Addison Cooke and the Ring of Destiny Page 8

  Raj turned to Molly with worship in his eyes. “Wow, Molly. That was just, wow—I mean you really, wow—that was really just—”

  Addison caught up to Raj and pulled him along. “Well said, Raj. You should be a color commentator for sports.”

  The group had to edge sideways to squeeze through the fissure into the next tunnel. Molly called to Addison. “I used up all my pepper spray, and those guys are going to want to kill me!”

  Addison hobbled to keep up, patting dust from his clothes. “You think you’ve got problems, my jacket is getting filthy.”

  They raced over a bridge of bones. It led them over a muddy river of sidewalk runoff, strewn with trash. Addison shook his head as he ran. “How many brothers, uncles, nephews, and cousins do Ragar and Zubov have? Are we going to spend the rest of our lives rushing from Russians? I have nothing against Russia—I love Russia!”

  “Addison, what’s our plan?” asked Eddie.

  “To delay them.”

  “Until what?”

  “Until we think of a plan.”

  “And how are we going to delay them?”

  “By running around in this maze,” said Addison.

  Eddie jogged to a halt. “Easy for you to say—you’re not the one carrying a tablet-shaped refrigerator in your satchel.”

  “I am open to suggestions,” said Addison.

  Molly faced the group. “How about instead of running around like nincompoops with no plan, we try not running around like nincompoops with no plan?”

  “You may be on to something there, Mo.” Addison nodded sagely. “Hold the phone—I think I’ve got something.”

  “One of your good ideas or one of your bad ideas?”

  “One of my very worst,” said Addison. “We need to circle back the way we came.”

  Molly was about to protest, but she noticed a certain gleam in Addison’s eye—the sort of expression a fox might take upon discovering a wide-open henhouse door. Molly knew that in such circumstances it was usually best to go with Addison’s instincts.

  The group followed him back to the bridge of bones.

  They found it guarded by a gigantic dark-suited man. The wings of his mustache were so thick and angular that Addison could picture it flapping a few times before flying away like a startled starling.

  Eddie sized up the heavy-browed brute of a man. If he wasn’t a Neanderthal, he could certainly play one on TV. Eddie dug in his heels. “I don’t want to cross that bridge.”

  “We go backward and we may never find our way out of the catacombs,” said Addison. He tried to sound braver than he felt. “The only thing worse than crossing that bridge will be not crossing that bridge.”

  The group bustled onto the brittle bridge.

  The mustached man’s eyes were red and tearing from pepper spray. It looked as though he had just finished watching a real tearjerker of a movie. It said something about the man’s sheer size that he was still intimidating despite being in tears. He blinked hard and glared down at the group. In his giant hands, he clutched a crowbar. “Do you want to die?”

  “No need to answer that,” said Addison, turning to Raj. “It’s a rhetorical question.”

  Addison noticed the scars mapping the man’s face and scoring his knuckles. Life had clearly dealt this man some hard blows, though, Addison reflected, perhaps not hard enough.

  It was Molly who stepped forward first. “I hope you have a good doctor,” she said, pulling out her can of pepper spray, “because you’re going to need first aid, second aid, and third aid.”

  Addison knew she was bluffing—she had said herself the can was empty. Still, the thick-jawed man, blinking away tears, was so focused on Molly and her dreaded can of pepper spray that he never saw Raj coming.

  Raj scuttled in low like a beetle, scrambling on all fours, and plowed into the man’s shins. The man’s legs buckled. He wheeled his arms in surprise and toppled off the bridge, dropping into the river of runoff. He came up for air with a mouthful of mud.

  “Bitten off more than you can chew?” asked Addison. He was quite proud of himself for that one, but no one else seemed to have heard the line. He cleared his throat. “I said, have you bitten off more than—”

  “Addison, quit gossiping with him and run!” Molly grabbed him by the sleeve, shoving him along toward the next tunnel.

