Mac’s silence said it all.
“I was at Quon’s tonight, Mac. I know everything.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know he’s a loan shark, I know he’s using your gambling addiction to control you, and I know he’s forcing you to give up technological secrets to the Chinese government.”
Mac didn’t respond for a full minute. Finally he spoke.
“Are you going to call the RCMP?” he asked.
“No. But I think you should.”
“What, are you kidding me? And spend the rest of my days locked up in a maximum security prison with nothing but four walls and a wasted life to stare at?” Mac let his head drop back onto the pillow.
“Why would you end up there?”
“You know why,” he snapped.
“You mean for giving Quon the discs that had your professor’s research on them?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. The shame in his face was unbearable for her to look at any longer.
She put the envelope in his hand.
Mac was stunned. His jaw dropped.
He looked inside at the discs, then pressed the package against his chest. “I…I don’t understand. How did you—?”
“It doesn’t matter. The important thing is that you turn yourself in, Mac. It’s the only way you’ll be protected from Quon—he’s out to get both of us now.” She sighed. “And it will give you an opportunity to get some help for your addiction.”
“You mean a few months in rehab?”
“Something like that.”
“Does T’ai know any of this?” Mac’s voice trailed off as he asked the question.
“No. It’s up to you what you decide to tell him.” She came closer to his bed. “Mac, I need you to be honest with me, okay?”
“For sure, for sure.”
“Do you know anything about Dr. Aisin-Gioro’s disappearance? Did you pass along any information about him to Quon?”
“No.”
“Have you heard anything about a Ming vase?”
“Vase? No.”
“Do you know anything about my friend, David Kahana? Is Quon the one who stabbed him?”
“Yin, I don’t know. I swear to you.” He propped himself up in the bed. “I am a compulsive gambler—I admit it now. And I am the top-ranked student in telecommunications engineering. Quon is working with spies from the People’s Republic of China—and they are good at what they do. There’s a million and one ways they could have found out how to get to me. And they did.” He made a fist and tried to pound it into the bed beside him. “They did!”
“How do they find people like you?”
“By trolling chat rooms, intercepting cell phone calls, using back doors.”
“Back doors?”
“Back doors in telecommunications equipment. They can monitor everything, believe me.”
“That’s wild,” said Nicki.
“Manchurian microchips are central processing units, CPUs, that can be activated to allow the chips to “call home” and export information to the Chinese government,” he explained.
“No way.” Nicki leaned forward. “Why is it Manchurian?”
“The name comes from a movie, The Manchurian Candidate, in which a prisoner of war is implanted with a microchip. I suspect that’s how they tracked down T’ai’s uncle. Beijing’s intelligence agencies must have hacked into his computer.”
“You could be right,” agreed Nicki. “And that’s how they found out that David Kahana was meeting him to give him the Ming vase.”
“What’s with this vase?”
“It’s a long story. Right now, you better get some rest. I shouldn’t even be here.”
“Yin,” said Mac, “How am I supposed to make this up to you?”
“I’ll think of something,” she said. “But first—”
“I know. Call the RCMP. Or the Canadian Security Intelligence Service.”
“I can bring an agent from CSIS over here tomorrow.”
“How can you?” wondered Mac.
“I can.”
“There’s no reason to think they’ll be lenient with me, you know. I have absolutely no proof that I was being blackmailed.”
“Actually,” said Nicki, “you do.”
Chapter Nineteen
Nicki got up early the next morning to make time for a long run. When she returned, she found Fenwick preparing a full breakfast.
“It being Sunday,” he said, “I took over for the cook.”
Nicki noticed two places were set on the terrace.
“I didn’t know my mother was home,” she said.
“Yes, Miss. She arrived late last night.” He gave Nicki a quick wink. “About an hour before you did. I took the liberty of telling her you’d retired for the night.”
“Thanks for covering for me, Fenwick.” She glanced at the clock. “I’m sorry about breakfast, but I’ve got to go. Soon I’ll be able to sit down with you and enjoy all these great meals.” She explained about Mac. “The croissants look terrific, by the way.” She took two for the road.
“What shall I tell your mother?”
“Tell her I’ll be here for dinner tonight. This time, I mean it.”
Fenwick raised an eyebrow.
“I promise.”
Nicki rapped lightly on Mac’s door. “It’s me. And I’ve brought someone along.”
“Come in,” he said.
“How are you, Mac?” asked Peter Byron.
“I’m, uh…okay. But what are you doing here?” He looked at Nicki. “I thought you were bringing…some other people.”
“For such a brilliant guy, Mac, you can be pretty clueless,” said Nicki. “Mr. Byron is a CSIS agent.”
“What?” Mac pulled himself up, then hunkered down again when a sharp pain hit his stomach.
Nicki handed him a glass of water. “Sure you’re up to this right now? We can come back later.”
“I’m okay.”
