by Lisa See
“Dear, let the poor man alone. Here, why don’t you go and take another look? Don’t worry about what the others do. You can bid as you please.”
“Of course, of course.” Madame Wang languidly glided away.
“Once you get up into these prices,” Stuart continued, his eyes admiring Madame Wang’s figure as she insinuated herself into another knot of Hong Kong’s elite, “Asian art is a very small world, made up of collectors, dealers, and executive directors from museums. They all have their own reasons for buying, their own strategies, their own customers. See that woman over there? She’s from a museum in Singapore. The museum’s endowment is tremendous, and you could say that for her the sky’s the limit in terms of bidding, until you consider the new dot-commers out of the Silicon Valley. She’s probably trying to figure out if they were hit by the downturn. What she doesn’t know—and neither do I—is who’s going to phone in bids, who’s placed absentee bids, or who has someone in the room that none of us knows who’ll be bidding for him or her.”
“And the dealers?”
“They’re unique creatures unto themselves. For many of them it’s not about the art; it’s about the end sale. They’re buying on margin and hoping to turn over a piece within the ten days before the final funds are due at Cosgrove’s, making a quick twenty or so percent. But if a dealer hasn’t sold a piece within those ten days, he’s fucked.” Stuart grinned.
“They can’t all buy on margin.”
“True, but I love to watch the ones who do, because there’s this moment when they get this great look of triumph mingled with that pit of the stomach sick feeling that says, This one could break me for good. I love it. Sit with me and I’ll tell you what’s going on.”
“Won’t you be bidding?”
“I have my eye on a few things. Come on, say yes, and join us for the reception and dinner afterward. The banquet’s across the hall.”
David thought of Fitzwilliams. “I don’t think they’ll have room for me.”
“The auction is a Cosgrove’s event, but the dinner is a benefit for the Hong Kong Museum Council. Madame Wang is the chair. A place will be made.”
“Then I accept.”
At 6:45, a bevy of pretty women circulated through the room, reminding everyone that the auction would start promptly at 7:00. Unlike most social occasions, when the news that dinner was about to be served was virtually ignored until the third or fourth announcement, the people here quickly took seats.
As the crowd thinned along the sides of the room, David spotted Dr. Ma talking to Angus Fitzwilliams by one of the risers about twenty feet from the edge of the phone bank. Even from this distance, he could see Ma’s face red with anger. Fitzwilliams’s posture was stiff, and he was shaking his head no in the same jerking movements that David had experienced earlier today when the executive director wanted to show just how opposed he was to an unpleasant subject or idea.
“Come along, David, let’s get a good position,” Stuart said, already striding purposefully away.
But David went in the opposite direction. Reaching Ma and Fitzwilliams, he saw that they were standing before a riser displaying several jade objects.
“You know these are stolen artifacts,” Ma seethed.
“I know nothing of the kind, sir,” came Fitzwilliams’s frustratingly bland response. “We have documents showing provenance for every article you see here.”
“And you know that that is a lie. When this comes out, Cosgrove’s will be very sorry. My government will make sure you are put out of business in Hong Kong.”
Fitzwilliams was unmoved. “If there’s something here that appeals to you, then I suggest you use your paddle. Your money’s as good as anyone else’s.”
A young woman approached and very gently touched Fitzwilliams’s sleeve. “Mr. Fitzwilliams, sir, it’s time.”
“Yes, of course.” Without another word to Dr. Ma or even a glance in David’s direction, Fitzwilliams walked with deliberate purpose to the front of the room and up the stairs of the dais to the podium. He brought the gavel down firmly three times. “Ladies and gentlemen.” His voice came out warmly over the sophisticated sound system. “Welcome to Cosgrove’s auction of fine Chinese ceramics, works of art, and jade carvings. I’ll begin with some ground rules….”