  “What about you?” asked Addison.

  Molly stooped to pick up the man’s crowbar from the bridge. She turned to face the mustached man, who was crawling, dripping, from the water. “I’m going to slow him down.”

  Addison saw Molly’s determined expression and decided she had things well in hand. He loped after Eddie and Raj, retracing their route through one final tunnel to arrive back at the powerboats.

  The boats were completely unguarded. All the suited men had fanned out through the tunnels, hunting Cookes. “There!” Addison breathed a sigh of relief, pointing at the waiting boats. He beamed at Eddie and Raj triumphantly. “I told you I had a plan!”

  Raj hopped into the first boat, getting a feel for the steering wheel, throttle, and clutch.

  “Can you drive this thing?” asked Addison.

  “Of course,” said Raj. “Babatunde Okonjo’s masterpiece, Mission: Survival III, contains an entire chapter on aquatic escapes.”

  Eddie bent over the ignition, drew his pick set, and went to work hotwiring the engine.

  Molly raced into the cavern, beelining for the boat. Two black-suited men lumbered after her.

  Addison pulled her aboard, helping her over the gunnel. “How did we do in there?”

  Molly, still carrying her crowbar, grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. “I hit the man with a big mustache!”

  “You should have hit him with your fist,” said Addison.

  The men closed in on the boat.

  “Eddie, how much more time do you need?” Addison called.

  “Thirty seconds!” Eddie had unscrewed a wooden panel on the dashboard and was fiddling with the wires.

  Addison flicked open his butterfly knife and started to climb out of the boat.

  “No,” said Molly, staying his hand. “I’ve got this.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Addison.

  Molly nodded. “They’re blind as bats from that pepper spray. Watch.”

  The two large men reached the boat, lunging for Molly. Their eyes swollen nearly shut from pepper spray, they were practically fumbling in the dark. Addison almost felt sorry for them. Molly dodged their clumsy swipes and crowbarred them both in the kneecaps. The two men collapsed, groaning.

  Eddie hollered excitedly. “I got it!” The speedboat engine roared to life.

  Raj shifted the boat into reverse, backing out into the center of the channel where the water ran deepest.

  Three more Russians stumbled out of the tunnels, racing for them. But Raj’s propeller was already churning the water. He shifted the boat into gear, picking up speed. The roar was deafening in the low stone tunnel. Addison watched the Collective recede into the darkening distance.

  “You know,” said Molly, “I’m getting pretty good at saving your life.”

  “Well,” said Addison, “don’t let it go to your head.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The City of Light

  ADDISON’S ELATION AT THEIR escape was short-lived. As they sped underneath the great city, he could hear the whine of two powerboats pursuing. “Raj! Evasive maneuvers!”

  Raj banked their craft into a larger culvert. He turned so sharply, Eddie was nearly flung overboard. Molly caught Eddie by his collar and hauled him back to a seated position.

  Struggling to control the speeding boat, Raj cut too close to the stone walls of the tunnel. Rocks shredded wood paneling from the hull with a horrific screech. The boat fishtailed wildly, sewer water swamping the crew.

 
; Addison cupped his palms together and began frantically bailing water from the now-leaking boat. “Raj, are you working for them or for us?”

  Raj white-knuckled the steering wheel. “You try driving a boat for the first time—see how well you do!”

  “Look out!” Molly shouted. A tunnel wall was fast approaching.

  Raj spun the steering wheel, nearly swamping the craft as they swerved hard into a fresh culvert. Eddie was again nearly tipped out of the boat.

  Molly snagged Eddie by his rumpled tie, tugging him back to safety. “Eddie, would it kill you to stay in the boat?”

  “It might!” Eddie yelled. The edges of the wooden boat again splintered against the narrow walls of the tunnel.

  Raj spotted city lights up ahead and punched it for the exit. For a split second, the speedboat was airborne. The giant tunnel spit them out, and they splashed into the River Seine.

