When Socrates entered the private dining room at the back of the Golden Dragon, the Twins were sitting at a rectangular rosewood table that would comfortably seat ten people. They abruptly shoved their chairs away from the table and leaped to their feet when Socrates entered the room, then moved closer to one another, and glared at him.
Socrates could feel the tension level in the room rise as he closed the door behind him. Bing-fa had kept his word and not alerted the Twins he was coming to see them.
Judging by the Twins’ sour facial expressions, their furtive glances at one another, and their rigid postures, Socrates knew Bing-hao and Bing-luc were surprised to see him. They also weren’t happy about it. This was exactly as Socrates wanted it to be.
The Twins narrowed their eyes into horizontal pencil lines. Bing-hao crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at Socrates. Bing-luc glowered at him and occasionally stole a sideways glance at his brother.
Socrates remained silent and wrested control of the room by taking the seat at the head of the table and acknowledging each Twin only with a single nod. He silently counted to ten, then looked into Bing-luc’s eyes and said, “I saw you as Juliet in the play last night. You were very convincing.”
Bing-luc said nothing in response. He shifted his eyes away from Socrates and glanced at his brother without moving his head. He then looked back at Socrates and frowned, but continue his silence.
“Probably just as convincing,” Socrates said, “as when you went to the gallery wearing your female disguise and killed Iris Hua. You left part of your wig behind in the director’s fist.”
Bing-luc sprang from his chair as if he’d just sat on a carpet tack. He slammed his palm on the table top with a crash that caused Socrates to flinch in spite of his best efforts to appear unflappable.
The cathartic force of his bellicose gesture caused Bing-luc to regain control of his emotions. He took two deep breaths, closed and opened his eyes, and said to Socrates, speaking barely above a whisper, “I don’t know what you are talking about, low faan. You are a fool, Cheng, just as Eldest Brother has said.”
Socrates looked over at Bing-hao. He remained seated, staring at his hands which were on the table top clenched into tight fists.
“Both of you,” Socrates said, pointing from one Twin to the other, “and Eldest Brother were involved, deeply involved, in way over your heads.”
He paused, waiting for some reaction. Drawing none, he continued. “You broke into the gallery and stole the Mandarin Yellow and other art and documents. Later, you killed the director to cover your tracks. That much is obvious to me.” He looked from Bing-hao to Bing-luc. “What I don’t know yet,” he said, “is why you did it.” He hesitated, then added, “Or why you later thought it was necessary to kill my friend. That was a hell of a way to send a message to me.”
Bing-hao said, speaking Mandarin now, “Why would we do that, any of it, assuming you are right, which you are not?”
“It is a nice theory,” Bing-luc added in dialect, “but a ridiculous one. All of it. Why would we want to send a message to you?” he said.
“You are a great nuisance, I admit that,” Bing-hao said, “and your involvement with Elder Sister insults our family, but you are hardly worth the trouble killing anyone to send a message. And, you fool, why would we kill Director Hua? That makes no sense.”
“I’ll tell you why,” Socrates said. “You knew I intended to interview the director at some point because I said so when we met with your father. The director obviously had some damaging information you didn’t want passed on to me.” He waited briefly for a response that never came. “As for my friend, well, like I said, you were warning me away by killing him.”
“The bottom line,” Socrates said, “is that everything comes back to Eldest Brother. He was the motivating force behind all this. You two were just his obedient lackeys, blindly doing what he ordered. Just like the chumps you are. Twin chumps.”
Bing-hao again sprang from his chair, shaking his head as if he had endured Socrates long enough. He took several quick steps toward the door as if he wanted to rush from the room, but stopped before reaching it. He turned back and faced Socrates, blocking the room’s only exit.
His brother stood up and faced Socrates, who now was bracketed by the Twins, and said, still speaking Mandarin, “Eldest Brother would never have anything to do with the killings or burglary, not with any of it. Eldest Brother is just an old fool who brays his self-importance. Nothing more.
