padded it with gauze and wrapped it with a bandage.

  “Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel have a real talent for getting themselves kidnapped,” said Addison.

  “It should be called ‘adult-napped,’ not ‘kid-napped,’” said Molly.

  “Maybe it’s not a coincidence,” said Raj. “Madame Feng said she knew all about our trip to Peru. That could be how she got the idea of kidnapping them.”

  “Either way,” said Addison glumly, “they’ve been shanghaied.”

  “But we’re in Hong Kong,” said Molly.

  “It’s an expression: ‘shanghai’ means ‘to kidnap.’ Sailors used to be knocked out and carted off to Shanghai. You can still get shanghaied in Hong Kong.”

  “The one place you can’t get shanghaied is Shanghai,” said Raj helpfully, “because you’re already in Shanghai.”

  “If you’re in Shanghai, you’d have to get Hong Konged,” Addison agreed.

  “What are we talking about here?” asked Eddie.

  “We are talking,” said Molly, “about the fact that Aunt Delia and Uncle Nigel are being shanghaied from Hong Kong, Eustace is being shanghaied to Beijing, and we can’t shanghai ourselves home to New York because we have no plane tickets.” She considered whether they had any shot of calling the Hong Kong police, and ruled against it. “Addison, we’ve never knocked out a policeman before.”

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything.” Addison paced the deck. This was exactly the problem with archaeology: one minute you’re packing for a pleasant dig in the Gobi and the next minute you’re on the run from the Hong Kong police. It was not a stable career path. On the other hand, Addison knew he could not simply abandon his aunt and uncle. He thought about his father’s obsession w
ith the Great Khan. Pursuing the tomb felt like a way of sharing something with his father.

  He turned to face Molly. “If only our family were stockbrokers. We wouldn’t get into these messes.”

  She nodded sympathetically. “You know what we need to do, right?”

  Addison sighed. He could see no alternative. “If we want to help the A & U, we need to find Sir Frederick’s next clue.” He had to admit, he was excited by the prospect. But he knew that great dangers lay ahead. Addison flipped open his notebook, squinted, and could only just make out his own hastily scrawled writing. “‘There lies an oasis town on the Silk Road by the Dragon Desert, where Nestorian Christians nursed me to health . . .’ Does that mean anything to anyone?”

  Molly shrugged.

  “The Gobi Desert is filled with dinosaur bones,” said Raj.

  “Thank you, Raj,” said Addison. “Any other useful observations?”

  Raj pressed his point. “Sir Frederick might call the Gobi the ‘Dragon Desert.’ They didn’t know what dinosaurs were in the Middle Ages. If Sir Frederick saw dinosaur bones in the Gobi, he probably thought they belonged to dragons. So: ‘Dragon Desert.’”

  Addison turned it over in his mind. There was a method to Raj’s madness. The Gobi was near Mongolia, the home of Genghis Khan. And besides, they had already packed with the Gobi Desert in mind. He pivoted on his heel and faced the group. “All right, we’re looking for an oasis town in the Gobi. We’ll figure out the exact city as we go. All we need now is a way to get from Hong Kong to Northern China. All in favor?”

  Molly nodded her agreement. Raj nodded eagerly as well.

  Eddie stood up, shaking his head. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. I’m not going on a wild goose chase across Asia. We’ve been through this before. This will only end with us being killed or grounded.”

  “Eddie, we need you—we’re going to China and you’re our Chinese interpreter!”

  “You’re not talking me into this, Addison.” He crossed his arms. “This may come as a surprise to you, but my idea of a fun summer vacation does not involve running from Hong Kong triads.”