“How odd,” she murmured, looking around.
“What do you mean?”
“I like it.”
“That’s a shock?”
“I’ve always been drawn to a more Oriental approach to living spaces.”
“Mahogany screens, low tables, floor cushions, inward facing rather than outward, that sort of thing?” Kyle asked, turning on lights.
“Oh, I admit to liking chairs. It’s just that a room of this size, this height, all this glass and space…” Lianne paused. “Usually the result is impersonal. Like a palace or big hotel lobby. But this is lovely, very welcoming.”
“It’s my parents’ home away from home. One of them, anyway. The Donovan and Susa live a lot of the year near Cortez, Colorado. Unless they’re traveling. We’re all holding our breath on that subject. My mother is determined to paint the Silk Road.”
“Paint it?”
In answer, Kyle touched another light switch. Impressionistic landscapes hung like muted thunder on the only wall that wasn’t glass.
Lianne’s breath caught. She felt herself sucked into the paintings, through them, a feeling like dizziness, the top of her head lifting off and worries flying out to make room for the incredible energy of mountains and distance, desert and silence, rain and renewal, endurance and storm.
“Who?” she demanded. “Who did these?”
Kyle looked over her head at the wall of paintings. “Susa.”
“Your mother?”
“Yeah. Good, aren’t they?”
“Good? They should be in a museum!”
“Some of them are. These are Dad’s favorites. Go ahead, you can get closer. The paintings change into pure abstraction, but they don’t lose their power.”
Lianne drifted away, drawn by the silent explosions of color.
“I’ll check out my closet,” Kyle said, “unless you want me to fix you a drink first.”
She shook her head without looking back at him. “Nothing, thanks. These are enough. More than enough.”
Kyle walked past her, stepped around a freestanding bookshelf and into a slate-floored corridor that was invisible from the front entrance. Six widely spaced doors opened off the corridor. Each door led to a separate suite. There were no locks on the doors except from the inside. Only family stayed here. If someone was feeling a need for privacy, he or she locked the suite door from the inside and enjoyed as much peace as was possible in the presence of a large family.
The door to Archer’s suite wasn’t locked, which meant he probably had stayed for the end of the auction. He rarely missed a chance to check out the Pacific Rim gem market.
Kyle locked the door behind him and went straight to the safe. It was the old-fashioned tumbler-and-dial kind that Archer could open even if The Donovan changed the combination without telling anyone. It had happened more than once. Kyle was forced to rely on more conventional methods to get in.
“Hope the old man didn’t play with the numbers,” he muttered, spinning the dial.
After a few turns, the door swung open. Inside lay a wad of money, a shoulder holster, a nine-millimeter pistol, and four spare magazines. Archer took after The Donovan—cash, carry, and shut up. After Kaliningrad, Kyle understood the wisdom of that approach to life.
He peeled off his tuxedo jacket, strapped on the shoulder holster, slid the pistol in place, and put one of the cold, heavy magazines in his pants pocket. The jacket went on over the holster without a wrinkle or a bulge.
As usual, Archer was right. The tux fit better this way.
Kyle went to the closet and looked at the various shoes lined up in regimental perfection on the floor. Not Archer’s doing, but the housekeeper’s. One of the pairs of shoes was black and much better worn than the dress shoes that were presently making Kyle’s feet miserable. He kicked off the shoes without hesitation and put on the other pair. They didn’t fit as well as the tux, but at least they pinched in different places than the dress shoes had.
Silently Kyle unbolted the hall door, opened it, and pulled it shut behind him.
Lianne was still standing midway across the room, utterly absorbed in and by his mother’s art. He had seen many reactions to Susa’s paintings, ranging from a polite “Interesting” to excited arm-waving about brush strokes and energy, color and genius; but he had never seen anyone simply give herself to the paintings the way Lianne did.
Kyle felt a sudden, fierce desire to pull her down on the rug and find out if she had the same reckless ecstasy in her soul as the paintings had. While he was telling himself that that would be an unusually stupid thing to do, even for him, the phone rang. Or rather, the phones. There were several in the big room.
Lianne jerked, startled.
The closest phone was on a low table near one of the walls of windows. Kyle picked up the receiver before the second ring.
“Hello.”
“Everything all right?” Archer asked.
“Yeah.”
“You took off out of that auction like you had diarrhea.”
“Lianne was feeling, uh, faint,” Kyle said.
“The jade suit?”
“Enough to make anyone faint.”
“What did she say about it?”
“Some lecture Farmer gave, wasn’t it?”
It didn’t take Archer two seconds to catch on. “Shit. You’re not alone.”
“You got it.”
“Blakely?”
“Yeah.”
“Good work.”
Kyle made a muffled sound. Lianne had turned back to study the paintings, but she was only ten feet away. She could hear every word he said.
“Going to stay the night?” Archer asked.
“You’re half right,” Kyle said.
“Sleeping single?”
“Yes.”
“Too bad.”
“Not all of us are drop-dead handsome.”
“Yeahyeahyeah,” Archer agreed with a total lack of conviction. “So why are you back home?”
“I decided you were right about the tux. It fits better now.”
