In the Shadow of the Cypress (24 page)

Luke nodded toward the flight deck. “If you can get your boys to set this flying limo down at the Watsonville Municipal Airport, and stake me forty bucks, I could have the papers back at the airport in thirty minutes or less, but I’d have to make a call first to announce my coming.” Luke smiled to himself. “The documents are being held under very tight security, you understand. Even I have to make an appointment to pass security.”

Robert picked up the pilot’s intercom, spoke to the pilot, and nodded at Luke. “Please make the call, I really think this is important. I will personally see that my father guarantees the safety of the goods. I’ll call him after takeoff.”

Before Robert could finish the sentence, the Lear throttled up its engines and began racing down the runway at remarkable speed. A moment later they were ascending altitude in a steep climb. Both Luke and Robert were pinned to their overstuffed recliners.

Robert looked over at Luke with a big grin on his face. Over the roar of the engines, he shouted, “I just love this kind of stuff. They pop this takeoff just for me. Wait till they bank out of the pattern. That’s a real toe-kisser.”

In Watsonville, Luke took forty bucks off Robert and sped away from the airport in a cab. He told Robert that twenty was for the cab, and twenty was to grease security into speeding up the withdrawal process. Which secretly meant flowers for his grandmother.

Thirty minutes later Luke returned to the airport with the paper-wrapped portfolio, which he kept tightly clutched under his arm. Robert was waiting on the tarmac and looked noticeably relieved when Luke returned. Eight minutes later they were in the air again.

A
TALL, BLACK-HAIRED, WELL-DRESSED GENTLEMAN
with Indian features met their Learjet with a limo in San Francisco. Luke’s unspoken question was almost instantly answered when Robert introduced his father’s personal secretary, Mr. Shu-RI Ram Sing. This gentleman smiled with humility and
invited Luke to call him Mr. RI. With a self-deprecating grin, he said it was far easier to remember.

Mr. RI escorted his charges to a small but very elegant hotel between the Embarcadero and Chinatown. It was so understated that the management didn’t display a name of any kind, and the lobby looked like a fashionably appointed Victorian living room. The new guests were invited to make themselves comfortable on a plush red leather sofa in front of the marble fireplace, while a pleasant young man brought snifters of whatever was requested. They then filled out their check-in cards, and by the time they were shown to their suites, the bags had preceded them. Nonetheless, despite all courtesies offered, Luke never let the folio out of his sight.

Luke’s suite was opulent in the extreme, and he was quite pleased with himself and the arrangements. He had just hung up his clothes when a knock came at the door, and a very polite Chinese gentleman in a white coat said he had come to pick up a suit and shirt to be pressed, and a pair of shoes to be shined. He promised to have everything back in twenty-five minutes or less. Luke shrugged, but he happily complied and handed the little man his whole hanging bag to save time. Then he went off to check out the six-headed shower installation.

Luke had almost made it to the bathroom when another knock sounded at the door. This time it was a house waiter pushing a folding table piled high with fruits, cheeses, breads, pitchers of exotic juices, bottled waters, and God knows what else. Robert followed the waiter into the room. He appeared rather pleased with himself as well.

“This is all pretty slick, don’t you think? If it was just me, my old man would be happy putting me up at a motel, but you pop along and suddenly we’re camped out at the most exclusive
members-only hotel on the West Coast. And if that weren’t enough, Mr. RI tells me we’re to have dinner at the Great Kahn. Mind you, my father is a generous fellow when it comes to my education, and my room and board, but he believes the rest is up to me.”

Luke looked up from the mountain of food on the table. On top of this abundance rested a card that indicated that everything came with the warm compliments of the house. Luke shook his head. “Why go out? There’s enough fruit here to loosen the bowels of an elephant, and enough bread and cheese to stop him up again . . . So what’s so great about this Great Kahn place?”

Robert looked somewhat deflated. “Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve never been invited there before. The Great Kahn is the most exclusive and prestigious eating emporium in the western United States. In fact, it’s not a public restaurant at all. It’s more like a millionaire’s private food club. They only allow a membership of one hundred and six. Don’t ask me why, this is all hearsay, but I’ve heard it costs one hundred and fifty grand to be admitted, and a yearly fee of twenty thousand, and you still haven’t paid for the food.”

Luke was suddenly curious. “How do you go about getting to be a member?”

Robert shook his head as he picked at the cheese. “That’s the dark part. Someone has to die and leave it to the prospective member in his or her public will. Of course, some places come up because the expense proves too great, or the member no longer cares to participate, but that’s rare, and those seats change hands for serious money.”

