But there was a Japanese connection, as I recall—that exporter in Singapore got something out of the country for the Khoils.”
“The statue?”
“Possibly. But this is why Mr. Takashi wants to meet you.”
“He’s coming here? Is he bringing the statues?”
He hesitated. “Ah … actually, no. He wants you to see him. In Japan. He’s a recluse who doesn’t like traveling. Supposedly, he rarely leaves his penthouse.”
“Who does he think he is, Howard Hughes?” Nina frowned, weighing up her options. On the one hand, she was already busy enough without adding a trip across the Pacific; on the other, it meant the possibility of finally uncovering the secret of the statues … “How did he get hold of them?”
“Via the black market, it seems.”
Disgust entered her voice. “Can we even trust this guy? Buying stolen antiquities on the black market isn’t exactly ethical.”
“Mr. Takashi might be reclusive,” said Penrose, “but he’s also a major contributor to a number of United Nations charitable programs. The UN certainly trusts him. Besides, he’s told us that he’ll return the other two statues to their countries. But first he wants you to examine them, to confirm that they’re genuine—and also to tell you what he knows about his statue.”
“There are these marvelous new inventions called telephones. Has he heard of them?”
Penrose smiled. “What can I say, Nina? Maybe he’s just a fan of yours. But we definitely think you should go. Securing the statues will ease the minds of a number of concerned people, and you might even learn something new about them.”
He was right, Nina decided reluctantly. “He’s definitely willing to give the other statues back to Egypt and Peru? No conditions?”
“Apparently that’s so. His main concern was reclaiming his own property, but he said he bought the others as well to get them back into the right hands.”
“How much did he pay for them?”
“I don’t know, but … a large sum, I imagine.”
“Which is probably now in Stikes’s pocket. Great,” she said glumly. “When does he want to see me?”
“He said that’s up to you,” said Penrose, “but from the IHA’s point of view, the sooner the better. If the statues are off the market, that’s one security issue we no longer need to worry about.”
She considered it. “Okay, I’ll go see him. Once this is wrapped up, I can focus on the Atlantis excavations.”
Penrose nodded. “A sound choice. I’ll let Mr. Takashi know.”
He left the office, and Nina picked up her phone. “Lola. I need you to book a flight for me.”
Half a world away, Eddie had completed a flight of his own, and was making a taxi journey through the bustling streets of Hong Kong. He had visited the former British colony several times before, and was always amazed by the island’s energy and vibrancy, a hothouse for deal making and fast action. It was a vanguard for the new China, raw entrepreneurial capitalism working at a merciless pace that shocked even Americans. Anyone who wasn’t constantly clawing their way up like the ever-climbing skyscrapers very quickly got trampled.
But this time, the city’s rush was nothing more than a background hum. There was only one thing on his mind. The taxi deposited him at a corner near the address he had been given, and he carved his way like an icebreaker through the crowds filling the narrow, advertising-banner-filled street to reach one particular door. He found the buzzer for the apartment and pushed it. After a pause, a female voice spoke in Cantonese.
“It’s Eddie Chase,” he said.
The voice switched to English. “You made it. Come on in. Sixth floor, on the left.” The door latch clacked, and he entered the building.
There was no elevator, so he pounded up the cramped stairwell to the sixth floor. A woman opened the door as he reached it. “Come inside.”
There was no mistaking Madeline Scarber’s sandpaper-throated voice, but its owner was very different from Eddie’s preconceptions. For a start, her name had led him to assume that she was Caucasian, but the short, skeletal woman with the helmet-like black bob was of Chinese descent. She was also younger than he had imagined, around fifty rather than the pensioner her gravelly growl suggested. “Not what you expected, huh?” she said as she ushered him inside. “My mother was Chinese German, and she married a Dutch American. I’m a one-woman melting pot.”
More like a one-woman ashtray, Eddie thought as the all-pervading reek of stale cigarette smoke hit him, but he kept it to himself. Scarber closed the door