The Noah Reid Action Thriller Series: Books 1-3 (plus special bonuses) Page 10

  Master Wu nodded. “You know the moves but lacked the need. However, when the time comes, you will release your inner tiger.”

  “Not likely. I just had a seventy-two-year-old spank my ass.”

  “It’s the heart. Not the muscle, not the age.”

  “I’m soft. It’s in my genes. Blame Mom and Dad.”

  Master Wu whipped his arms and put Noah into a painful headlock, applying painful pressure, firmly chastising his disciple. “Do not talk disrespectfully about your parents.”

  Noah flailed away but was unable to free himself. “It was a joke.”

  “It wasn’t funny.”

  Master Wu released Noah, who stepped back to rub his temples, trying to get some circulation back into his brain.

  “Your heart is what will give you strength when the time comes. And you will attack because you are a warrior.”

  “Sifu, I’m about to become a professional paper pusher. I’m no hero, no warrior. No Jet Li. No Sammo Hung. No Donnie Yeo. No Chuck Norris. No Rambo. No eye of the tiger.”

  Wu’s eyes bored into Noah.

  “You don’t need to be. You are Noah Reid.”

  Chapter 6

  It was 5 a.m. as Garret parked a borrowed silver Toyota Corolla in front of an apartment complex. He didn’t want to draw attention to his presence, which his Bentley certainly would. This building was in an expat complex, a place where overseas employees who worked in a foreign country could live, shop and send their kids to school without having to mingle with the locals.

  Garret hated these places that continued to nurture the colonial attitude that coloreds should be segregated from whites so as not to pollute Caucasian purity. For Garret, who had lived and breathed Asian culture since he was a teen, this attitude was an insult. He hid it, but just barely.

  He stepped out of the car with his briefcase. He walked briskly to the entrance where a uniformed guard saluted the senior lawyer before letting him in. Garret strode confidently down the hall and knocked on the door of a particular unit.

  Thirty-five-year-old prematurely balding Ron Armstrong, dressed in his pajamas, answered.

  “What the...? I thought it was the maid. Garret, do you know what time it is?”

  “It’s time to get to work. I suggest you shower, shave and grab a coffee.”

  Garret opened his briefcase and handed the accountant a thick file of documents and a USB flash drive. “I’ve gone over the Golden Asia financial statements and have flagged a few areas that need modification.”

  Ron winced as he gave the file a cursory glance. He restrained himself from hurling f-bomb invectives.

  “We were already up to midnight preparing these, and I dropped them off at 12:30.”

  “And I have been examining them carefully since then.”

  “You couldn’t have found anything wrong. The team went through things with a fine-tooth comb.”

  “I didn’t say there was anything wrong. I said I flagged some areas that need change. Get them done by lunchtime.”

  The implication of Garret’s words needed no elaboration to Ron. “Cook the books.”

  Ron ran his hands through what was left of his greasy hair, perusing Garret’s notes.

  “This is a lot of number crunching. A lot.”

  Garret folded his hands, then spoke with an undercurrent of a threat in his baritone voice. “I pay you a lot of money. A lot. Goodbye, Ron.”

  Garret turned away and headed back down the hall without awaiting Ron’s answer.

  Chapter 7

  Somewhere else in the city, in a new apartment provided by his new employer, Noah was dead to the world. After he finished at Master Wu’s, he had to walk two miles before there was enough civilization to find another cab brave enough to pick him up. By the time he got to the new apartment provided by his employer, it was 4 a.m.

  Noah sat at a table, sleeping, his head propped on his right hand. A cup of cold coffee the size of a small bucket sat beside a thick open law textbook titled Principles of Litigation. He thought he could pull an all-nighter and brush up on his worst subject just in case he got asked about complex legal disputes, but it was not to be.

  The alarm clock on his cell phone rang and rang, but he paid no attention to it until his arm collapsed and his head hit the table. He checked the time on his phone. “Reid, you are so dead.”

  He frantically pulled himself up and hopped into the shower. It was freezing, but Noah had no time to be picky. Besides, it helped wake him up. To save precious seconds, he brushed his teeth in the shower, then used the shampoo from his hair as shaving gel and ran the razor over his face. Suddenly, the water from the shower got scalding hot.

