Wade and the Scorpion's Claw (11 page)

“Sometimes the best offense is a hasty retreat,” Feng Yi said. “Please come with me. I have told your father of a safe place. I will take you there now. But we must move quickly!”

Becca slid her hand from mine. I hadn't realized I was still holding it. “Is your dad really all right with this?” she whispered.

“We sort of have to trust that he is,” I said under my breath. “He said so on the phone. Let's do what this guy says, but be careful.”

We hurried along the windows to another room that opened onto a landing. A squad of police officers raced up the stairs toward us.

“In the main gallery,” Tricia said to them, pointing.

“Clear the building,” one of the officers instructed as the squad moved up past us, guns drawn. Alarms were going off all over.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, another group of policemen led us out the front doors together. Dr. Powell turned to us, wrapping her arms around herself. It was cold with the sun down. “This whole thing is horrifying,” she said, breathing hard. “Your father . . . I'm going to ask the director what in the world is going on.”

“I will guard them from here,” Feng Yi said to her with a nod. “Their father, Dr. Kaplan, is awaiting them. Children, come.”

And that was it. We left Tricia Powell openmouthed on the steps and rushed down the stairs after Feng Yi. Was this our new life? Living in the center of a hurricane? The Star Warriors were still in the building, and several late-working museum employees were still streaming out. The police didn't make any motions to speak with us. I wouldn't have known what to say to them anyway. It was a good time to slip away, so we did.

“We have not been properly introduced,” the man said, trotting quickly down the sidewalk away from the stairs. “As your father told you, Feng Yi is my name. I am—was—working with Mr. Chen. I knew the museum was to be our first stop. When I saw your father in the gallery and remembered him from the plane, I instantly assumed that Mr. Chen had passed over the tile to you. Then we saw the Star Warriors together, and I hurried to find you.”

“How did you know?” I asked. “About us, I mean?”

He turned toward me as we reached the corner. “How does one Guardian know another?” He smiled calmly, despite the fact that his chest was heaving. “Your father gave me this note to assure you. My limousine awaits. No more questions just yet. All will be revealed!”

I took it from him as we hurried across the street against the light.

It was Dad's familiar scribble. I passed it to Darrell.

“You have a restaurant?” Darrell asked. “What kind of restaurant are we talking about? Never mind; I don't care. I'm starving!”

“We all are,” said Becca, who was holding her arm now. She must have reinjured it during the attack, so it was a good thing I was carrying her bag.

“You need to rest,” I said.

“I'm fine, Wade.” She smiled at whatever my face was doing. “Really. I'll tell you when I'm not.” Her smile faded away.

“A trusted friend works at the Red Dragon, a dim sum house in Chinatown,” Feng Yi said over his shoulder. “In his back room we may enjoy privacy. Neither Markus Wolff nor his soldiers will find it.”

“Markus Wolff,” I said. “Tall guy with white hair. Long leather coat?”

“The very same,” said Feng Yi

“So Leathercoat's name is Markus Wolff,” said Lily. “And those guys work for him? He seems like such a loner.”

He smiled. “They do work for him. The Teutonic Order employs all sorts of men—and women—to achieve their ends. As you know too well, they will stop at nothing to obtain every single relic of Copernicus's astrolabe from its hiding place.”

The mention of Copernicus zinged through me. I thought of the cave. And Becca in my dream, and here and now. And I thought of Sara. I wondered where exactly we were on the path to finding her.

Feng Yi smiled thinly as he popped open one of the limousine's doors. “Your father will be very happy to see you. Take a seat.”

It was happening so quickly—discovering the tile, translating the diary, the legend of the Scorpio relic, the attack by star-wielding ghosts, and now this, sitting in a comfortable limousine on the way to a restaurant? To say nothing of where Leathercoat—Markus Wolff—was in all of this. Very near, I guessed, and yet invisible.

Almost the entire car ride, Feng Yi was on his phone. Finally, he closed it. “The Star Warriors have vanished like shadows from the museum, which was only to be expected. They were gone before the police arrived in the upper gallery.”