“All Eldest Brother cares about is family honor, venerating and praising our father, honoring our ancestors, and keeping traditions intact. He has wrapped himself in the past.”
Bing-luc glanced at his brother, then back at Socrates. “Eldest Brother would never sabotage a display of our country’s heritage by arranging for a burglary. He would never bring such disgrace to our father and family.”
Bing-hao again stepped into the discourse when his brother paused. “Eldest Brother lives day-to-day in the fiction of our family’s past. That fiction is his present. He glorifies a past he has never known because he cannot deal with the present he knows. It would be unthinkable for Eldest Brother to do anything to harm it.”
That’s pretty sophisticated thinking, Socrates thought. I wouldn’t have expected it from the Twins.
Bing-luc spoke up again, giving Socrates the sense he was listening to a diatribe in cascading surround sound. “Eldest Brother is a throwback to decadent times.”
Socrates said nothing. The last statement also was insightful, he thought. Perhaps he had underestimated the Twins.
Socrates wanted to see how this would play out if he gave them enough leeway. They clearly were becoming more agitated, the more they talked. And the more agitated they became, the more likely they would be to reveal information to him, if they didn’t harm him first.
“We had nothing to do with killing anybody,” Bing-hao said. “Not that part.”
“Be quiet, Bing-hao,” his brother said, in dialect. “You say too much.”
Bing-hao noticeably stiffened at the rebuke, then looked over at his brother. “It is of no consequence what we tell this fool. We have our plan. Soon it will not matter what he knows.”
This made no sense to Socrates. And what did Bing-hao mean when he said, denying their participation in the murders, not that part?
“If you had nothing to do with the murders,” Socrates said, “there’s still the burglary. Why’d you rob the exhibit, bring disgrace to your father?”
The Twins looked at one another. Bing-hao raised his eyebrows. Bing-luc shook his head.
When they didn’t answer him, Socrates pushed harder. “How did Eldest Brother talk you into breaking into the gallery?”
Still, no response.
“Why would Eldest Brother want your father to lose face?”
Socrates stared briefly at the Twins, then twisted the knife he’d just poked them with: “I suppose Eldest Brother would have told you if he thought you were reliable enough to know. Even Eldest Brother must think you’re too immature and feckless to keep his secrets.” He shifted his eyes from one brother to the other.
The Twins scowled at Socrates, but said nothing. They were not taking his bait.
Socrates could feel his frustration rising. They were playing with him.
All right, he thought, if that’s their game, he’d play along with them, fish with them, and see what he could reel in.
“I didn’t realize you two had prior experience with burglaries and murder,” Socrates said. “I must admit, you were good. You didn’t leave any clues except for the tuft of wig. No trail the cops could follow. That’s not how I’d expect amateurs like you to perform.” He waited for some response. When none came he teased out a little more line.
“So,” he said, “I assume you must have had some help. Everyone knows you’re both too wrapped up in yourselves to have done it on your own.” He paused, then tossed over some verbal chum for them to gnaw on. “What I can
’t figure,” he said, “is how someone as inexperienced as you two could pull it off, even with help.”
Bing-hao looked at his brother. Bing-luc smiled and nodded. Bing-hao turned back to Socrates.
“It soon won’t matter what you know or think you know, low faan. It is as we told you. We did not have anything to do with the murders you speak of. Either one. We merely arranged for the burglary with our comrades, as we were instructed to do, and have taken possession of the stolen goods, as we agreed we would.”
Arranged for? Instructed? Who else had Eldest Brother brought into this? Socrates wondered.
“Instructed by who?” Socrates said.
“Jiao tu san ku,” Bing-luc said. “That is who,” he said in Mandarin. Bing-luc looked at his brother, smiled, and nodded once sharply, using his chin to punctuate his statement.
Socrates felt his stomach tighten. His surprise must have shown on his face because Bing-hao said, in English, “Of course, as a barbarian, you have no idea what I am talking about.” Bing-hao looked at Bing-luc, and arched one eyebrow. He turned back to Socrates.