David turned back to Dr. Ma, who was staring at the jade— several perforated disks and another object that had been shaved into a long, smooth shape that looked like a cross between a boomerang and an ax head. Lights had been placed in such a way as to catch the subtle carvings on the stones. Well lit and mounted, they made very attractive decorative pieces, although their prices—HK$25,000 to HK$50,000 apiece—seemed steep for a decorative element to add to a living room.
“Are these disks the bis you told me about?” David inquired.
“Yes,” Ma answered.
“Can you prove they’re from Site 518?”
“You know I can’t.”
Fitzwilliams’s voice came over the speakers in a monotone as he outlined the terms of sale: Cosgrove’s had the right to reject any bid, a buyer’s premium would be added to the successful bid price, Cosgrove’s was not responsible for any errors or omissions in the catalog.
Dr. Ma’s gaze still hadn’t shifted from the jade. “Do you see the markings? They’re archaic characters for mountain, river, and door. We don’t know why yet, but we’ve found these same markings on other objects at Site 518.”
Now that Ma had pointed them out, David saw the characters carved into the jade. He noted especially the character for river, which he’d seen as a brand on Lily’s forehead.
As Fitzwilliams recited the bidding increments, David asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been authorized to bid on these on behalf of the Chinese government,” Ma replied. Then he said in an accusatory tone, “I see you’re here with Miller.”
“I was as surprised to see him here as I was to see you.”
“You shouldn’t have been. Miller wouldn’t miss this. He sees himself as a latter-day Schliemann, only instead of discovering Troy and Mycenae, he hopes to discover the great link to China’s past. Except if he really wanted to help, he’d spend his money on research and on putting teams in the field. Instead he’s just a rich capitalist who wants to hoard things that don’t belong to him.”
“He’s helped, Site 518 in particular.”
“It would take about two hundred thirty million dollars U.S. to save all of the artifacts along the Yangzi,” Ma said. “We’ve raised less than one percent of what’s needed. You watch what happens tonight. Miller will probably spend more in ten minutes than we’ve raised in five years.”
Fitzwilliams’s voice announced the opening of bidding for Lot 1—a yellow-glazed wine cup with an artist mark from the Yongzheng period of the Qing Dynasty.
“Mr. Stark, we don’t have much time. I don’t know if it’s in my power to save the ruyi tonight, but we must get it back to China.”
“Don’t worry, Dr. Ma,” David assured the archaeologist. “I plan on hiring local counsel first thing Monday morning to begin litigation. It’s a good thing you’ve come out to Hong Kong, because I think you’ll make a very credible witness when it comes time to identify your missing artifacts in court. We’ll get your relics back, including your ruyi.”
“Monday may be too late,” Ma said.
Ma had been disagreeable and obstreperous since David and Hulan debarked at Bashan. Now he was pressuring David?
“What’s so critical all of a sudden?”
Ma’s features remained unreadable, but David could see that the archaeologist was struggling with something. Finally, he said, “I’m not employed by the Cultural Relics Bureau. I work for the Ministry of State Security.”
That was China’s version of the CIA. Hulan had been right that something was strange about Ma. All of his territoriality could now be traced to issues of jurisdiction, clandestine supremacy, and personal safety. A black-world guy like Ma had to thi
nk long term. Once his cover was blown, it was blown for good, which meant this had to be very serious.
“That’s right,” Ma said as if reading David’s mind, “even Director Ho doesn’t know who I am or why I’m at Site 518.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I’ve already told you. We need your help.”
David waited. This revelation was coming far too easily after all of Ma’s lies and rudeness. Ma would have to prove himself. He seemed to understand this and began to disclose his history with just enough details to show David he was telling the truth.
“The ministry I work for looks very far ahead, and the men I work for in particular are far-ahead thinkers. When I needed an excuse to be in the States for a long time, my superiors ordered me to study archaeology, because no one would ever suspect a graduate student in archaeology of being a spy. My supervisors also anticipated that construction on the dam would come to pass. Everyone knew about the archaeological sites, but few anticipated what the foreign interest would be. My superiors did, and they were right. Stuart Miller, Lily Sinclair, and others all came to me. Miller was a particularly fortuitous prize, for obvious reasons. He had access to things that we’d love to have.”
