The Color of Jadeite. Eric D. Goodman
too, am impressed,” Charlie said. “My own investigators may have failed to tell me you’re a vegetarian, but I do know enough about you to know you can’t resist a puzzle, a challenge, a mystery. And I know that you have an interest in Chinese art and history yourself.”
“What would make you say that?”
“Your frequent trips to museums. Library book checkouts and bookstore purchases. I’m sure Imperial China is but one of many interests. But interest is there, and that—along with your illustrious career as an investigator—makes you the best man for the job.”
I poured myself another cup of tea, this time heavier on the tea leaves. Did this guy know more than he was letting on? “If you want to convince me to drop everything and dig to China, you’re going to have to tell me a little more about what it is you want me to find.”
Charlie smiled. “I believe you’ll find plenty to like in China. But allow me to be more specific. I want you to find a jadeite tablet that belonged to Emperor Xuande.”
I felt a rush to the head as I put down my cup of tea. “Which Xuande?”
Charlie took off his Ray-Bans. “Fascinating that you know there was more than one. The Emperor Xuande we’re concerned with was born Zhu Zhangi and was the oldest son of Emperor Hongxi. He was the fifth Emperor of the Ming dynasty.”
I nodded. “He ruled around 1425 to 1435, I believe.”
Wang put his shades back on. “You know your Imperial history.”
I shrugged. “Some.” I wasn’t sure whether this kingpin realized how right I was for the job. Sure, I knew the jadeite tablet. A lifetime ago, when I was just coming into adulthood and stumbling around my first serious relationship, the jadeite tablet was something I heard a lot about—something I thought I’d actually see with my own eyes one day. For the past forty years or so, I’d considered it merely a thing of the past. Now, it looked like the past had found me.
“Obviously you’re my man, meat eater or not.” Charlie Wang motioned for the waitress, and she came with a steaming pot of water and some green tea leaves and went to work on a new pot.
Watching her, I barely noticed that Wang had pulled a red folder from the chair next to him and was opening it. “Four times your usual day rate for every day you’re on the job, including today. No need to update your passport or get a visa; my connections have taken care of everything. You’ll fly out of Logan tomorrow morning at nine on my private jet. Accommodations are set up at a five star in Beijing. You’ll be picked up by a driver at the airport and taken to your hotel to rest before meeting with your partner in Tiananmen Square the following morning at ten.” He closed the folder, placed it on the glass lazy Susan, and rotated it around until it rested directly before me. “Your itinerary, along with a two-week advance, and some petty cash. In Chinese currency, of course. Additional funds will be deposited into your bank account as you progress. You’ll be able to access your account from China at any bank or hotel lobby, so money will not be an object. Once the tablet is recovered, you can expect a seven-figure bonus. No need to provide your banking information; we have it. Are the terms acceptable?”
It’s hard for a PI to say no to a good puzzle, harder still to say no to such a hefty advance, and damn near impossible to not be motivated by a seven-figure promise. And the thought of finding the hidden treasure that used to fuel exciting conversations with a woman I loved decades ago sweetened the ding pot. Still, I had a vivid vision of rotting away in a Chinese prison, struggling with a phrase book while Dr. Charlie Wang dispatched another PI to find out what the hell had become of me and his precious artifact. Or maybe just the artifact.
All the same, I wanted to find that jadeite tablet—probably as much as Wang did. Was it possible that I could actually look upon the very item that infatuated the love of my life all that time ago, her talking about it as though the tablet were part of a fairy tale or Chinese folklore? Was the thrill of finding Xuande’s jadeite tablet worth the risk of poking around Communist China with fake documentation?
Yes.
Before I had the chance to accept the assignment, a ruckus erupted from downstairs, followed by lots of staccato yelling, and then giant, Western-sized feet pounding up the stairs. The doors to the dining room flew open and in burst Salvador and Mackenzie. Salvador held a gun at the ready.
“Get up!” Salvador yelled. When Wang’s stooges reached for their shoulder holsters, Mackenzie cried, “Drop your weapons!” Three guns dropped to the floor.
“Calm down,” I said.
Sweat beaded on Mackenzie’s brow as she looked uneasily in the general direction of the Chinese men, then at Salvador’s weapon. She said, “I ran into Salvador, who was running after you. Said you could use a little help.”
Salvador nodded, sweat pouring down his face. His gun—which I could now see was plastic—was pointed at Charlie’s head.
I asked, “Why didn’t you just call the police?”
Salvador shrugged. “You’re a private eye. We didn’t know what you might be into here.”
I smirked. “Everything’s fine, just put those down.” Before they realize you’re frauds and shoot you, I thought.
Salvador holstered his plastic weapon. “We got your back, Clive.” Mackenzie rolled her eyes as she realized she’d let Salvador make a fool of us all.
Charlie Wang remained unfazed during the raid, tapping the tips of his fingers together. He motioned toward the red folder. “As I was asking before we were interrupted, do you accept my offer?”
“With some minor adjustments,” I said.
“Oh?”
Mackenzie pulled Salvador out of the room to chew him out about his bad choices. “If Mark found out you were carrying, he’d have you in prison for violating parole!”
“It’s a squirt gun!” Salvador moped. “That ain’t no crime!”
“Did you take too much of your Valium?” Mackenzie asked. “Because I’m thinking you must be high to charge into a room of armed kidnappers with a squirt gun.”
Standing across the table from Dr. Charlie Wang, I smiled at him and picked up the red folder. “We’re going to need two more hotel rooms in Beijing.”
4
Forbidden Messages
When people call Chinatown “little China,” they’re right on the money. Standing in Tiananmen Square, at the heart of Beijing, I could feel the weight of being at the center of something huge. The enormous square of cement made a guy feel small—and made the local partner we were supposed to meet hard to find. I’d already been loitering around the square for two hours, looking into face after touristy face, and came up with nothing. Mackenzie and Salvador kept their distances, but they remained within view and ready to approach at my signal.
At least Tiananmen Square was an interesting spot to loiter, all of the enormous buildings with their Communist economy of style. But for every massive building or monument or portrait I spotted, I gazed into a dozen or so faces in the crowd and wondered, “Where the hell is this guy?”
After I accepted Charlie Wang’s assignment a couple days earlier, Gunmetal Mouth’s threesome escorted me, Mackenzie, and Salvador to a swanky hotel in Boston and took their own rooms in the same establishment—so they could drive us to the airport the next morning, they claimed, but we all knew it was so I didn’t have a change of heart about this Chinese puzzle box—and so that I didn’t take the money and run. Just a precaution, because what Wang probably knew well was that I didn’t take this job for the money or even for the challenge. I wanted to find Xuande’s jadeite tablet, to see it, to touch it. I’d forgotten how hungry I’d been in my youth.
Tiananmen Square is the world’s largest public square.