“Jiao tu san ku is our revered Triad,” Bing-hao said. “It was our brothers in Jiao tu san ku who accommodated our desire to acquire the Mandarin Yellow writing instrument and other precious objects.”
Socrates thought, Now we’re getting somewhere. Time to sink the hook.
“I know exactly what you’re talking about,” Socrates said. “I know that Jiao tu san ku is the Shanghai-based criminal enterprise known in the West as the Cunning Rabbit with Three Warrens Society. And I know this Triad has ties with Big-eared Tu’s Shanghai Green Gang.”
The Twins looked at one another, then back at Socrates.
Socrates said, “So you both belong to this Triad, do you?”
“Of course we do,” Bing-hao said. “As do our venerable father and Eldest Brother.”
SOCRATES PASSED A few seconds processing what Bing-hao had just revealed to him. He hadn’t considered the possibility that Bing-fa and Eldest Brother belonged to an overseas criminal gang with ties in Washington’s Chinatown. This revelation cast the two break-ins at his condo, Brandon’s murder, and Eldest Brother’s warnings to him in an entirely different light, all to be viewed as true threats, none to be disdainfully dismissed.
Socrates recovered his composure and said, “What I don’t get is why you tried to sell your father the substitute Mandarin Yellow. You just admitted you have the original pen in your possession with the other stolen objects. You could have ransomed the genuine one to him instead of a substitute.”
“Our careless Triad brother dropped the writing instrument when he removed it from the glass show case. It cracked in many places. Our father would have seen the damage and been filled with despair because he could not then return it to the art gallery and regain his lost honor,” Bing-hao said.
“We hoped our venerable father and the gallery’s director would not realize the difference between the original writing instrument and the similar one our Triad brothers caused to be inscribed as a replacement. We sought to restore a measure of happiness to our father by making him believe he again had the historic pen in his possession.”
“What about the documents and art?” Socrates said. “Why’d you sell Bing-fa only one document? Why not the whole lot, all at once? If you care as much as you say you do about your father’s feelings, then why not just get it over with quickly for him and not string him along?”
“Our Triad brothers preferred to proceed in the manner you describe to enhance their reward for the assistance they had given us. They believed our father would not object to the aggregate cost of reacquiring everything if he paid for the objects one at a time, rather than in one large payment.”
Socrates nodded. There’s some logic to that, Socrates thought, twisted as it is.
“In this way,” Bing-hao continued, “we also would extend our father’s pleasure by dribbling the objects out to him until the end when we would return to him the three most precious historical objects — the Xi’an Agreement and its two Secret Protocols.
“Our father would then have everything back in his possession. His relief at having his honor restored would be inestimable.” Bing-hao looked at his brother and smiled. Bing-luc nodded and smiled back.
Socrates tensed. He’d noticed that even as Bing-hao spoke to him, Bing-luc had surreptitiously moved in closer. Socrates continued to face Bing-hao, but he peripherally watched Bing-luc’s furtive advance toward him.
Socrates said to Bing-hao, “Why’d you do this in the first place if you cared about your father’s happiness and the restoration of his face, as you said?
“Why’d you have your Triad brothers break into the gallery and ruin the exhibit, destroy your father’s honor, and bring your father such despair?”
Bing-hao said, “You know nothing, low faan. The answer to your naive question is found in the Xi’an Agreement and its Secret Protocols. If you are as smart as Elder Sister thinks, read the three documents and determine this for yourself. You will receive no more enlightenment from us.”
SOCRATES WAS AT a loss to understand what Bing-hao meant when he referred to the Xi’an Agreement having two ancillary Secret Protocols, rather than one.
He turned toward Bing-hao, pointed his finger at him, and said, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, not if you say there are two Secret Protocols. There was only the one described in the exhibit catalog.”
“Ah,” said Bing-hao, “that shows how much you know, or rather, how little. You speak to us as if we are ignorant adolescents.” He looked over at his brother, and nodded.
