Addison Cooke and the Ring of Destiny Page 9

  It wasn’t until they rounded terminal three that Addison spotted their Turkish Airlines 747. Addison loved planes, and to him, the 747 was a triumph of engineering. Double the length of a blue whale, and it was going to fly six miles up in the sky at six hundred miles per hour. It staggered the mind.

  The only trouble with this particular 747 was that it had left gate seven and was already taxiing to the runway.

  “I think we’re a little late,” said Eddie.

  Addison grimaced. He’d been on a bad luck streak for six solid months. He was beginning to wonder when the cards were going to be dealt in his favor.

  “Um, Addison?” Molly pointed.

  He swiveled his head around to follow Molly’s sight line. Three black SUVs growled through the security gate and onto the tarmac, circling terminal two. They had black-tinted windows, twenty-four-inch tires, and steel bull bars mounted across their grilles.

  Addison gaped. A few neurons pinged around in his head. One of them suggested running. Another suggested bursting into tears. A third neuron suggested turning into a pelican and flying off to Africa. A few neurons lit up, supporting this idea. But a fourth neuron, somewhere in the logic part of Addison’s brain, piped up and reminded the other neurons that turning into a pelican was not possible because Addison’s brain was currently awake and not dreaming. While all this debate was going on, the neuron in charge of making Addison’s jaw gape fired continuously.

  The black SUVs slowed to a stop in the center of the tarmac. For a moment, they simply paused there, three wolves eyeing the flock. From the hairs on the back of his neck, Addison felt he detected the precise moment the Collective spotted his team. The SUVs roared to life, speeding toward them on runway two.

  This time, Addison did not hesitate. He floored the gas, or the electricity, or whatever it is that propels airport carts. The cart careened forward at a blistering pace of about six miles per hour. Mashing the accelerator and gnashing his teeth, Addison was able to will their speed up two miles per hour, about the pace of an elderly and asthmatic wiener dog. He wondered briefly if he should simply get out and push. The cart rolled serenely toward the Turkish Airlines 747.

  Molly pointed frantically. “The plane’s already on the runway, Addison. What are we supposed to do? Stick out our thumbs and hitchhike?”

  Addison sized up the plane, idling, waiting its turn to take off. “Raj, options?”

  “Well, there is one other way to board a plane,” Raj said doubtfully. “But even Babatunde Okonjo says not to try it.”

  Addison peeked over his shoulder at the SUVs zipping between the wheels of parked airplanes, rapidly approaching. “Is it possible, Raj? Because I don’t think we have a choice.”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, it’s possible if the plane’s not moving.”

  Eddie stuck his head forward from the back seat, his eyes darting back and forth between Addison and Raj. “I don’t like the sound of this. Talk to me, guys.”

  “It’s simple,” said Raj. “We just need to climb up the nose wheel.”

  Addison hazarded another glance at the SUVs, closing in quickly. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and narrowed his eyes. The groaning cart caught up with the aircraft. The whine of the 747’s engines grew terrifyingly loud as they passed under the shadow of the enormous tail fin.

  With a lurch, the plane taxied ahead, moving into the on-deck position. There was only one plane ahead of it, waiting to be cleared for takeoff. As soon as Addison’s cart entered the blast area of the 747’s engines, he felt scalded by the gale-force winds.

  Addison parked the cart near the front wheel of the plane. Jumping out, he was amazed to see that the wheel was almost as tall as he was.

  Raj pointed to a ladder that led right up the back of the giant nose wheel, straight inside the neck of the 747. He and Molly shimmied right up.

  Addison scrambled up the first few rungs and paused to scan the runway. The lead SUV jerked to a halt a good fifty feet away, outside the blast area of the plane’s engines. Ivan stepped out, followed by three equally oversized men. All of them drew small plastic canisters. As they stepped closer, Addison realized what the canisters were: pepper spray. He crinkled up his brow. “Why is everything about revenge with this guy?”

  Eddie stood at the base of the ladder and seemed unable to climb it.

  Addison watched Ivan’s team marching closer. There was a hurricane blast of wind as the jet engines warmed up. Addison shouted over the deafening whine. “Eddie, hurry! Once this plane starts moving, our job will not get easier.”