A perplexed expression shadowed Luke’s features. He was slightly anxious about all the secrecy and blatant exclusivity. “So why are we to be so honored just now? What’s your father’s real
interest in all this? He doesn’t strike me as the hard-boiled academic type, despite his background.”

Robert smiled and shrugged. “Beats me. Your guess is as good as mine at this point. I swear, Luke, he hasn’t told me a thing, but then he never really does. My father infers, he doesn’t tell. Come to think of it, I’ve never even heard him give an order. Things he wants done just get done.”

Mr. RI picked up his charges in a chauffeured town car promptly at seven that evening. Luke carried the sealed folio under his arm. The car drove down the Embarcadero toward the Bay Bridge in the last orange-purple rays of twilight. Near the bridge, the car pulled up to the garage ramp of a nondescript three-story commercial building. The only front entrance appeared to be a green metal door with a camera dome mounted above. After a moment, the large metal garage door began to roll up, and Luke noticed a camera dome above it as well.

Once inside, the car coasted down a steep ramp and then leveled out in front of a pair of red elevator doors. The overhead lights came on just as the car doors opened. When he got out, Luke noticed that the car wasn’t in a garage. Some basic instinct, probably inspired by watching too many spy movies, forced him to clutch the folio more tightly under his arm. The ramp continued up on the other side to meet another garage door leading out to another street. There was room for only two vehicles in front of the elevators at one time.

Robert exited the car looking just as confused as Luke. For a moment they stood blinking at each other like toads, then Mr. RI motioned them toward the elevator. There were no buttons, simply a key plate. Mr. RI withdrew a key from his vest pocket, inserted it with a quick twist, and the large elevator doors opened to reveal a plush Victorian, leather-paneled room, with
generous green leather benches on both sides and cut-glass lighting sconces on the walls. Luke surmised that the space had once been a large freight elevator. This was confirmed when they arrived at the second floor and the opposite wall slid back to reveal a Moorish-looking foyer with a pair of ornately carved wooden doors on the far side.

Luke looked at Robert and shook his head, and again he tightened his grip on the folio. Mr. RI politely motioned them to approach the doors, but remained behind himself. Slowly the doors opened inward to display a scene that Luke could only later describe as a cross between a tented Mongol palace and a film set from The Last Emperor. A tall, dapper blond gentleman dressed in a white silk suit, tie, and gloves was waiting to greet them.

Luke judged the room to be about eighty feet square, but he couldn’t really be sure with all the fabric hangings. They had entered on the balcony floor that ran around three sides of the room. Below lay a single large space broken only by the placement of elaborately carved screens. To Luke’s surprise, there was only one table visible in the whole space, and it was set alone in a rounded V pattern at the center of the floor and illuminated with three Tiffany table lamps. The rest of the room was kept in relative darkness. Two of the high-backed chairs were set on either side of the V, and the third was set imperiously at the head—the result being that no one person faced another directly, and one had to turn slightly to address the other guests.

Robert’s father was not present when they entered, but the gentleman in the white silk suit and gloves escorted the young men to their seats, whereupon two similarly clad waiters appeared out of nowhere to stand behind their chairs. Luke carefully placed the folio next to his leg where he could feel it.

They hadn’t been seated fifteen seconds when Mr. Wu senior also appeared as if out of the dark void. Both Robert and Luke stood up for their host. Robert greeted his father in Chinese and bowed slightly from the waist. His father caught sight of the queue, smiled, and mistimed his response, which seemed to amuse Robert. He winked at Luke.

Mr. Wu then turned to Luke and bowed slightly. “I’m so happy you were able to make this journey, Mr. Lucas. I will attempt to make your time with us as profitable as I can.”

Luke smiled and looked around. “With all due respect, I’d say you’ve already outdone anything I was expecting. You’ve been most generous, sir.”

Robert’s father smiled and nodded. “I think it’s always best to let history make those judgments, Mr. Lucas. Please, take your seats.”

The three table waiters helped with the chairs in one motion and immediately turned and came around to the front of the table to deliver small silver platters, centered with steaming silver finger bowls scented with jasmine and roses. Soft napkins were uniformly rolled at one side, and a small green sea turtle, deftly carved from lime peel, floated on the water.

Luke looked across at Robert and copied whatever he did. Mr. Wu turned to Luke again. “Mr. Lucas, I really do appreciate your feelings about security, which, by the way, is the principal reason we are meeting here tonight, but I’d be a poor host to allow you to sit there all evening with that package chafing up against your leg . . . If you’ll look to your right, you’ll find that a low table has been placed there for your convenience. You can safely rest your burden there within reach. I assure you no one will touch it without your permission.”