“It so happens we have both Secret Protocols in our possession with the other treasured objects given us to safeguard by our Triad brothers. So who’s the unknowing fool now, low faan?”
Socrates thought about Bing-hao’s insistence on this point and also about what he’d recently read. According to Hallard’s book, when it became publically known after the death of Mao in 1976 that the long-rumored Xi’an Agreement actually existed, it was sought out and eagerly studied by sinologists around the world. But there had been no mention of a Secret Protocol, nor any rumors referred to in Hallard’s book, suggesting its existence, let alone the existence of two such secret agreements.
The first mention of the Secret Protocol that Socrates was aware of occurred in connection with the publicity for the exhibit when the People’s Republic Embassy in Washington unveiled the existence of the document, although it had not disclosed its contents. That disclosure was to await the document’s debut at the exhibit. The exhibit’s publicity neither mentioned nor hinted at the existence of a second Secret Protocol.
Socrates debated giving the Twins a short-course history lesson about the Xi’an Agreement and the temporary, pragmatic truce it described, but decided against it. There was no telling how they might react in their present state of mind to being lectured by him.
Instead, he said, “You claim you have two Secret Protocols. How do I know that? If you have something in your possession you think is a second Secret Protocol, it must be something else. In that case, you’re even more naive than I believed.”
Bing-hao took a quick step toward Socrates, but pulled up short and glared at him.
Bing-luc said, “You are the fool, Cheng, if you think that. You have no way of knowing what we have.”
Okay, Socrates thought, now let’s see, boys, if you’ll swallow this lure.
“That’s right,” he said, “I have no way of knowing since I don’t have the documents here to examine.” He paused to let the implication of this statement sink in.
When the Twins didn’t respond, Socrates said, “What I do know is what the relevant literature and the exhibit’s own publicity said about the Secret Protocol. Knowing that, I know you two are dead wrong. There was only one secret document.”
Bing-hao stomped his foot and looked at his brother, then back at Socrates. “We will prove it to you, low faan. I will bring the doc
uments here for you to see for yourself, all three.”
He turned and faced Bing-luc, and said in a local dialect intended to keep Socrates in the dark, “We will show this barbarian we are not to be mocked and trifled with. I will go to our home and retrieve the documents and bring them here. It soon will be over, my brother, for him and for us.”
Bing-hao sneered at Socrates. “You will see for yourself who is the fool and who is not. We will bring you the three documents.”
He turned back to his brother. “Do not let him leave before I return.”
THE ROUND TRIP from the Golden Dragon to the White Plum Blossoms apartments and back to the restaurant took Bing-hao fifteen minutes. He said to Socrates, as he handed over the three documents, “Now, see for yourself, low faan, who is the fool and who is not.” He looked over at his brother and bobbed his head once in a sharp, knowing nod.
Socrates ignored Bing-hao and turned his attention to the Xi’an Agreement. He quickly read through the document and saw there were no surprises in it. The document was consistent with what he remembered from his college studies, from the library’s history books he recently read, and from the Washington Post’s brief mention in the article reporting the burglary.
He finished with the Xi’an Agreement, placed it on the table, and looked over at the Twins. He motioned with his head in the direction of the two other documents, indicating he now wanted to read them. He received assenting nods from both brothers.
Socrates tried to visualize the photograph of the Secret Protocol he’d seen in the exhibit catalog so he could determine which of the two documents now before him had been illustrated, but his memory of the photograph was wispy, at best. He thought about how to proceed since he had no reference baseline to start from.
He recalled an article he’d read in college when he first started collecting historic documents. The author had offered a simple technique for amateur collectors to use as a quick, albeit not foolproof, way to compare and test the authenticity of two or more questioned documents which, to all appearances, seemed to be the same. The author had written that when you had no other basis for proceeding, when, for example, you could not test the ink or the paper or the official seals of the documents, the examiner should turn to the text itself. Look to the words, the article’s author had written, for the clues they might offer you.
Mandarin Yellow (Socrates Cheng mysteries) Page 21