  “Damn, damn, damn.” He hopped from foot to foot as the stinging water peppered his skin. He leapt out of the shower, barely patting himself with a towel before throwing a shirt and pair of pants on his still-damp body. Never mind that they were wrinkled. No time for ironing, but he couldn’t even if he wanted to because he hadn’t been settled in long enough to get an iron.

  “Please, no, don’t fire me... Mr. Southam, the plane was late.” No, he knew the plane got in late. “Mr. Southam, the neighbor’s dog died, and she wanted me to cremate it.” No, numbnuts. This is a no-pets building. How about the truth, Reid? Duh. “I was late because I slept in because... because I wanted to see my sifu?” That’s would no doubt be a winner.

  With no time to look in the mirror to check for proper grooming, he rocketed out the door with briefcase in one hand as he struggled to tie his tie with the other. There was just one problem. Behind his shirt collar, the back part of the tie still showed—a sure sign of a putz.

  He didn’t see it, but everyone else sure would.

  Under a cloudless sky with blazing sun, a sweating Noah jumped off the bus and peeled into a towering, eighty-eight floored skyscraper. Weaving his way through crowds of people and past three colorful fountains, he checked his watch.

  7:57 Maybe I can make it. Noah saw a tiny space in the line-up for the elevator. He jumped the queue and squeezed in just as the elevator door closed.

  Noah counted at least another nineteen men crammed in like sardines along with him. All seemed cut from the same cookie cutter, with dark suits, white shirts and gray ties. All glared at him for jumping the line.

  Noah wanted to shrink but then... Holy babe-alicious beauty, Batman.

  The babe was Olivia. Noah shoved through the other guys, irritating them even more, but no matter. He’d almost reached his goal. There was only one person standing between him and his goddess. He was only aware of her tantalizing perfume, which was even more attractive than her creamy skin and long lashes. Noah melted, ignoring the other passengers as he fumbled for something, anything, to say. “Thanks for holding the elevator,” he blurted.

  Olivia remained silent, but not the suit that stood between them. “No one held the elevator. You butted in. I hate jerks who do that.”

  After this auspicious start, it was tension all the way to the twelfth floor. The elevator stopped, and the disagreeable man got off. As the door slid to close, Noah gave a little wave. “Let’s do lunch real soon,” he called. “Friendly guy,” he announced to no one in particular. “I like him. Maybe I’ll ask him for a drink next time.”

  With the obstacle out of his way, Noah edged closer to Olivia, who just as quickly eased away. He gave her his best Tom Cruise smile, a charming grin that would normally melt an iceberg. Olivia’s eyes focused straight at the elevator door.

  Her fragrance of roses, jasmine and Italian cinnamon was unavoidably alluring. Noah inhaled her scent and daringly tried a different tactic. “I’m a lawyer with Pittman Saunders. And you?”

  Before she could respond, the elevator stopped again, this time at the sixteenth floor. The next suit’s eyes threw daggers at Noah as he got off. “There are seven hundred seasoned attorneys in this building alone, half of us making five hundred Gs and more. Why would any secretary be interested in a rookie?” He darted out of the elevat
or.

  Before the door shut and before anyone could respond, Olivia swung her purse at Suit Number Two. Everyone gave her a little space.

  Noah snorted, “What does he know? The most important person in any office is the secretary.”

  Up, up, and away went the happy group, none daring to open to their mouth.

  Except Noah. “I’ve got a black belt in Hung Gar Shaolin martial arts, second degree.”

  Olivia didn’t say anything, but the short pudge beside her certainly did, in a fake effeminate voice. “I’m so impressed. May I have your autograph? Please?”

  Still no word out of Olivia. At the eightieth floor, Olivia got off, held the elevator open, then turned to face the cringing men. “I am not a secretary.”

  Every guy on the elevator stared; with the echo of her footsteps thundering like cannon blasts aimed at them, none dared to move. As the doors closed, Olivia marched away, revealing a huge PITTMAN SAUNDERS logo on the wall.

  Completely freaked, Noah shouted, “That’s my floor! That’s my floor, and it’s eight-o-one. I’m gonna get killed.”