The auction was moving along. Fitzwilliams was already on to Lot 8—a white jade imperial seal from the Qing Dynasty.
“Then Brian McCarthy brought in the ruyi,” Ma went on. “He never told me where he found it, but once he showed it to me and I recognized its significance, my position at Site 518 took on even greater importance. As you know, the Ministry of State Security’s concerns are international in scope.”
“Why didn’t you say something before? Why didn’t you ask for Inspector Liu’s help?”
“I am told you are an intelligent man, Attorney Stark, but you’re not appreciating the game here. Your wife was sent by her handlers to find the ruyi. They’re hoping to use it to strengthen their position in the government. And there are other factions who want it too. I’m asking for your help because you’re an American. You understand that the wrong power in the wrong hands could be detrimental to world stability. I hope you will put aside personal loyalties and do the right thing.”
But David wasn’t understanding anything. He’d seen Hulan get her assignment. There was no covert operation that he knew of, or was there? Would Vice Minister Zai have knowingly sent Hulan into danger again after everything she’d been through? And if so, would she have kept it a secret from David? A far more likely scenario was that Ma wasn’t telling the full truth. But what could be so important about the ruyi that Ma would be tempted to confide in David at any level, bring up global dangers, and suggest that Hulan was working for a secret entity within the government?
“Complete your job, Attorney Stark. Retrieve the ruyi. Deliver it to me. Inspector Liu is in over her head,” he reiterated. “By helping me, you may be saving her.”
David stared at Ma, calculating. “Why me? Why now?”
A grim smile twisted Ma’s lips. “I’m giving you an opportunity to help China. Now you’d better get in there and see what you can do.” Then, not for the first time, Ma turned his back on David and walked away.
HULAN AND MICHAEL GOT BACK TO TOWN ABOUT SIX. HE LEFT HER on a street corner, saying he was going to continue his walk, so she went on alone to the Panda Guesthouse. Michael had been right. She felt refreshed and ready for this interview. She dropped off her umbrella, then went to Angela’s room. Hulan said she had a few more questions, and Angela motioned her inside. She plopped down on the bed, tucked her bare feet under her, and regarded Hulan intently.
“Why did you lie to me about when you came to China?” Hulan asked.
“What do you mean?” Angela’s eyes were bright with the knowledge that she’d been caught.
“You left Seattle before your brother died. You lied to Captain Hom. In China, lies are considered criminal offenses.”
Angela stared at Hulan with that ridiculous naïveté that was such a weak trait of Americans.
“Your brother is dead. The fact that you’ve deliberately chosen not to be honest doesn’t look good.”
“You can’t believe I hurt him!” Angela’s features crumpled, but the routine had worn thin.
“Miss McCarthy, you’re far from any consulate or embassy. Either you can tell me the truth right now or I can have Captain Hom put you in jail until you decide to be more forthcoming.”
“I thought you were nice,” Angela said reproachfully.
“Jail or the truth. It’s your call and I’m waiting.”
Angela picked at the frayed hem of her shorts.
“Get up,” Hulan ordered. “Put your hands behind your back.” Angela looked at her in disbelief. “Up! Now!”
Angela stretched out her legs and scooted to the edge of the bed. She held out her wrists for a second, then just as suddenly dropped them. “All right,” she said. “I’ll tell you everything.”
It had been a bluff on Hulan’s part, but why had she needed to go so far?
“I told you before that my brother and I wrote e-mails to each other,” Angela began. “About two weeks before he died, he sent an e-mail saying he’d found something that would change my life. When I wrote back and asked him what it was, he said I had to come here and see it with my own eyes. I thought he was just screwing around with me. He’d wanted me to visit for a long time, but I don’t have a lot of money, and hopping on a plane to China, even though I loved him more than anyone in the world, wasn’t something I could do just for fun. He wrote back and told me to look at his website.”