There was a half-beat pause before Archer asked, “Did you decide that before or after Farmer detonated his jade bomb?”
“Before.”
Silence, then a soft whistle as Archer realized the ramifications: even before Farmer, Kyle had felt the lack of a weapon. Kyle, who wasn’t particularly fond of guns. “Need any more help than I left in the safe?”
“I’m not sure I need this much,” Kyle said. “But I’d hate to be the only one not dressed for an occasion.”
“What was the tip-off?”
“Three is a crowd.”
“Somebody following you?”
“Half right again.”
“Lianne is being followed?” Archer asked.
“Yes.”
“Does she know?”
“Yes.”
“Did she recognize him? Or was it a her?”
“You know how it is with men,” Kyle said smoothly. “In the dark, one looks pretty much like another.”
“Did you get a look at him?”
“I suspect it came with a USDA stamp of approval.”
“Interesting.”
“Yeah. If you have time, ask around. I’d hate to accidentally eat Uncle’s lunch.”
“More likely you’d get eaten,” Archer said.
“Have faith in your teaching.”
“Faith is our sister, not a way of life. Stay where you are. I’ll come and—”
“Thanks,” Kyle cut in, “but we’re headed back to the Towers. Penthouse party and all that.”
“The Tang Consortium rented the penthouse floor.”
“So I’m told.”
“Come in the south door of the hotel. I’ll check you for lice.”
“Sounds good. Call me tomorrow, okay? We’ll do lunch.”
“Get stuffed.”
“Now there’s an idea.”
“Did Lianne know ahead of time about the jade suit?”
&nbs
p; “No.”
“You’re certain?”
“Ninety-five percent.”
“Anything useful for me to feed Uncle?”
“No.”
“Shit. Will you be able to talk to me at the hotel?” Archer asked impatiently.
“Thanks, but there’s no need. Tomorrow is better.”
“I don’t like waiting. Not when you’re wearing my gun.”
“Get another. One size fits all.”
“I think I’ll stuff you myself.”
Smiling rather grimly, Kyle hung up the phone before Archer did.
Chapter 8
Lianne didn’t look away from the art when Kyle walked toward her. Instead, she slowly drifted closer to the vivid rectangles that were seething with color and energy. The paintings would have called to her at any time, but they were especially compelling tonight, when she needed a feeling of strength to combat the fear that came when she thought about the Jade Emperor, burial shrouds, and her unacknowledged grandfather, Wen Zhi Tang.
“We can give your party a pass,” Kyle said, studying Lianne’s expression. “We’ll just have a drink, enjoy Susa’s genius, and talk about wonton wrappers.”
Lianne jerked as though she had been stung. “I just need another minute,” she said without looking at Kyle. Then she added quickly, “I always thought I was a sculpture person. You know, satin jade against your skin and thousands of years of history echoing in your mind. But these paintings…” Her voice died.
After a minute, Kyle went over to the security panel near the front door and checked the readout. A lovely row of zeros and no blinking lights. That was what he had expected, but seeing it felt good. He had learned in Kaliningrad that the unexpected wasn’t fun. Better to be a stolid, solid type than a dead, adventurous type.
“Would you rather talk about the Jade Emperor?” Kyle asked, walking back to Lianne.
She looked at the explosive, barely contained storm painting for a few more seconds before she turned toward him. “You have a remarkable mother.”
So much for the Jade Emperor. With a mental shrug, Kyle accepted the change in conversation. He had the rest of the night to grill Lianne. “Remarkable is right. Susa is the only one on earth who can get The Donovan to do something he doesn’t want to do.”
“If she has half the energy of those paintings, she would be an irresistible force.”
“Twice.”
“What?”
“Twice the energy,” Kyle said. “She runs us ragged.”
“All six of you?” Lianne asked dryly. “I doubt it.”
“Seven, including Dad.”
Her glance strayed back to the paintings.
“Nope,” he said, guiding her toward the front door. “If you get started again, you’ll disappoint Wen Zhi Tang. Which reminds me—why do the Tangs use Western-style name order?”
“You mean given name first and family name last?”
“Yes.” Kyle stepped out into the hall after Lianne and reset the security system.
“Wen’s father decreed that his branch of the Tang clan would look to the east—to America, the Golden Mountain—for their future. They would learn English and use Western name order. They would even call their daughters by individual names rather than by the usual birth-order designation of First, Second, Third, or Fourth.”
“A real radical.”
“A real pragmatist,” Lianne said, following Kyle to the elevator. “After the revolution, the Tangs were shut out of mainland China’s power structure.”
“Wrong politics?” Kyle punched in numbers on the pad to the right of the elevator door. It opened immediately.
“Partly,” she said, stepping in. “And partly it was just that the Tangs have always lived pretty much outside of or parallel to whatever government existed, unless they were the government.”
“Warlords and feudal chieftains?”
“That’s a polite way of putting it. Various emperors might have called various Tangs brigands, ruffians, and outlaws. The names got more grandiose during the Ming dynasty, after the Tangs got rich enough to buy and sell lives like sacks of rice. The Chinese have a very, very keen appreciation of power, as opposed to mere wealth.”