“Who exactly are they?” asked Becca.

Feng Yi breathed in and out slowly. “Centuries ago, a group of legendary fighters called themselves the Star Warriors. They protected the emperor of China on his travels, using nothing but throwing stars. The Teutonic Order—Galina Krause—has somehow resurrected the ancient league of fighters to use as her agents in the Far East. They work for Markus Wolff now.”

“You use throwing stars, too,” said Darrell.

“The Star Warriors were onto something,” Feng Yi said. “The Ming court was known for the ingenuity of its hidden weapons. When thrown properly, these stars are perfectly balanced to achieve high velocity and deadly accuracy.”

“Do you always have them with you?” I asked.

The limousine wove down a crowded street of small boutiques and food shops. The air was thick with the noise of people, and the store windows were lit up and welcoming. “Even under my pillow,” he said. “The life of a Guardian, as you are learning, is one of extreme and constant danger.”

Eighteen minutes later, we reached San Francisco's Chinatown. The limo stopped outside a giant three-roofed arch shaped like a big green pagoda, and the car doors opened a moment later. The street rising beyond the arch glowed with colored lights. The sky above was already a deep blue.

“Follow,” Mr. Feng said as he strode confidently under the arch. “My friend knows we're coming. Your father is waiting for us there.”

Glancing at the others, I saw everyone seeming a bit more at ease now. Alert, but not alarmed. I felt the same. Becca's arm didn't seem to be hurting right then, either, because she was walking freely, looking at all the food shops, clothing stalls, and lantern-lit temples on both sides of the street. My attention turned to our rescuer.

Feng Yi was probably in his forties, a few inches taller than my father, slim and muscular, with a broad back and long, slender hands—very like an acrobat or dancer. His face was angular, chiseled. He had a broad square jaw, and a faint scar where the cleft of his chin would be. Maybe the most striking thing about him was the mane of jet-black hair that fell to his shoulders. He walked with purpose and ease, like an athlete. Like Darrell, actually, who was a few steps back from Mr. Feng.

The streets were narrow and packed, which strangely made me feel safer than somewhere less populated, but our trek to the Red Dragon didn't take long. Mr. Feng stopped at a narrow red building with gold doors. A green-and-gold pagoda-shaped roof of several stories was perched above the neighboring building, which might have been a temple. Even before he opened the door, the spicy smells from inside the restaurant blossomed all around us, and I practically screamed from hunger.

The dim sum house was small but lavishly decorated with red lanterns and wall hangings covered in gold Chinese characters. The tables were close together and elegantly covered in white tablecloths with red napkins and flickering red lanterns. The main room was packed with chattering tourists as well as casual locals and their families. Darrell checked his watch and showed me. It was just after eight p.m.

I scanned the room. “I don't see Dad,” I said suspiciously.

“Your father is in the back. Come,” said Feng Yi. “Please.”

We followed Feng Yi cautiously through a beaded curtain into a short hallway. At the end was a plain door with a dragon painted in red on it. Feng Yi opened it, and I have to admit that I cringed a tiny bit when he did. There was no need. On the other side of the door was a small, private dining room decorated much like the front room, except that it held a single large table, with a red tablecloth instead of white.

Dad was sitting at it.

Even before he bolted to his feet, we were all mashed up in a group hug.

“P
lease, have a seat.” Feng Yi said this softly and easily, as if he hadn't just fought off a small army in the last half hour. “My friend Liang will bring us food and drink.”

I'd been so happy to see my dad, I hadn't noticed the other man enter the room behind us. He was tall and thin like Mr. Feng, and wore the white uniform of a chef. He set down a pitcher of water, smiled at each of us, then disappeared through a swinging door.

When he did, the kitchen aroma wafted in. I think I drooled. At least, my stomach gurgled, which I didn't think anyone heard, until Darrell laughed; then everyone did.