“The one you and Lily talked about the other night.”
“Yes, and it was just as Lily described it. He liked to post photos of places he’d been and things he’d seen, not just for me but for his other friends. Here, let me show you.”
Angela got up and rummaged through a pile on the floor until she found Brian’s laptop. She attached an adapter to the computer, plugged it in, booted it up, and connected to the file he’d used to store the photos for his webpage. He stood in the center of the screen on a muddy bank surrounded by dead shrubs. He wore the typical outfit for foreigners in this place—khaki shorts, heavy boots, a T-shirt, and a cap. His arms were spread out as though he were presenting something to the viewer— ta-da! He was beaming.
Who’d taken the photo? The question seemed unimportant to Angela. “Maybe one of the peasants he met when he was hiking.”
Hulan watched as Angela clicked on the icon and the screen filled with the image of an arid hillside. She clicked again and got a panorama showing a low valley of desolate red earth. The next image Hulan recognized as the ragged beach and entrance to the cave where the All-Patriotic Society held its meetings.
“These photos weren’t like others he’d posted,” Angela explained. “Usually he’d put up a pretty landscape or a portrait of a family on whose property he’d camped. But these are just infertile land.”
“Are there any of the dig?”
“In a way.” Angela clicked several times in succession so that images of Site 518 flitted past. “I would have expected photos of people he worked with, artifacts he’d found, or the configuration of the pits, but most of these are of the surrounding area—just dirt.”
“How was this going to change your life?”
“I didn’t know. I wrote him and said that he had to spell it out for me and that I couldn’t come out here for nothing. I wasn’t very nice when it comes down to it.”
“But he still wouldn’t say—”
“He wrote back that he didn’t know who else was looking at the website. After all, it was and still is available for all of his friends back home.”
“And anyone here too.”
“I suppose so, but I don’t know why anyone here would want to look at these pictures. They already know how ugly Site 518 is. The point is he knew the website wasn’t secure, because it was never designed to be secure. But he also didn’t want to write anything too personal to me by
e-mail because he didn’t know how safe that was either.”
“He wrote that?”
“Uh-huh,” Angela confirmed.
“Do you have any idea what he thought was so important?”
“No, only that if I came here my career would be made.” Angela hesitated, then added, “You have to understand. He was my brother. I trusted him. So I came, thinking he would explain everything once I got here.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a mycologist. I study mushrooms and fungus. I thought that maybe he’d found a lingzhi fungus. Do you know it?”
“That’s the one for long life, right?”
Angela nodded. “The lingzhi is found in this area. Well, not here exactly. Have you heard of the Lesser Three Gorges? They’re not far from here—up the Daning River from the town of Wuxia just below Wushan. The first gorge you hit is called the Dragon Gate Gorge. On the east side is Dragon Gate Spring, and above that is Lingzhi Peak, which is crowned by the Nine-Dragon Pillar. It’s up there that the fungus grows and, because of its value, it’s protected by nine dragons.”
“You’ve been there?”
“No, this is my first time to China. But before I leave, I’d like to go up the Lesser Three Gorges, maybe hike up in the hills. That would be great….”
Angela looked lost for a moment. Then, as Brian’s death came back to her, she shifted into something a little more technical.
“Anyway, you’re right about the lingzhi. It does have a reputation for giving long life, everlasting youth actually. In my opinion the medicinal properties are about as valid as those for those dragon bones the archaeologists keep talking about, but in my profession, as dragon bones are in theirs, the lingzhi has incredible value.”
“In terms of giving a key to the past?”
“Hardly. The lingzhi has great monetary value.”
“For traditional Chinese medicine?” Hulan had some experience with the lengths to which people would go to obtain the raw ingredients for traditional medicine.
“Also in jewelry,” Angela answered.
“A fungus in jewelry?”