  Eddie shook his head adamantly. “You’ve completely lost your mind! Sherlock Holmes, Nancy Drew, and the Hardy Boys could all put their heads together and be completely unable to find it!”

  “If I ever lose my mind, Eddie, it will probably be your fault. Now show some hustle!”

  Eddie looked back and forth from Ivan to the 747, unable to decide which option he liked worse.

  The last plane ahead of the 747 took off down the runway with an earsplitting roar of its engines. The Turkish Airlines flight released its brakes, taxiing into takeoff position.

  “Eddie, run!”

  Eddie finally made his decision. He sprinted alongside the enormous rolling wheels, his peculiar loping gait like that of a dizzy antelope. The 747 reached the start of the runway and stopped, awaiting the all clear from the control tower. Eddie nearly crashed into the wheel he was chasing. He managed to bolt up the first few rungs of the ladder.

  Ivan drew as close to the howling jet engine as he dared. He stared up at Addison’s team and laughed.

  “Why isn’t he stopping us?” called Eddie.

  “Because he knows this will kill us!” Molly shouted from above.

  Addison climbed up the strut and into the wheel well. The engine whine rose to fever pitch. The brakes released and the plane blasted into motion. The acceleration mashed Addison against the rear wall of the bay. Below him, the asphalt whizzed by in a gray blur.

  Eddie was still clinging to the ladder, fear plastered across his face. “This is horrendous!”

  Raj and Molly seized Eddie’s hands and pulled him up inside the wheel well. The well was sheet metal, covered with thick, snaking cables and wiring. Raj found a single door marked AVIONICS BAY. He shouted at the top of his lungs, “Quickly! When the wheel retracts, we’ll all be squished!” His voice was drowned out by the screaming wind—he conveyed his meaning more through charades and bulging eyes.

  Raj cranked open the avionics bay door and herded everyone through. The tiny room looked like a flying saucer—crowded with the plane’s electrical equipment. Heaving with his shoulder, Raj sealed the door shut behind them.

  So close to the wheels, the terrified team felt every bump and crack in the runway. With a maddening roar, their world tilted thirty degrees and their stomachs dropped out from under them.

  They were airborne.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Stowaways

  ADDISON STEADIED HIMSELF WITH his hands as the airplane packed on speed. The avionics bay was a dizzying tangle of wires and computers, lit only by buttons and switches that flashed like Christmas lights.

  Raj found the hatch to the forward cargo bay, spun the wheel lock, and guided the team inside. The hold, illuminated by a single fluorescent bulb, was jammed full of shipping containers that shook with the roar of the engines.

  “I liked our last plane ride better,” said Eddie, blowing on his hands for warmth.

  “It’s not so bad.” Addison rooted around the shipping containers until he found one marked MEALS. Inside, he discovered hundreds of frozen airplane dinners. He kept hunting until he found the special dinners reserved for first-class passengers—served on silver trays with their own little salt and pepper shakers. Addison grinned at Eddie. “Would you prefer chicken parmesan or beef stroganoff?” He picked up another stack of dinner
trays. “There’s even a vegetarian option.”

  Eddie couldn’t decide, so he took one of each.

  The group climbed over stacks of luggage to a secluded alcove at the back of the cargo hold. Molly built them a nest out of blue airplane pillows and blankets. Raj pulled a hot plate from his pack and set to work warming the frozen dinners. And although Addison did not find any Arnold Palmers, he did find some iced tea that was to his liking.

  Addison felt bad taking meals from the airline without paying, so he had everyone leave their last remaining pocket money stacked neatly on top of the food storage container. That settled, they hungrily dug into their meals. Addison decided it was a good time to talk business. “Who’s after us?”

  Molly, chewing her beef stroganoff, called over the dull hum of the engines. “The Collective.”

  “And what do we know about them?”

  “Ragar and Zubov were in it,” said Molly. “They tried to kill us in Peru. Boris was in it—he tried to kill us in Mongolia. And Ivan is in it—he just tried to kill us all over Paris. All these guys talk about is a prophecy and wanting to kill us.”