  Addison was relieved to be free of the catacombs and see the clouded night sky overhead. But his relief was soon punctured by the sight of two Collective speedboats spurting from the tunnel behind them.

  “Hold on!” Raj shouted, opening up the throttle. The engine whined higher, the nose of the speedboat now rising in the air and slapping against the waves. Foam spraying off the river drenched the group. The famous Notre Dame Cathedral flashed past their stolen boat, along with the town hall and several museums. Addison had always dreamed of seeing Paris, but not like this.

  The River Seine was crowded with tourist boats that Raj barely managed to dodge. The Collective was catching up fast. Hunched over the wheel, eyes bugging, Raj knifed his way between two City of Light dinner cruises.

  Addison knew he needed to think quickly. “Guys, remember when I had that bad idea to ride on top of the train? Well, I have a worse idea.”

  “Impossible,” said Molly.

  “Raj, crash the boat.”

  Raj did not see the wisdom of this plan. But before he could think of a better one, Addison spun the steering wheel and hurled Raj overboard.

  The boat whizzed for the lip of the canal. Molly and Eddie, seeing a stone barrier rearing up before them, dove overboard as well.

  Addison dove last. He held his breath underwater and swam for the far side of a large tourist cruise ship. He surfaced just in time to see their stolen speedboat collide with the edge of the canal, run straight up onto the quay, and smash into a flower stand. A flock of pigeons took wing, and a herd of accordion players scattered. There was a tremendous eruption of smoke and splintered wood. It was precisely what Addison was hoping for.

  The enemy speedboats peeled around the side of the cruise ship and slowed to examine the debris. The engine oil floating on the water burst into flames. The Collective backed off their boats, steering wide of the fire.

  Molly, Eddie, and Raj bobbed in the frigid water near Addison, their teeth chattering. Addison held a finger to his lips for quiet. Together, they clung to the side of the largest tourist ship as it slid past the wreckage. On the top deck, several tourists snapped photos of the obliterated boat.

  “The Collective will think we’re dead,” Molly whispered.

  “Let’s hope so,” said Addison. Treading water, he turned to Raj and whispered, “I’m sorry I threw you off the boat.”

  “It’s okay,” said Raj. “I’ve been practicing free-diving techniques. I can hold my breath under water for almost a minute and a half.”

  Addison nodded. Raj was the one person he knew who was pleased to be hurled from a moving speedboat.

  The group swam to the far shore and skulked up the embankment, sticking to the shadows. Addison watched a utility pole, damaged in the wreck, topple into the Seine like a falling tree. It sizzled and cracked when it met the water, the transformer blowing out in a shower of sparks. The nearest street plunged into darkness. Then, an entire city block. Then, the entire neighborhood. Addison realized with mounting horror that he had managed to shut off the City of Light.

  Molly didn’t say a word. She simply stared at Addison, her eyes boring a hole in his head.

  “I know, and I’m sorry,” he said. He clasped his hands together and turned to the group. “I recommend we get as far away from Paris as possible. All in favor?”

  “How?” asked Eddie, miserable in his soaked clothes. “We don’t have any money.”

  Addison grinned. “While Ivan the Terrible was re-arranging my foot, I picked his pocket.”

  Eddie’s face brightened. “Please tell me you snagged a credit card.”

  “I only got a stack of Métro cards.” Addison shrugged. “But it’ll have to do.”

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  Outrunning a fresh downpour, Addison’s team galloped down the subway steps and boarded the Métro to Charles de Gaulle Airport. They kept their heads down and tried to keep a low profile, but it was already quite late, and the train cars were sparsely populated. To his relief, Addison found that even though his group had spent the better part of two hours crawling around in the Paris sewers, they did not smell altogether much different from anyone else riding the Paris Métro at that hour.

  Halfway down their train car, Addison discovered a Belgian man selling fake watches out of a briefcase. The man spoke broken English, and after some bargaining and bickering, Addison traded his remaining Métro cards for three fake Rolexes. These he fastened all the way up his left forearm.