The elevator door whisked open. They stepped out into the smell of cold concrete and warm machinery. Though the place was unusually well lighted, there still were shadows. It was the nature of parking garages to have dark corners and dense shadows.
With a quick, comprehensive glance, Kyle checked the area for other people. He didn’t see any.
“So trading with foreign devils made the Tangs very rich,” Kyle said, opening the car door for Lianne.
“Trading, tax collecting with or without the emperor’s permission, a monopoly on grave robbing and gambling, and, most of all, what the Chinese call guanxi.”
“Connections,” Kyle said.
“The English word barely touches the Chinese reality,” Lianne said. “Guanxi is a web of interconnected enterprises, cousins and brothers, uncles and fathers; branches of a family from the richest court lord to the poorest peasant spreading human manure in a rice paddy.”
Kyle closed the door firmly and went around to his own side of the car. “Every family has poor relations,” he said, starting the engine and driving toward the exit. “So the Tang family fortune comes from illegal ventures?”
“Define illegal,” Lianne said simply. “The Tangs have been making money for centuries. I doubt if all of it was legal according to the dominant culture of any given time. Besides, what is or isn’t legal in China often is a matter of opinion.”
“And money buys favorable opinions,” Kyle said neutrally.
She shrugged. “Of course. It’s no different here. That’s why corporations and associations make political contributions. Someone new gets elected, selected laws are bent or changed, a few new sources of wealth open up.”
“Or old—very old—sources are winked at. Gambling, prostitution, drugs, whatever society has outlawed that people want.”
Lianne glanced sharply at him. In the glittering wash of fine rain and colored lights that was Seattle at night, his expression was unreadable.
“The Tangs aren’t some kind of Chinese mafia,” she said curtly.
He glanced at her. “Sensitive subject?”
She blew out an impatient breath. “Only if you read Hong Kong newspapers.”
“I don’t.”
“Well, I do. The new regime in Hong Kong is carrying on as though the name Tang is synonymous with gangster. The Suns, of course, walk on water, never have impure thoughts, and—”
“Their farts smell like rose petals,” Kyle finished.
Lianne made an odd sound and then laughed out loud. “You’ve got the idea.”
“I assume we’re talking about the Suns of SunCo?”
“Yes.”
“From what Dad and Archer say, SunCo is a real comer on the international trade scene.”
“Only because they have systematically cut off the Tangs overseas,” Lianne said bitterly, “with the full blessing of the new Hong Kong regime and the old mainland China regime.”
“Nothing personal, sweetheart. Just business.”
“It’s personal to me when I see a very fine, very familiar piece of jade with SunCo’s name on it instead of—” She broke off abruptly, not wanting to talk about the Neolithic blade. It might lead to questions about Farmer’s jade burial shroud. She wasn’t ready for that yet. She had to be fully in control when she confronted her not-quite-family tonight. Thinking about the burial suit made her stomach clench. “When you lose out, it feels personal.”
“Losing is always personal,” Kyle said easily.
“Some times are more personal than others.”
“Like the Neolithic blade SunCo donated? Or the stunning coup that Farmer pulled off by displaying his own personal jade burial suit to a roomful of jealous connoisseurs?”
Lianne shrugged and said nothing.
“Do you believe
that Farmer really managed to get his hands on the Jade Emperor’s Tomb?” Kyle pressed.
“On the basis of the jade burial suit?”
“Yes.”
Lianne started to say no, then realized that her answer would raise more questions. “I don’t know.”
“What do you think?”
She closed her eyes. “I think whoever sold Farmer that suit will have a lot of questions to answer.”
“Because of the cultural-theft laws?”
“Among other things.”
“Such as?”
“Provenance is always a question, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Where do you think the jade suit came from?” Kyle asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You got a good look at it. Is it real or a modern fake?”
“A fast look is hardly enough to make that kind of decision.”
“I’m not asking for a sworn document. Just an opinion.”
“Why are you badgering me?” Lianne asked tightly. “I’m not the one who has the suit. Farmer is. Grill him.”
“I don’t have a barbecue big enough.”
Kyle glanced in the mirrors. There were cars behind him. The light in front of him was yellow going to red. He gunned the BMW and shot through the intersection.
No one followed.
For a time, there were no sounds except for the occasional swipe of windshield wipers, a distant siren, and the swish of tires over damp pavement. Kyle was curious about what Lianne was thinking, but didn’t ask. The flat lines of her mouth and eyebrows told him that her thoughts weren’t especially happy. Her silence told him that she wasn’t going to talk about it.
With a throttled curse he pulled into the valet parking area of the Towers and turned off the engine.
“Wake up,” he said. “We’re here.”
Blinking as though she really had been sleeping, Lianne looked around, surprised that they were already at the hotel. “Sorry. I’m not keeping my end of the bargain, am I?”
“What’s that?”
“I’m supposed to be teaching you about jade, but…” She waved her hand and shrugged.
“I’ll just add an extra hour onto your tab,” Kyle said, checking the mirrors one last time.
Jade Island Page 10