  He frantically jabbed at the stop button, and the elevator lurched to a standstill. The doors refused to open, and the emergency bell shrieked. The remaining passengers glared at him.

  “You are a complete toad, rookie,” an ill-tempered suit leered. “You won’t last two weeks.”

  The fast-wilting newbie lawyer glanced around the enclosed box, but no savior was in sight.

  Chapter 8

  In his huge master bedroom overlooking the pool, Tommy sat on his oversized bed with the gaudy yellow silk sheets in a rare moment of reminiscing. He saw Abby’s artistry everywhere. When he told her he wanted a Chinese motif, she went to town and made him promise not to interfere. Her taste was exquisite, and the room could easily be a showpiece for a reality television show on luxury bedrooms of the uber-rich. Among the special items were the Chinese words meaning “double happiness” written in calligraphy onto a rice-paper canvas, an original Chinese ink painting of a horse in full gallop by legendary artist Xu Beihong, and a mammoth-sized, hand-knotted Chinese rug with a stunning array of colors in a floral design.

  What touched him most, more than the exquisite items surrounding him, was an old photo on the mahogany night table beside his bed. It was a picture of him, his late wife and Abby, the last picture ever taken of Jocelyn. Not a day passed since she died that he didn’t spend time looking at this picture... and wonder what might have been. Soon, very soon.

  Letting a final long gasp of air out, he tapped the picture—it was time to get back to work. Tommy turned from the photo to the large open suitcase sitting beside him on the bed. It was chock-full of bundles of currency from all nations, though primarily from China, Canada and the United States. He picked up one of the bundles and estimated that it must contain at least twenty thousand bucks in that one sheaf. How many generations of pain were here?

  Abby popped in unannounced and gaped when she saw so much cash. “Where did that money come from, Papa?”

  Trying to brush it off, Tommy shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, that. It’s from one of the casinos. I picked it up last night for a deposit this morning. That’s the problem with being the boss. Sometimes, you got to do the grunt work.”

  “But...”

  “No buts,” interrupted Tommy. He quickly closed the suitcase and asked jovially, “How about some of your famous pancakes for breakfast today?”

  Abby scrunched her face. “Pancakes? I haven’t made them since high school.”

  “But the memory has stayed with me forever.”

  Abby, biting her tongue, fixed her gaze for a moment, but her father didn’t take the bait. “You want maple syrup or blueberry sauce?”

  “Let’s go wild today. Maple syrup with extra, extra butter. And bacon.”

  “That’s not good for your heart, but sure, why not?” She turned around and left, her face asking a hundred unspoken questions.

  There is a whole lot of stuff that is not good for my heart. Tommy put his head in his hands.

  Chapter 9

  It’s 8:09. God, I hope nobody missed me. Noah raced from the elevator to the Pittman Saunders Conference Hall. The room was packed, and Garret was at the podium, pontificating.

  Noah hoped to be close to Olivia and, as he scanned the room, he noticed that every one of the one hundred and seventy lawyers, male and female, was wearing a tailored, conservative, navy-blue or gray suit. He felt like shrinking in his off-the-rack, outlet mall special he bought in Marina del Rey just before hopping on the plane.

  Truth be told, for a guy who was a chick magnet, Noah was completely inexperienced in serious relationships with women.

  Being raised by devout missionary parents and an ascetic bachelor monk had a lot to do with it. Sure, as with any red-blooded young man, good looks and a nice body were important, but that wasn’t all. He needed someone with heart, with compassion, whose emotional IQ was more than watching the hottest reality bachelorette show.

  His lack of self-confidence made sure he didn’t trust any girl who threw herself at him. Why would anyone want me? He was more attracted to someone that was well, challenging, had an independent streak and most important, had that undefinable quality, “zing.”

  There she is. Noah quickly moved to the side of the room and stood beside her. He whispered, “Hi,” but her focus remained straight.

  Settled in, Noah saw that the veterans pretended polite attention while the twenty newbies hung on every word Garret spoke. Garret’s voice had a dominating authority that matched his physical presence. With eyes like steel, every aspect of his being announced, “This is a man who leads.”