“Your friend here gave me a call,” said Byron. “She knew that I’d been watching you.” He sat down in a chair next to the bed and pulled another over for Nicki.
Byron took out his wallet and showed him his identification. “I guess you know I’m going to have the RCMP bring you in for questioning. You will be arrested.”
Mac nodded, then gave Byron a full account of what he’d done.
“So you turned over the discs to Quon?”
“I did,” admitted Mac. “But Yin got them back. I don’t know how, but she did.”
Byron turned to Nicki.
“Are you aware of what kind of a guy you’re dealing with here? Quon will track you down. I guarantee it.”
“I’m not afraid of Quon.” She handed Byron her cell. “He’ll be in jail soon, anyway.”
Byron played a portion of what she’d taped.
“I’ll have the RCMP arrest him today.” He took another look at the video. “I’ve been after this guy for months now but didn’t have enough proof to haul him in.” He tucked the phone into the inner pocket of his jacket. “I do now.”
“But what about Dr. Aisin-Gioro?” asked Nicki. “If you arrest Quon, how can we find out who he’s working for? Without that information, we’ll never locate the professor.”
“We’ll offer Quon a plea deal. He’ll talk.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“That’s the chance we’ll have to take.”
Nicki wasn’t about to take any chances.
“Suppose I tell you I know who Quon’s working for, but I don’t have any direct evidence?”
“I’m listening,” said Byron.
Nicki sat down next to him. “The manager at Haddon Heights. Trent Newman.”<
br />
Byron laughed out loud.
“What makes you say that?” he asked.
“A few things,” said Nicki.
Byron continued to laugh.
Nicki became defensive. “Okay, a lot of things,” she said. “Like erased surveillance footage and a Mandarin dictionary. And the fact that he tried to kill David Kahana a second time.”
Byron was still smiling.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Newman is one of our agents.”
“What?” cried Nicki.
“Yeah. He’s been working on Quon’s case with me for a while now.”
Nicki was flattened. Embarrassed even. And it showed.
That’s why Newman had Byron’s e-mail address. How stupid of me!
“Look,” said Byron, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. You’ve done Newman’s job for him, for heaven’s sake. He’ll be very pleased with the evidence you’ve collected. As I am.” He patted his jacket pocket. “We’ll replace your phone tomorrow.”
Nicki got up to leave.
“See you later,” she mumbled.
She opened the door and T’ai walked in. “Margo called me,” he said. “She told me everything, Mac.” Then he looked at Nicki. “You okay?” he asked.
She took off.
“Are you tired, Nicole?” Mrs. Haddon asked her daughter. “Have you been doing too much judo, dear?”
“I’m all right, Mother,” replied Nicki. “And it’s kung fu.” She pushed her dessert around on the plate.
“I can tell something’s bothering you,” said Mrs. Haddon. “If it’s about your friends at the delicatessen, I fixed that after you called me in Hawaii.”
“Thanks, Mother.”
Mrs. Haddon summoned the maid to bring her another cup of tea. Just as she’d finished pouring, Fenwick came into the dining room to tell Nicki’s mother that she had a call from San Francisco.
“Tell whoever it is that I’ll return the call shortly, Fenwick.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“So are you going to stay in Toronto, or are you returning to Honolulu?” Nicki pulled her chair out from the table to stretch her legs for a minute.
“I’ll be here for a few days, then I’m meeting your father in Rome. We’re hoping to open a new location in Tuscany, but we have to deal with the Italian government, of course. The usual red tape.”
Nicki nodded politely but hadn’t heard a word her mother had said. Her mind kept swinging back to Newman.
I don’t care what Byron says. I don’t trust that man.
“What do you think of the manager downtown?” she asked her mother.
“Trent Newman? He’s all right, I guess. Does his job.” Mrs. Haddon poured cream into her cup from a silver service. “Why?”
“You don’t have his job application kicking around, do you?”
“It’s probably in my desk at the hotel,” she replied.
“Do you know if he’s a Canadian citizen?”
“Sure he is,” her mother answered. “He was at our Vancouver location, before he came here.” She thought for a second. “But he was born in the United States, I think.”
“Let me guess. Honolulu, right?”
“I think so.” She took a sip of tea. “Yes, I remember now. One of his references was from his days at the Pink Lady.”
“The Royal Hawaiian Hotel?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Haddon. “It was years ago, but that’s where he started out. As a bellhop, something like that.”
Nicki shook her head.
“What’s the matter, dear? Why do you care if he came from Hawaii?”
Fenwick interrupted.
“I’m sorry, Madam,” he said. “But there’s another call. This time it is…well, it’s urgent. It seems there’s a problem downtown.”
“There is?” she said, getting up from her chair. “What kind of a problem?”
“I don’t know, Ma’am. They didn’t divulge that information to me.”
“Oh, all right. I’ll take it.” Mrs. Haddon went to her study.