  “And who runs the Collective?” asked Addison.

  Molly shrugged. “Ivan?”

  Addison shook his head. “Ivan’s just a big guy with a good gym membership and a bad barber. Whoever’s behind Ivan owns a fleet of cars in London and a fleet in Paris. They can stake out a bank in London, get speedboats into the Paris Catacombs, and fill two different train stations with spies.”

  Raj piped up. “Did you notice how they drove right past the security gates at Heathrow Airport and Charles de Gaulle? They must be extremely well connected.”

  Eddie bobbed his head in agreement. “Whoever is after us, they are extremely well funded and extremely well organized. If guys like that ran Manhattan, there would be no more potholes and all the trains would run on time.”

  Molly shared a look with Addison. She knew what he was thinking. “The Shadow,” she said quietly.

  Addison nodded solemnly. “The Shadow.”

  The group ate in silence for a moment.

  “Well, we’re safe for the time being,” said Addison, hoping to reassure everyone.

  “Are we?” asked Molly. “Ivan saw what flight we boarded. He could be waiting for us when we land.”

  Addison knew she was right. “Well, he can’t outrun a 747. We’ll reach Istanbul first. Still, we’ll have to be on the lookout.”

  Molly stopped eating and put down her fork.

  “What is it?” asked Addison.

  “I just realized,” said Molly. “Tonight is Christmas Eve.”

  The group huddled over their dinners in the dark and freezing cargo bay.

  “Happy holidays, guys,” said Addison.

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  The sun was rising over the Asian continent when the plane touched down at the Sabiha Gökçen Airport outside Istanbul. Addison felt it was safest to deplane before they taxied to their gate, in case the Collective was waiting for them. So the group sneaked back into the avionics bay, into the wheel well, and crept carefully down the front wheel ladder. Eddie found this was much easier to do when the plane was not speeding down a runway for takeoff.

  Addison felt a surge of gratitude when his feet touched the asphalt. He would have kissed the ground, but he didn’t want the germs.

  His bleary-eyed team had caught only a few hours’ sleep on the flight. Addison knew he should feel exhausted. Maybe it was the adrenaline of running for his life, or maybe it was the excitement of finally escaping the Dimpleforth School, but something in him was returning to life. He did not feel tired at all. In fact, he felt as if his brain was finally revving into second gear after being jammed in first for months.

  Addison scanned the tarmac for black SUVs and found none. He waved the group across the tarmac and raced up a flight of steps to an employee break room. There, Addison found private restrooms where he insisted everyone spruce themselves up.

  “Why?” Eddie asked. “Shouldn’t we be getting as far from this airport as possible?”

  “Eddie, look at yourself,” said Addison firmly. “You look like you spent the night in the cargo hold of a 747.”

  “I did spend the night in the—”

  “That is exactly my point,” said Addison. “We can’t go traipsing around Istanbul looking like fugitives, or everyone will know we’re fugitives.”

  Addison attempted to clean his blazer using wet paper towels from the dispenser. His jacket had been sweated in, rained on, and slept in, and was wrinkling up from all the hard travel. It was a tragedy. He thought about throwing the jacket away entirely, but just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  After washing up, Addison’s next order of business was to call his uncle Jasper. He found a pay phone in the main terminal, scrubbing it carefully for germs with a napkin from the break room. His uncle Jasper kept an 800 number for emergencies, which meant it was free to call from pay phones—even internationally. Uncle Jasper picked up on the second ring.

  “Top of the morning, Uncle. It’s me, your favorite Cooke.” Addison turned to Molly and winked. “Everyone okay?”

  “Addison, I’m thrilled you’re alive,” chirped Uncle Jasper. “Jennings and I are quite well, thank you.”

  Addison knew his uncle Jasper kept a safe house somewhere that was so safe, even Addison didn’t know where it was. “And the Templar Grand Master?”

  “The gendarmes took Gaspard to a hospital in Paris. When he stabilizes, T.D. will whisk him to a secure location.”

  “T.D. is alive?”

