“We’ve contacted everyone he knew in the States,” added T’ai, “but he has vanished without a trace.”
“He’s from the States?” asked Nicki.
“He recently retired as a professor in the department of nuclear engineering at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. He was coming to Toronto to meet someone, and to stay with us for a while.”
“Now it’s time to spill the beans.” Lila moved three steps closer to Nicki. Then she turned to her grandson. “She knows something.”
Nicki glanced through the curtains at the redhead. He was wandering around, picking things up, squeezing them, putting them back down again—as if he was in the produce section of a supermarket.
“Well?” prompted Lila.
“A friend of mine was sent to the hospital,” explained Nicki, “and in his pocket was a slip of paper with Robert A-G and your phone number written on it. That’s it. Really.”
“What friend?”
“What does it matter?” Nicki shook her head in frustration.
Lila turned to T’ai. “I still say she’s a spy. An agent for the People’s Republic of China.”
“I doubt it,” said T’ai. “I believe her. You can see she’s upset about her friend, Lila.”
Nicki couldn’t keep her eyes off the redhead. He strolled around aimlessly, finally wending his way to the cash register.
She couldn’t be certain, because he was slightly out of her sight line, but Nicki was pretty sure he helped himself to some money.
“Come in here, Mac,” said T’ai.
The young man’s eyes were red and puffy and his complexion pale.
“Mac’s a genius,” said T’ai. “Like my uncle.”
“So I’m a student at the University of Toronto in telecommunications engineering,” Mac said. “Big deal.”
“I’m a history major.” T’ai pulled out a chair and sat down. The others followed suit. “To me, anyone who can do what Mac does is brilliant. What’s that you’re working on with your professor? Photonic crystals?”
“Photonic crystals?” asked Nicki.
“It’s top secret,” said T’ai. “It’s going to change the whole smartphone industry. Explain it to her, Mac. I mean, the stuff you can talk about.”
“Photonic technology uses light instead of electricity, so signals can be sent at extremely high speeds,” he answered. “There’s nothing secret about that.”
“Yeah, but your professor’s research is going to take the whole telecom industry by surprise,” added T’ai. “And it will be used in medicine and aviation—right, Mac?”
Mac nodded.
Nicki noticed Mac’s fingernails. They’d been chewed so far down, they were bleeding.
“So you’ve discovered a method of sending signals—differently? Faster?” she asked him.
“My professor has found a way to couple resonant cavities with emitters to controllably produce photons with telecommunications wavelengths.”
Lila rolled her eyes.
“I don’t know what he’s talking about half the time,” admitted T’ai, “but it’s cutting-edge stuff.”
Nobody said anything for a minute or two, then T’ai spoke up.
“My friend here does have a name—Duncan MacDonald,” continued T’ai, pointing to his left. “You know Lila and I’m T’ai.” He scratched his chin. “So who are you?”
“I’m Fu Yin.”
“And this friend you mentioned?”
“David Kahana. He’s American. From Honolulu.” She chose her words carefully. “I think he’s the one who was supposed to meet your great uncle.”
“What makes you think so?” asked T’ai.
“Because someone tried to kill him last night.”
“What?” Lila’s jaw dropped.
“He was stabbed.”
“Oh, wow,” muttered T’ai. “I’m sorry.”
“He’s going to recover.” Nicki bit her bottom lip. “He has to.”
“Is this Kahana person a CIA agent?” asked Lila.
“Or involved in intelligence?” added T’ai.
Nicki was about to answer when Mac got up to leave.
Abruptly.
“I’m not feeling so good, T’ai. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll catch up with you tomorrow night instead.”
“What’s up with you, mate? Are you okay?”
“I’m tired, that’s all.” The two young men headed to the door. “T’ai,” Nicki heard Mac whisper, “can you loan me a few bucks?”
“Again?” T’ai pulled out his wallet.
“I’ll pay you back in a couple days. Please, man. I’m desperate.”
T’ai handed him a twenty-dollar bill.
“That’s forty bucks he owes,” Lila shouted from the back room. “The twenty you just gave him, and another twenty for what he took out of the register.”
Nicki listened as the clock on the wall beside her ticked away. A half hour had passed since Mac had left and she still hadn’t gotten anywhere with the Soongs.
“Look,” said Nicki, “I’ve told you what I know.” She leaned back in the chair. “If you don’t want to discuss it, I understand. But why are you two so fixated on espionage?”
“My great uncle worked for years at MIT. His research has led to great advances in nuclear technology.”
“That’s right,” said Lila.
“My uncle’s an honest man; a hardworking man. He believes that his work belongs to the country that has supported his research. Others find it more lucrative to sell technological secrets to foreign governments. Like Russia and China.”
“I see,” said Nicki.
“It was dangerous for him, but my uncle did what was right. He didn’t stand for anything underhanded going on with his students or fellow researchers. And the CIA appreciated it. Both the CIA and the FBI knew of people out there who wanted him dead.” T’ai fidgeted with his watchband. “And it looks like they may have succeeded.”