“We may speak freely,” Feng Yi assured us as we settled in. “I trust Liang utterly. He has been my friend and associate for decades.”

“I can't thank you enough, Mr. Feng—
we
can't thank you enough,” Dad said. “Without your help, I don't know where we'd be right now.” He smiled around at Darrell and me and the girls. “Not safe, for sure.”

Mr. Feng rose to pour water in our glasses. “The term
Guardian
is many leveled,” he said. “Helping our own is part of our creed, binding us to one another and to our mission. Now, let us share information.”

I wanted to brush all my caution out of the way, especially since we were finally together again—and food was on the way—but it wouldn't leave me. The way Feng Yi had swept in to rescue Dad and us was awesome, and a real spectacle. I was grateful, really. But it was also . . . convenient. I wasn't sure how much Guardians knew about us, but asking him questions might tell us.

“Mr. Feng,” I started, “can I ask you something?”

“By all means.”

Dad fixed his eyes on me and nodded to go ahead. “Markus Wolff, the German man, he's not here for . . .” I stopped. “I mean . . .”

“For Vela, is this what you mean?” he said.

So he knew about Vela, at least.

“All of what the Order does is about every one of the twelve relics of the Copernicus time machine,” he said. “They are linked in different ways. You must know that the symbol of the Teutonic Order is the kraken?”

Of course we knew that. Uncle Henry's first coded message used the word before we discovered what it really meant. Hearing it again made me uneasy all over again. I nodded.

“Well, Markus Wolff and his Star Warriors are arms of that great kraken whose head is Galina Krause herself. They are her servants. Often they are slaves of the Teutonic Order. Allow me to show you.”

From a locked cabinet on the wall next to the kitchen, he removed a black leather satchel. “Do you recognize this?”

We didn't, although the black leather was the same as Wolff's coat.

“I stole it earlier from Herr Wolff, and Liang has kindly kept it for me here. One compartment is locked by a clever microchip device, the sort that will destroy its contents—and its carrier—if it is breached. But this will interest you.” From another compartment, he slid out a tablet computer of a sort I'd never seen before. It was compact, black, and rugged.

“We could sure use one of those,” said Lily, practically sitting on her hands to keep from snatching it out of the man's grasp.

“Is that Leathercoat's?” Darrell asked.

Mr. Feng smiled at the name. “It is. I have friends—Guardians—in Shanghai who work in the Chinese government computer surveillance division. They are seeking a way to unlock the compartment, but in the meantime, they have reconstructed Wolff's last conversation on this tablet. Behold . . .”

He tapped the power switch and held the tablet so we could all see the screen. A few moments later, it lit up with the image of a ghostly white face surrounded by jet-black hair.

It was the face of Galina Krause.

As close to us as if she were in the room.

G
alina Krause was nearly as hypnotic on the tablet's screen as she is in real life.
Beautiful
doesn't even begin to describe her—with her two differently colored eyes, her skin as white as snow, and her raven hair (about which, by the way, don't get Darrell started, at least not in front of Lily).

We had seen her several times, but never so close as in that cave in Guam, where she had demanded we give Vela to her. When we refused, Galina shot her crossbow at us, wounding Becca, who now winced to see the woman's face, and it made me angry all over again.

After a quick rattle of words in German, we heard the off-screen voice of Markus Wolff speak to Galina in English. “I am sending several images to the Copernicus servers in Madrid.”

“Madrid?” said Darrell. “Is that where they plan to take Mom . . . ?”

Dad was riveted on the image. “That may be a lead.”

I realized at that moment what he'd meant in Honolulu about the Copernicus servers and the Order's vast computing resources.

Galina smiled coldly into the screen. “So the great Markus Wolff requires the resources of our databases?”

“For analysis only.” Several pictures shot down the left side of the screen. Pictures of us in the Honolulu airport, of Mr. Chen, of the phone store where Dad bought the new phones, and finally of the Asian Art Museum. “I believe they have deposited their valuables under lock and key,” he said. “They do not act as if they are in possession of them.”