  “By the skin of her teeth. Addison, I wish you had told me about the safe deposit key. This has put a lot of people in immense danger.”

  Addison went immediately on the defensive. “How could we have known the key was so important? We don’t even know what it is! Maybe if people started telling us things, I wouldn’t find myself on the run on the far side of Europe.”

  Uncle Jasper let out a long sigh. “I withheld information to protect you. But perhaps it had the opposite effect. I apologize.”

  “I apologize, too,” said Addison. He cupped the phone closer and plugged his free ear to block out the noise of the busy airport. “Right, then. You knew about the bronze tablet? You’ve seen it before?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Uncle Jasper.

  “So what does the tablet say?”

  “I have no idea, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”

  “You’ve never tried to decipher it?” asked Addison, astonished.

  “Why should I want to do a thing like that?” Uncle Jasper replied. “Think of all the times your aunt and uncle—rest in peace—were kidnapped. What would have happened if they had valuable information like that rattling around in their heads?”

  Addison saw the sense in this.

  “I say,” said Uncle Jasper, “you aren’t in Istanbul by any chance?”

  Addison looked around the crowded airport. “As a matter of fact, we are. Why? Are you in the market for a rug?”

  “Oh, jolly good. The Grand Master told T.D. you might be heading there. Something about visiting a mosque, of all places. I’m trying to arrange for your extraction. Listen, do you think you can all go a few hours without managing to get yourselves killed?”

  Addison shrugged. “I give it even odds.”

  “There’s a fish restaurant on the northwest corner of Sultanahmet Square,” said Uncle Jasper. “Serves an amazing fish kebab. Be there by ten a.m. and one of my associates will whisk you home.”

  “Got it.”

  “Addison, listen to me. Do not look at the tablet, do not even think about the tablet. If you want to get out of Istanbul alive, be at that rendezvous no matter what.”

  The line went dead. Addison slithered out of the phone booth and nodded to his team
. “We’re going into Istanbul.”

  Eddie was sitting on the tiled floor of the terminal, his back against the wall, trying to nab a few winks of sleep. “Whatever is there, I’m not interested.”

  Addison had known Eddie for many years, and he knew all the levers that moved him. He knew, for instance, that Eddie had spent so much time hanging out in the kitchen of Restaurant Anatolia on West 86th Street that he had picked up Turkish. He cleared his throat. “Eddie, our rendezvous is a kebab restaurant.”

  Eddie was on his feet like he’d been electrocuted. “How soon can we get there?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Istanbul

  ISTANBUL WAS AN HOUR’S drive from the airport. The team had no cab money and no Métro cards, but they did have Eddie. And as luck would have it, Addison found Eddie a grand piano roped off in the main concourse. “Eddie, time to earn our bus fare,” he declared.

  Eddie sat down at the piano bench and regarded the throngs of travelers weaving past. “Are you sure we should be drawing attention to ourselves?”

  “It’s called hiding in plain sight,” said Addison. He noticed Eddie’s hands shaking and remembered Eddie’s stage fright. He spoke gently. “The faster you play, the faster we can get out of here. Think of the kebabs, Eddie.”

  The thought of swallowing kebabs helped Eddie swallow his stage fright. He began to play. Reluctantly at first, and then with growing confidence. A little Chopin, a little Mozart, and Eddie had earned enough Turkish lira to pay their bus fare to Istanbul. Soon, Eddie was reveling in the attention from the crowd. He wanted to get in a solid hour of piano practice, but Addison spotted two men in dark glasses across the concourse, whom Addison did not take to be Mozart lovers. Addison shut the piano lid, narrowly missing Eddie’s fingers. The group skedaddled.

  * * *

  • • • • • •

  They took the public bus to Taksim Square and transferred to a tramway so crammed with people that Addison found himself longing wistfully for the 747 cargo hold. They swept past hundreds of fishermen lining the Galata Bridge spanning the Golden Horn of Istanbul. Raj checked the windows the whole way, eyeing the streets for SUVs. Soon, they passed the impregnable walls of Topkapi Palace, the opulent home of the Ottoman sultans, and deboarded the tram at Sultanahmet Square.