<h2 id="c4"><span class="small">CHAPTER IV</span> <br/>A Fortune Cooky</h2>
<p>Biff’s connections at Chicago with the jetliner for
San Francisco went without a hitch. In less than an
hour the sleek, silvery plane was in the air, circling
over the bustling city of Chicago. It pointed its slender
nose westward, and began a race with the sun to
the Pacific Ocean.</p>
<p>The liner seemed to hang motionless over the broad
plains of the West. Even the towering peaks of the
Rocky Mountains passed backward beneath the plane
slowly, as if the plane were barely moving, instead of
slicing through the air at nearly 700 miles per hour.</p>
<p>Once they were in the air, Biff, as casually as he
could, had let his eyes sweep the length of the plane,
trying to see if the two Chinese were still with
him. There were no Orientals on this flight.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</div>
<p>By early afternoon the plane had left the mountains
behind it and was starting its long glide to lose altitude
as it neared San Francisco. Far ahead, Biff could see
the blue waters of the Pacific, sparkling under the rays
of the sun, now standing high in the sky. Before he
realized it, the plane was circling over San Francisco
Bay. Biff saw the beautiful Golden Gate Bridge, arching
gracefully over the harbor.</p>
<p>After a two-hour layover, during which time Biff’s
papers and baggage were cleared by customs, the boy
boarded the plane which was to take him to his final
destination, Burma.</p>
<p>The sun had a good lead on the plane by the time
the huge airliner took off. It would soon disappear
over the horizon, and darkness would greet the touch-down
in Honolulu.</p>
<p>Once the plane was over the water, Biff turned in
his seat for a final glance at his homeland. He could
just see the hills of San Francisco, fading rapidly behind
him. As he turned more toward the front, his
eye was caught by two Chinese passengers.</p>
<p>Biff looked at them closely. They were dressed in
long, flowing robes. The robes were brightly colored
in greens and reds and were gold-trimmed. Their
wearers had tight skull caps worn low on their foreheads,
and each wore heavy, dark sun glasses. Could
they be the same two who had been on the plane with
him from Indianapolis to Chicago? For a closer look,
Biff walked to the rear of the plane for a drink of
water. He stood just in back of the pair and inspected
the men closely. They could be the same men, he
decided. But he couldn’t be sure. It was difficult for
him to tell one Chinese from another. And the change,
if these were the same two, from American clothes to
Oriental, made such a difference that it was impossible
for Biff to be certain.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</div>
<p>Biff decided on a bold move. He stopped at the seat
where the two Orientals sat impassively, staring
straight ahead.</p>
<p>“I’m going to Rangoon,” he said, a friendly smile
breaking out on his face. “To a place very near the
Chinese border. Are you going to Rangoon, or Hong
Kong?”</p>
<p>There was no answer.</p>
<p>“Don’t you speak English?” Biff asked.</p>
<p>“I’m afraid they don’t,” a voice said behind him.</p>
<p>Biff whirled. It was the stewardess. “Can I help
you?” she asked.</p>
<p>“No,” Biff said lamely. “I was just—er—just going
to get a glass of water.”</p>
<p>The stewardess moved on. Biff downed the glass
of water which he didn’t need and started back to his
seat. As he came to the side where the Chinese were
sitting, he decided to try a little trick.</p>
<p>He bent toward the floor of the plane.</p>
<p>“Is that your glasses case on the floor?” he asked.</p>
<p>The Chinese in the outside seat bent forward. His
hand reached down, feeling by his feet. Then, quickly
realizing he had given himself away, he sat up straight,
and stared ahead.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</div>
<p>A big smile of satisfaction decorated Biff’s face as
he settled himself in his seat. He knew one thing about
them at least. They understood English—but good!
And they could have taken another airline from Chicago
to San Francisco.</p>
<p>Biff’s swift flight was without further incident as
the plane sped across the Pacific. Then he was on the
last leg—the flight from Hong Kong to Rangoon.</p>
<p>It was the middle of the afternoon, an hour after
the take-off from Hong Kong. Rangoon was still
nearly three hours away. The stewardesses were serving
tea. With it they served almond cookies and, as a
favor from the air lines, each passenger received a fortune
cooky, a small delicate piece of folded, crisply
cooked dough. Inside each fortune cooky was a narrow
ribbon of paper on which was printed a short
saying—usually humorous. Biff remembered them
from the Chinese restaurant he went to with the family
every so often back in Indianapolis.</p>
<p>He smiled as he remembered one he had once gotten.
It had read: “Man who count chickens before
they hatch is egghead.”</p>
<p>Biff finished his tea. He reached for the fortune
cooky. Just as he did so, someone lurched against his
shoulder, upsetting the tray. Cup, saucer, and fortune
cooky fell to the floor. Both Biff and the awkward
passenger reached to pick up the scrambled tray.
Biff’s eyes met his helper’s—it was one of the two
Chinese! There was no reason for him to have stumbled.
The plane was flying smoothly. It appeared to
Biff that the shoulder bumping had been intentional.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</div>
<p>“So sorry,” the Chinese said. His dark glasses
glinted as he straightened up. “Too bad. Fortune
cooky smashed to bits. But slip of paper still okay.”</p>
<p>Smiling briefly, he handed Biff the slender slip of
tissue paper, and made his way hurriedly forward.</p>
<p>Biff watched him go, still puzzled by the man’s action.
The boy smoothed out the slip. It had only a
Chinese character scrawled on it. Through the Chinese
printing had been drawn a red “X.” “Now what
the dickens is this?” Biff thought. He started to crumple
the paper, but something about it held his attention.