  “What do you need with three fake Rolexes?” asked Molly, when Addison had returned to his seat.

  “I don’t know yet,” said Addison with a wink. “I just know we don’t need the Métro cards anymore.”

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  Arriving at Charles de Gaulle Airport, Addison was still not sure how he was going to get his team out of the country. Without credit cards, he felt like a knight without his sword.

  “You’ve talked our way onto airplanes before,” said Molly.

  “Yes, but only airplanes where the ticket agents spoke English.” Addison was realizing just how much self-confidence he had lost in the five months since losing his aunt and uncle. The old Addison would have marched into Air France and attempted to buy the airline. But this new Addison . . . He sighed. If he was going to survive this dangerous journey, he needed to get his groove back.

  Addison scanned the airport concourse, bustling with travelers from every corner of the world. To his weary, wary eye, everyone looked suspicious: the young Italian man in sunglasses thumbing through a magazine in the bookshop; the Parisian businesswoman touching up her rouge in a makeup mirror by the water fountain; the old Belgian man casually eating an apple while watching the security line to the outbound gates. All of them seemed to be glancing at Addison.

  “Back door?” asked Raj.

  Addison nodded.

  They retreated outside, shoulders hunched against the chill night air, and hustled around terminal two. Addison ducked a security gate and led the group onto the tarmac, dodging a melee of transporters, buses, container loaders, catering trucks, and forklifts.

  “Where to?” asked Eddie.

  Addison found the day’s airport departure schedule lying on the passenger seat of an empty baggage tractor. He picked up the clipboard and flipped through the cities on the printouts. Manila . . . Marrakech . . . Mogadishu. Any of those sounded like safer options for them than Paris.

  Yet Addison felt tired of running. Here he was, risking his life to protect a tablet, without having any idea what the tablet was even for. He shook his head. “We came to Paris for answers and all we got was more questions.” One single city on the manifest had caught Addison’s undivided attention.

  “All right,” said Molly, catching the glint in Addison’s eye. “So where are we going?”

  Addison remembered one of the few clear things Grand Master Gaspard had told them about the tablet . . . Their only s
olid lead. He looked up at the group with a grim smile on his face. “Istanbul.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  To Catch a Flight

  ADDISON INSPECTED THE BAGGAGE tractor. He decided it was basically a glorified golf cart. He felt confident he could drive it since there weren’t any gears to shift. There weren’t even any doors. And if he had any trouble, he could always fall back on Raj. Addison took a seat behind the wheel.

  The one thing the cart did have was keys in the ignition.

  “Are you trying to get us caught?” asked Molly.

  “On the contrary. We’ll fit right in with one of these.”

  “Right,” said Eddie. “Because when I don’t want to look suspicious, the first thing I do is steal a car.”

  “Eddie, what looks more suspicious on a tarmac: four schoolkids or one baggage cart?”

  It took Addison a minute to figure out the runway map and decipher the departure schedule. Checking his three Rolexes, he realized the red-eye flight to Istanbul was due to leave any minute from runway two. If there was any justice in the world, the flight would be delayed, like planes normally are. Surely this would not be the one plane that would actually leave on time. It was worth a shot. “All right, we’ve got a plane to catch. Terminal two, gate seven.”

  He gunned the cart across the airport, swerving around a giant, lumbering 767 cargo plane and zipping past a refueling truck.

  Molly frowned. “How are we supposed to get on this plane, Addison?”

  “Easy. We walk up the airstairs and Bob’s your uncle.” “Bob’s your uncle” was a British expression Addison had picked up at Dimpleforth. Like many British expressions, he had no idea what it actually meant—he just loved saying it.

  “What if there’s a jetway?”

  “One thing at a time, Molly. We don’t have plane tickets and we don’t have money. I’m doing the best I can, given the circumstances.”