“I think Mr. Kahana was here on behalf of the US government,” said Nicki. “The Secret Service.”
“I don’t know anything about him. My uncle didn’t tell us much, probably for our own safety.”
“Obviously the wrong person found out that David Kahana was in Toronto, and now he’s fighting for his life, and your uncle is—”
“Kidnapped,” said T’ai.
Lila shuddered.
“Or dead,” he said.
“Let’s hope you’re wrong. Have you contacted the police in Massachusetts?”
“Of course,” said T’ai. “And the local police won’t treat this as a missing-person case because they say my uncle left willingly and there was no sign of a struggle.”
“Willingly…” Nicki thought about it. “So someone convinced him to go someplace other than Toronto.”
“Right.”
“And to travel under an assumed name.”
“Probably.”
“What about the FBI?”
T’ai let out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, right. Like they’re going to let me in the loop.”
Nicki picked up her jacket. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “I work at the Haddon Heights hotel, so you can always find me there.
“By the way,” she added, “what does A-G stand for?”
T’ai looked at Lila.
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Aisin-Gioro.”
Nicki’s bag dropped to the ground.
“You’re kidding me.”
Chapter Ten
“No,” said T’ai, “I’m not kidding.” He handed Nicki her bag. “He’s a member of the Chinese royal family. What’s left of it.”
“But I thought Pu Yi, the boy emperor, had no children.”
“He didn’t. But he had plenty of nieces and nephews,” T’ai explained.
“When the Manchu dynasty was overthrown in 1911, the family members were tossed out like garbage onto the streets,” added Lila.
“Not quite, although it was a frightening time for the remnants of the Manchu imperial family,” said T’ai. “My uncle has always wanted to return to his homeland and try to help some of his cousins, but—”
“He’d be thrown in prison as a traitor,” said Lila.
Nicki nodded.
“Now I get it.”
“What do you get?” asked Lila.
“I think I have something that might lead to your uncle.”
“Here we are,” said T’ai, holding the door for Nicki so she could carry her duffel bag with two hands.
The university cafeteria was packed with students and faculty members.
“You wouldn’t think it would be so crowded this time of year,” she said.
“Summer students trying to get in a few extra courses,” said T’ai. “I’m taking one at night so I can help Lila during the day.” He smiled. “We’ve got to convince the tourists that they need a trinket from Chinatown.”
“I doubt your grandmother needs much help in that department.”
“Right,” said T’ai, directing her to a seat near the windows.
“Have you always stayed with your grandmother?” asked Nicki, wondering where T’ai’s parents were and why he didn’t live with them.
“I have for a few years,” he said.
“What about your parents?”
“They’re in Vancouver now. We don’t get along too well.”
“I’m sorry,” Nicki said. At least you know where they are, she thought.
“What about you?” asked T’ai. “Are your parents—”
She cut him off immediately. “Are you sure this Dr. Byron knows where to meet us?”
“I called him last night after you left. We’ve met here before.” T’ai removed his jacket, and Nicki placed her bag gently on the floor beside her feet. “He’s a nice guy, for a professor. He’s taken Mac and me out for lunch several times.”
“And he’s an expert in Chinese history?”
“He’s a visiting professor. Sort of a research fellow, I guess, because he doesn’t teach any courses. But that’s his field all right.”
“And you told him about the Ming?”
“I said a friend of mine had a vase and wanted to know its history. I said nothing about David Kahana.”
Nicki looked around the cafeteria. “Good.”
“Can I get you something?” asked T’ai.
“No, thanks.” Nicki picked up a napkin and starting tearing little pieces from the edge.
“Nervous?”
“I guess.”
“You don’t have to work today?” he asked.
“No, tomorrow.”
“On a Saturday? That’s too bad.” T’ai saw Byron from across the room. He stood up and waved to him. “Here he comes.”
Nicki watched him weave his way through groups of people carrying trays of food and armloads of books.
“Dr. Peter Byron,” said T’ai, “this is Fu Yin.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Nicki, extending her hand. “Thanks for agreeing to help us.”
“I’m happy to do what I can,” the professor replied.
“It’s really very beautiful,” said Nicki, pointing to her duffel bag.
“We can’t look at it here,” said Byron. “Too many students with nothing better to do than gape.”
“How about your office?” asked Nicki.
“No, that’s no good.”
Why can’t we go to his office? she wondered.
“Let me think,” said Byron, placing an index finger on his chin. “There’s got to be some quiet place nearby.”
“Let’s go to Mac’s room,” suggested T’ai. He turned to Nicki. “He lives here in residence.”
“Good,” said Byron, and the three of them headed across campus.
The door to Mac’s room swung open when T’ai knocked. His friend was nowhere in sight.
“He must have a class. The guy never rests.” T’ai closed the door behind the other two. “He won’t mind if we come in.”