There was something familiar about it. Then he
had it. Carefully, he took out his key chain. He bent
low, and compared the character on the cooky slip
with that on the surface of the ring’s green stone.
They were identical—the letter “K!”—the seal of the
lords of the House of Kwang.</p>
<p>Was this a warning of some kind? Did the red “X”
cancel out the protection and good fortune the ring
was supposed to insure? But why? Why? Biff’s brain
kept signaling that one word with its question mark.</p>
<p>The plane climbed over the coastal mountains of
Viet Nam, dropped down to skim over the rice fields
of Thailand, then swung out over the Bay of Bengal
for its approach to Rangoon.</p>
<p>As the plane banked, Biff could see the many
mouths of the Irrawaddy River, spread out like long
fingers from the broad, brown arm of the river itself.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</div>
<p>The plane came low over the bay on its approach
to the city, and Biff could see the colorful sails of the
<i>dhows</i>, the native craft which dotted the harbor. Some
of the sails were bright red, some dirty brown. Many
wore patches of every color of the rainbow.</p>
<p>The plane followed the course of the Hlaing River,
twenty-one miles inland to the city of Rangoon.
Standing out against the low, white buildings, Biff
saw the pagoda of Shwe Dagon, rising nearly 400 feet
skyward. It was entirely covered with gold leaf which
glistened in the setting sun. Then he remembered.
Ling Tang had told him this was the important shrine
of Buddha where the head of the House of Kwang
used to worship.</p>
<p>Biff stretched and twisted. In spite of the cooky accident
and the red “X,” he smiled. “Almost there, at
last,” he said to the passing stewardess.</p>
<p>The long trip had been pleasant enough, but being
confined to a plane for three days and three nights
had become monotonous. Just as soon as he could, Biff
bounded down the ramp from the airliner and ran
eagerly to the entrance of the airport terminal.</p>
<p>Through the portal into the terminal, Biff was
caught up in a swirling mass of figures. Fat merchants,
skinny students, long-robed mandarins, ragged
beggars, and men in the uniforms of all the
world’s military forces milled about the huge room.
Biff searched the crowds, trying to spot his Uncle
Charlie. He was nowhere to be seen.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</div>
<p>Worried minutes followed. Then Biff saw a tall,
very thin Oriental, wearing a long, straight white
robe approach. The man came up to Biff. With hands
clasped to his chest, he bowed low.</p>
<p>“Sahib Brewster?” he asked.</p>
<p>“I’m Biff Brewster,” the boy answered, thinking,
“Gee, I’m a sahib!”</p>
<p>“I come from Sahib Charles Keene. He had planned
to meet you. However, an emergency arose, and he
had to fly to the north. But he should be back at Unhao
by the time we get there.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Biff was slightly shaken by this unexpected
turn of events. “And how do we get there, then?”</p>
<p>“It is all arranged. Another pilot was dispatched to
pick you up when your uncle was unable to come
himself. Come. If you will follow me, even now the
plane is ready.” The Oriental turned, and a path in
the human mass seemed to open for him.</p>
<p>Biff followed, still not sure of this man.</p>
<p>“Hey,” he called. “Wait a minute!”</p>
<p>The Oriental paused and turned to the boy.</p>
<p>“I’d like to know your name,” Biff said. “I don’t
like calling people just ‘hey.’”</p>
<p>The Oriental’s puzzled expression changed to a
slight smile as understanding of Biff’s “hey” came to
him. “I am called Nam Palung, head of the servants in
your uncle’s house.”</p>
<p>“Okay, Nam. But what about getting through customs?”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</div>
<p>“That is all arranged. Your uncle is a man of
much importance and influence. Come. We must
hurry before darkness spreads its mantle upon the
land.”</p>
<p>Biff didn’t like being rushed like this. “Yeah, but
what about my luggage—my suitcase and trunk?”</p>
<p>“Even now they precede us to the plane. All is
cared for.”</p>
<p>The whole business seemed a bit cockeyed to Biff,
but then, shrugging his shoulders, he followed Nam to
the northern exit of the terminal.</p>
<p>Nam walked quickly, his fast, short steps limited
by the skirt of his robe. Even so, Biff had to step up
his pace to stay with the man.</p>
<p>Suspicion again came to Biff as they left the terminal
building and appeared to be taking a direction
away from the airport.</p>
<p>“Look, Nam. Just where are we going? The airstrips
are back that way.”</p>
<p>“Those, Sahib Brewster,” Nam replied, “are for the
commercial airlines planes. Private planes, such as
those used by Explorations Unlimited, use a different
part of the field.”</p>
<p>Biff’s suspicions dropped a degree. Nam’s explanation
made sense. His suspicions dropped still further
when Nam reached a jeep, and with a low bow, indicated
that Biff was to get in.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</div>
<p>An American jeep, Biff thought. They’re found
everywhere. The small vehicle represented home and
safety to Biff. He hopped aboard, and Nam took his
place behind the wheel. Biff looked across the airport
where a mile away, several small planes were clustered.
He figured that was where they were heading.
He heard a rustling behind him and turned abruptly.
In the jeep’s rear seat now sat, as if they had appeared
out of thin air, two more Orientals. Both were
dressed like Nam. But, as Biff looked at them more
closely, he noticed that each man’s hand was partly
thrust into a fold of his robe, and each hand clasped
the hilt of a slender dagger. Biff turned to Nam,
alarmed.</p>
<p>“Who are those men—with knives—” His voice
shook in spite of his attempt to control it.</p>
<p>Nam interrupted. His manner was no longer courteous,
his voice no longer smooth. His reply was
stem and harsh.</p>
<p>“You will remain silent. Any outcry, any attempt
to escape, and my men have been told to use those
knives.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</div>
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