It was captivating to be sure, but unfortunately there was no sign of Burton. I’d given him too much of a head start when I’d waited for him to come out of that shop. I decided I should just savor the experience and look around, and with any luck he’d turn up. If he didn’t, then I’d had an enjoyable time, and I’d just go back to the hotel. Knowing I was in a hutong neighborhood technically meant I couldn’t get lost, as the houses in hutongs are aligned as the Forbidden City is, in fact as all of Beijing is, or at least used to be, on a north-south axis. The main avenues tend to also run in that direction, the hutongs run east-west by and large, linking them. If I kept going, I’d hit a main thoroughfare, and transportation back to the hotel.
Still, after a few minutes, I was feeling a bit anxious. Yes, technically hutongs ran east-west, but there were side lanes that didn’t, and I didn’t have a clue where I’d started. It was now a bit overcast, and a light snow was beginning to fall, making all the streets look even more the same. After several minutes, I still hadn’t come upon a main thoroughfare as I had thought I would.
I began to think that not only had I lost Burton, I was pretty much lost myself. Still, luck was with me on both counts. My first break was a very loud drumming sound that began quite suddenly not that far away. It had to be the Drum Tower, which marked the north end of the old city of Beijing, and I knew where that was. Realizing that the drumming would not continue for long, I started off at a fast pace in the direction of the sound. As I rounded a corner, I realized all was not lost on the Burton score either. I backed up a few paces in the direction I’d come, and then carefully peered around the corner again.
Burton was standing in front of one of the more elaborate siheyuan, talking to someone in the doorway. This home had a rather large, richly ornamented good luck gate flanked by imposing stone sculptures, guardians of the gate. The wall of the compound stretched along the hutong for many yards, and I could see a rather impressive roofline inside the wall. If I were a betting person, I’d say whoever lived there had his own bathroom. After all, there were five beams on that gate. And to all appearances, the lucky person in question was the man in black.
This was all very perplexing, to say nothing of irritating. As personally rewarding as touring the hutong neighborhood might have been for me, following Burton everywhere was not my idea of a good time, and his constant obfuscation as to his plans was definitely getting up my nose. Still, I too had a plan, one that involved finding my way back to the hotel and then ambushing him. With the Drum Tower, a fabulous structure that was used to sound the time both morning and evening for the inhabitants of ancient Beijing in the Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties, located, and a taxi hailed to take me to the hotel, I put my plan into action. I rather hoped the army officer hadn’t recognized me. I seemed to be the only Caucasian woman in the neighborhood, and therefore more obvious than usual. I’d worn a hat and scarf against the cold and snow, and I hadn’t noticed any glimmer of recognition on his face in the second or two before I’d hightailed it out of there. Indeed, he and Burton had been very deep in conversation. I was reasonably sure that Burton, with his back to me, had no inkling of my presence.
I ordered myself a coffee in the lobby and waited for Burton to return. I gave him about five minutes to get to his room and get his coat off before I pounced. I knew which room was his. He’d bought the drinks when we’d met in the bar, and I’d noted it when he signed for them. He answered my knock with a can of disinfectant spray in his hand. I held my breath for a few seconds in case he decided I had to be hosed down before I would be permitted to enter. He didn’t look happy to see me, but at least he didn’t blast me with the disinfectant, and after a long pause, he stepped aside and gestured for me to come in.
“I have a proposal for you, Burton,” I said.
“Could it not wait until this evening? I’m going to see you at the auction. I was hoping to have a bit of a rest. I’m not feeling completely well.” Actually, he didn’t look well, now that he mentioned it. He kept his head down as he spoke, and still had his sunglasses on. This did not stop me.
“Your qi is no longer harmonious, is that it, Burton? I’m sorry to hear that. Here is what you are up to. You aren’t looking for a substitute for the T’ang box. I think you’re looking for the box itself. Mira Tetford, whom you met the other day, has had all the newspapers checked, and there is no word of the theft from the auction house yet. You think if you put the word out, the thief, who may think he’s relatively safe given the lack of publicity, will come to you. You are following every lead. Am I right?” Actually, although I had decided not to mention it, the lead he’d been following that morning had been mine: the idea that the man in black had deliberately blocked the view of the custodian at the auction house so that the thief would have a head start. The man in black might even have given the doorman the wrong impression as to which young man to tackle.
He shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. “I suppose I might be doing that,” he said. “There’s a chance, you know.”
“I think it’s a really long shot, and probably a waste of time. But I want that box, too, as much as you do, if not more. What I am suggesting is that we look for the box together. It will save time. If one of us finds it, the deal is that it goes back to the auction house. We both get to compete for it again, and we’ll let the legal process take its course. May the best person win, as you would say. You might as well agree. Purchasing it is one thing, but you would have trouble getting it out of the country if it has been reported stolen.”
“I could probably get it out.”
“They definitely don’t want stolen antiquities taken out of the country. If you got caught, they’d assume you were the one who stole it. Even if you legally purchased it at the auction, China probably doesn’t want you to take it out.”
“That’s ridiculous. I mean, yes, the Chinese government is asking the U.S. to ban imports of Chinese antiques and antiquities over ninety-five years old. Hypocritical if you ask me.”
“What’s hypocritical about wanting to protect your heritage for your own citizens?”
“Protect your heritage? Surely you know that during the Cultural Revolution people were encouraged to destroy much of the country’s heritage—antiques, temples, tombs, you name it. It was state-sponsored hooliganism, if you ask me. Almost everything of value from an historical perspective was a target.”
“That was then, this is now. Now they want to protect it.”
“They have a funny way of doing it. You wait until tonight at the auction. You’ll see. There’ll be dozens of Chinese collectors paying large sums for the merchandise. The biggest market for Chinese antiquities is the Chinese themselves.”
“So?”
“So these bidders will by and large be private citizens, the new wealthy class, young and aggressive. These objects are not going to museums where they can be shared with the proletariat, I can assure you. They are going to people like Xie Jinghe, who, elegant gentleman though he may be, will be the only viewer, unless of course he lets some of his equally wealthy friends have a peek at his treasures every now and again. So why shouldn’t we, as North Americans, either individual collectors or dealers or museum curators, have the same access?”