Nicki handed her plates to the maid and headed out onto the terrace. She watched clouds form in the sky. The Don River Valley was at its greenest at this point in the summer, especially before a thunderstorm when the colors of the forest stood out brilliantly against the dark gray background.
Nicki was deep in thought when the sound of the television through the screen door grabbed her attention.
The six o’clock news was under way, and the first story was the arrest of Quon. She ran inside and turned up the volume.
The RCMP have made an arrest as a result of a prolonged investigation into technological espionage activities involving several countries.
Quon’s photo flashed on the screen.
More arrests are expected.
Nicki clicked off the television and returned to the terrace.
Fenwick followed her out. “Do you know something about the arrest?” he asked.
Mrs. Haddon slid back the glass doors and joined them outside.
“Nicole, that was the concierge at the hotel.”
By the expression on her face, Nicki and Fenwick knew something was up. Something big.
“It’s Trent Newman,” she said. “He’s disappeared.”
Everything rushed into Nicki’s head at once.
The vase.
T’ai’s uncle.
Hawaii.
Newman’s friend Kimo, the cop.
“Of course,” she said under her breath.
“Of course?” Fenwick raised an eyebrow.
“Mother,” said Nicki, “you were right when you said that something was bothering me.”
“Oh?”
“I really should have stayed in Honolulu. I need to get back for an important…uh, competition…tomorrow afternoon. Do you think you could get the pilot to file a flight plan for me tonight? I know it’s last minute, but this would mean the world to me.”
Chapter Twenty
Nicki looked out across the blue Pacific. The flight above the island of Oahu, and the glorious birds-eye view it provided of Pearl Harbor and Diamond Head volcano, was always an exhilarating moment—especially as the plane descended over the pineapple fields and headed out onto the offshore runway, built on a coral reef.
This time was different. Nicki couldn’t concentrate on anything, knowing what was about to unfold.
“I’ve got to go, Mother,” said Nicki, “we’re about to land. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for being such a jerk about the private jet. I’d be nowhere without it.” She paused. “Or you.”
She clicked off her phone.
The moment she landed, she thanked the pilot and took off to find a cab.
“Get me downtown as fast as you can,” she told the driver. “Not the Nimitz Highway, I don’t want the scenic route.” She looked at her watch: it was still on Toronto time. “Take the H-1.”
“You got it.”
“What time is it?” she asked him.
“Nine twenty.”
“Good,” said Nicki, adjusting her watch back six hours. “The morning rush is past. We can do it in half an hour.”
“Sounds like you’ve been to Honolulu before,” said the driver, pulling the cab out of the terminal. He looked at her in his rearview mirror. “Don’t I know you?”
“I don’t think so. Listen, I’ve got to get to Beretania Street—to police headquarters.”
“Okay. Fasten your seatbelt!”
The driver got her there in thirty-five minutes.
“Thanks,” said Nicki, rushing to pay him.
“Would have done it in less than thirty if that moving van hadn’t slowed me down,” he r
eplied, but Nicki was already in the front door of the building.
The Police Headquarters was a large four-story concrete structure with a front window like a tollbooth.
The receptionist put down her book.
“Yes?” she asked.
“I need to speak with an officer,” said Nicki. “I’d like to talk to Lieutenant—”
“Wait here,” she said, pointing to an uncomfortable bench and handing Nicki a plastic badge.
Five minutes passed before someone came. Nicki read his nametag anxiously, but it wasn’t the cop she wanted.
“I’m sorry,” said Nicki. “I was hoping to speak with a friend of mine.”
“A friend?”
“Not a friend exactly, but we have a mutual acquaintance. Is Lieutenant Kimo…uh—”
“You mean Captain Kimo Moi.” The officer headed back into the hallway. “I’ll get him for you.”
Thank goodness he’s here.
While she waited, she pumped the receptionist for information. “So is it true that a replica of a Ming vase was stolen from the police museum down the hall?” she asked, hoping her suspicions were right.
“Yes,” replied the woman. “Happened a few weeks ago. We still don’t know who took it. Or why.” She put down her pen. “It’s not all that valuable.”
“What’s not valuable?” The brusque voice behind Nicki belonged to Kimo Moi, a tall man with an agitated face and huge sweat rings under his arms.
“The Ming vase replica,” said Nicki.
“What did you want to see me about?”
“I need to talk to someone,” she replied. “About the theft of the real one.”
“Real what?”
“The real Ming vase.”
He did a double take and then pulled her aside.
“Come in here,” he said. He closed the door of the interrogation room behind them. His eyes flashed. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, you see, I’ve been visiting some friends in Canada, and—”
“And?”
“And I discovered the identity of the person who took both the replica from the museum and the real vase, too. It was transferred to Toronto, to be given back to its rightful owner, but—”
The Scratch on the Ming Vase Page 8