Nicki removed several layers of bubble wrap from the vase.
Peter Byron was more interested in Mac’s room and everything in it.
“Takes me back,” he said. Then he opened a desk drawer. “Can I borrow a pen?” he asked. “I want to take some notes, then I can check my sources for information about your bowl.”
“Vase.”
Nicki watched his eyes skim back and forth across the desk drawer, as if he was searching for something. Finally, he picked up a pen. Then he looked for paper, but instead of going for blank sheets from an open package, he riffled through typed pages sitting in a pile next to Mac’s printer.
“Here it is.” Nicki handed the vase to Byron.
“Yes, that’s a Ming all right,” he said, then gave it to T’ai.
That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say? “Can you tell me anything about it?” asked Nicki.
“What year would this have been fired?” T’ai gently turned the vase around. “Can you determine the age from the dragon design?” T’ai looked at the bottom. “I guess it would have been made in 1600 or so.”
“Yes, yes,” said Byron, “you’re probably right.”
Nicki watched his gaze shift back and forth between the vase and every book, file, and disk on Mac’s desk.
What’s this guy’s problem?
“How do you know that the vase isn’t from the Tang dynasty? Since that came immediately before the Ming period—wouldn’t it be difficult to tell?”
T’ai went to correct her, but Nicki gestured him not to speak.
“Well, you can’t be sure, of course. It could be a Tang vase.” He scratched down something on the paper, tucked it into his shirt pocket, and went to put the pen back into the desk drawer, but dropped it.
“I’ll get that,” said T’ai, bending over to pick it up.
Byron’s hand moved fast, but Nicki was sure he stuck something on the underside of the drawer.
Did he just plant a bug?
“I’ll consult some of my colleagues and see what I can find out,” he said. “But really, I think you’d better take this to an expert in ceramics. Maybe somebody at the Royal Ontario Museum.”
“Yes,” said Nicki, “the ROM has had exhibits of Chinese porcelain in the past. That’s a good idea.”
As she began to wrap the vase, Mac entered the room.
“What’s going on?” His face turned bright red, and he stormed over to T’ai. “What! You think you can bust in here without even asking me?”
“But, the door was—”
“I don’t care. Get out of here.”
Nicki and Byron shuffled out to the hall.
“Mac, you always said I could—” T’ai stopped. “Your forehead. It’s bruised.” He moved closer. “What happened, Mac?”
“Forget about it.”
He slammed the door in T’ai’s face.
T’ai hollered through the crack.
“Mac, I’m sorry. Really. You said I could come here anytime.”
There was no reply.
T’ai slapped his hand on the door several times, but Mac didn’t open it. “Mac, are you coming to the dance tonight?”
Still nothing.
“Dance?” asked Nicki. “You mean that disco—retro—whatever dance?”
“Yeah, that’s it.” He leaned against the wall. “I haven’t exactly been in the mood for fun lately, but it might get my mind off things for a while. W
hy don’t you come?” He raised his voice. “I’ll be back for you later, Mac.”
Nicki looked at Byron. He was listening to every word they said. Then his cell phone rang.
“Gotta take this,” he said. “Sorry I wasn’t much help.” He turned his back to them and moved aside to talk to his caller. He took a small pad out of one pocket and a pen out of the other.
Nicki watched him write something down and underline it.
He had a pen all along.
Chapter Eleven
“Okay, so you’re right. There’s no way that Byron is a professor of Chinese history,” said T’ai. “But how did you know he’d get tripped up on dynasties like that?”
“Just a hunch,” she said.
“A hunch? Come on.”
“He seemed distracted.”
“That’s true,” said T’ai.
“How long has Dr. Byron been taking you and Mac out for lunch?” Nicki asked.
“I don’t know, a month maybe.”
“You mentioned last night that Mac hasn’t been himself lately. How long has that been going on?”
T’ai thought for a second.
“I get your point. But why?”
“I’m not sure.” Nicki kept her duffel bag planted firmly on her lap during the subway ride. When it was time to exit near the ROM, she and T’ai waited for everyone else to push through the doors first and then made their way off the train.
A museum administrator gave them permission to speak with an expert in Chinese porcelain. They found Dr. Wong on the second floor putting together an exhibit of ceramic dishes from Northern China.
“Hello, sir,” said T’ai. “We were wondering if you could spare a few minutes.”
“Certainly.” He removed the gloves he’d been using to handle the pieces and invited the two of them to sit down at his workbench.
Nicki placed her bag in front of Dr. Wong.
“So, what do we have here?”
“A Ming vase,” said Nicki.
Dr. Wong looked over the top of his glasses at her.
“She’s not kidding, sir.” T’ai lifted out the vase and removed the wrap.
Dr. Wong said nothing. He turned the vase around several times, felt the thickness of the walls, and examined the bottom. He held it up to the light, then gently ran his finger along the rim.
The Scratch on the Ming Vase Page 4