Luke did as suggested. “Thank you, sir. But this portfolio is
more of an emotional burden than anything else. Thankfully, by Monday it shall be back under tight security once more.”

Mr. Wu interjected. “That was one of the things I wished to discuss with you, Mr. Lucas, but that can all wait until after we’ve enjoyed our dinner. I hope you don’t mind, gentlemen, but I’ve taken the liberty of choosing the menu and wine in advance. Do you like French food, Mr. Lucas? I know my son does.”

Luke smiled. “Yes, sir, I do indeed. My dear mother tried her best to raise me well, and she was a genuine ‘Four F’: frenzied French-food fanatic. However, she always claimed I had an untutored palate, by which she meant I ate too much garbage in the student union, I suppose.”

The elder Wu laughed with insight and turned to Robert. “I had the same problem with my esteemed son, but I unknowingly nurtured a future addict. He even wangled a stint at the Sorbonne in Paris to study ancient Chinese texts collected by French Jesuits on the island of Ceylon. However, his credit card bills indicate that he spent six hours of every eight eating a wide swath all over Paris, and all of southern France, I might add.” Mr. Wu bowed his head toward his son. “It’s in my son’s honor that I have chosen our menu.”

Robert looked pleased. “That’s most kind of you, Father.”

The meal was excellent and consisted of numerous small dishes, each calculated to make the portion that followed taste even better. Robert said it was like a French dim sum, and he inhaled every morsel.

When the last course was cleared away and coffee served, the waitstaff disappeared completely. Mr. RI and Mr. Wu’s chauffeur appeared out of the shadows. The secretary supervised the placement of a covered table nearby, and two more lamps were brought in to illuminate the surface. Mr. RI then
produced a wrapped package, approximately two feet square, and carefully placed it at the center of the table, and then he and the chauffeur disappeared back into the gloom, but Luke was quite sure they had not left the room. He imagined that they were in the dark somewhere close by watching their master’s every move for a hint of distress.

When he’d finished his coffee, Mr. Wu turned to his guest. “With your indulgence, Mr. Lucas, perhaps you will allow that it’s about time we discussed the purpose of our gathering.”

“As you wish, sir. As long as it’s within reason, and within the bounds of propriety, I’m at your service.”

Robert’s father nodded. “As you say, within the bounds of propriety, to be sure. Now it occurs to me, Mr. Lucas, that I know a great deal about you, whereas you know very little about me, aside from what my son has most likely told you.”

Luke politely interrupted. “I hope you’ll forgive me, sir, but Robert has told me nothing that an observant person could not deduce for himself.” Luke turned to his friend. “In fact, I might add without fear of contradiction that at present he’s probably more mystified about what’s happening here than I am. And in that light, perhaps our business would advance somewhat if I were to tell you what I do know, and you can correct me if I’m wrong in my details.”

The elder Wu’s eyes almost twinkled with an air of confidence that spoke of amused defiance.

Luke smiled confidently. His “freaks” had hit pay dirt. He looked at Robert and smiled again. Having no knowledge of what his friend was up to, Robert appeared somewhat pensive. Luke carefully folded his napkin, set it to one side, and turned to face his host. “To begin with, your son has told me little or nothing of importance beyond your exceptional
scholastic credentials, and those are public knowledge. However, this is what I’ve discovered on my own. Your real name is not Lawrence H. Wu, it is in fact Dr. Lao-Hong Wu, and your grandfather was Dr. Lao-Hong. From my calculations he was a contemporary of Dr. Gilbert’s. Next, your family’s association with a company now calling itself APITC, or the Asian Pacific International Trading Company, goes back almost eight generations. It was then called the Three Celestial Corporations. I can only assume that modesty later inspired the elders to shorten the name to the Three Corporations. In effect you are CEO and president of the oldest credentialed Asian trading house in the United States. Your company’s reported net profits for last year alone amounted to $3,900,758,000. On a personal note, you were born on the second of August, 1944, in Nanjing, China, and came to this country under the sponsorship of American relatives when you were five years old. Your academic career was exemplary, if somewhat narrow in focus, and you have been employed by APITC since your graduation from Harvard Law School. You have only one son, the eminent linguist Dr. Robert Wu.” Luke grinned at Robert. “And I can only assume, from what I know of Chinese practices, that you have tried on numerous occasions to bring him into the family business, so far unsuccessfully.”