  Like many good speakers, Garret’s focus moved throughout the room while maintaining the impression he was staring at you. Noah felt Garret’s eyes boring into him.

  “Unprecedented growth. Unlimited potential and extremely difficult but immensely rewarding work. When I started at Pittman Saunders, there were three lawyers and a secretary. Now we have two thousand lawyers in twelve worldwide offices. As senior partner and managing director for the Asia Pacific region, I welcome you to realize the unbelievable and to achieve the impossible. To enter new cultures and experiences that will challenge every fiber of your existence. At Pittman Saunders, we don’t climb mountains; we conquer them.”

  Noah led the audience in rising and applauding. Nodding his head in acknowledgment, Garret motioned for the clapping automatons to sit down.

  “To the newest members of our family, I say be prepared for the ride of your lives. That you are here means that you are among the best of the brightest new minds in the world. Welcome. I look forward to meeting each one of you personally. At Pittman Saunders, we exemplify hard work and, above all, integrity. That’s the Pittman Saunders way. That is my way.”

  Noah and the lawyers rose again. He chimed in with them, shouting “GAR-RET, GAR-RET,” as the senior lawyer left the stage.

  Not stopping his applause, Noah leaned over to Olivia. “He’s got to be the biggest stuffed shirt in an office full of stuffed shirts.”

  Olivia kept her eyes straight ahead, but there was a hint of a smile on her face. Noah noted it, smiled confidently, and continued. “Gotcha. You like that, do you? I’ll bet you even agree with me. Come on. I know you do.”

  Olivia’s lips didn’t budge, but it seemed to Noah that her slight smile was spreading across her face.

  “And now I have to go meet Mr. Senior Partner, the managing director for the Asia Pacific region,” groaned Noah.

  Noah saw Garret waving in his direction. Noah waved back enthusiastically and turned to Olivia. “Did you see that? He waved at me. I think I made a good impression.”

  Olivia’s voice dripped honey. “You must have. Maybe as good as the one as you made in the elevator.”

  Chapter 10

  In the moody light, Chin stood at one end of a fifteen-hundred-square-foot clearing of red clay floors. Clothed only in a loincloth, his remar
kable physique showed rippling abs, biceps like granite and forearms like steel rods. There was not a gram of excess fat anywhere on his body.

  Chin had spent much time in jungles and wilderness around the world and the clearing was part of a tropical rainforest Chin had created in a cavernous warehouse-like space. With thirty-five-foot-high ceilings, Chin had personally chosen the towering green bamboo stalks with two-inch trunks; colorful moss and lichen hanging down in strings of orange, red and purple from mangrove trees with low thick-leaved grasses for ground cover. Torches sporadically placed on the walls created shadows that poked through the cavities in the flora.

  With sounds of tropical birds tittering, animals bellowing and a devilish-sounding chanting in an unknown language pervading the air, there was the feel of impending darkness about to descend upon the earth.

  Six henchmen carried a caged tiger to the opposite side of the clearing from where Chin stood. Snarling, snapping, pacing and trying to bite through the bars to get at its handlers, the feline was bigger and more ferocious than the one Chin conquered at the airport. The animal roared loudly at the resolute, dour-faced Chin.

  Chin barked out, “Open the door! Now!”

  Duke, Chin’s son, a chunky, muscular twenty-five-year-old Asian hulk with a Mohawk, opened the door and quickly got out of the way. Father and son couldn’t be more different. Duke had the appearance, approach and demeanor of a junkyard dog, whereas Chin, the ferocious psychopath, still maintained heritage elements of Shaolin mastery.

  The tiger, seeing freedom, bounded out the open door and ran directly at Chin, jaws wide open, ready to take a chomp out of the gangster. Its pent-up anger manifested with an ear-splitting, full-throated cry of defiance, and its paws stretched out, prepared to sink its sharp claws in anything in its path.

  Chin’s arms bolted to fight-ready position. He ran fearlessly toward the tiger, yelling with Bruce Lee’s signature animalistic scream. Both leapt at the same time. In midair, Chin’s arms jackhammered the feline’s eyes, face and mouth, breaking the tiger’s nose and causing a contusion in its right eye. Nose and eye spurted blood as man and beast crashed to the floor, landing on their feet.