Wade and the Scorpion's Claw by Tony Abbott Page A

opened a moment later. The street rising beyond the arch glowed with colored lights. The sky above was already a deep blue.
    â€œFollow,” 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.
    â€œYour 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.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
    â€œP 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.
    â€œWe may speak freely,” Feng Yi assured us as we settled in. “I trust Liang utterly. He has been my friend and associate for decades.”
    â€œI 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