Donovans 02 - Jade Island

by jade. Hoping to find in a grandson what he had never found in a son, Wen had spent much of the past year passing on his knowledge to Daniel.
    Along with that knowledge came all but one of the combinations to the vault. Though Daniel thought it was long past time to upgrade the old dial-and-tumbler locks, he was fully aware of the honor his grandfather had given him. If Daniel wondered what lay behind the locked steel door at the west side of the vault, he never asked. No matter what time of day or night Wen felt the need to commune with his treasures, Daniel went without complaint to the vault, opened the many combinations to the various compartments, and sat with his grandfather, listening and learning.
    Wen wished that his Number One Son showed half Daniel’s diligence. It galled Wen to give over control of Tang destiny to a son who had little knowledge and less love of jade. But slowly, inevitably, Wen’s increasing frailty had forced him to hand over many of his responsibilities to Joe.
    Power didn’t slip easily from Wen’s aged hands. He hated giving up control to anyone, especially to an eldest son whose head was in calligraphy and whose heart quickened for racehorses more than for jade. Nor did Joe show any desire to live in the Vancouver compound for longer than a few days at a time.
    An emotional preference for Daniel didn’t sway Wen from his duty to Joe, any more than emotion had swayed Wen from wedding the flat-footed eldest daughter of arich merchant. Beauty could be purchased. Power had to be married.
    In any event, not only did custom decree that Wen’s eldest son assume command, he was the most suitable of the lot. Harry was too recklessly ambitious for the clan’s good and Johnny was too emotionally tied to America. Despite his shortcomings in jade appreciation, Joe was Wen’s best hope of taking the Tang Consortium to new heights of power and prestige in the twenty-first century.
    All Wen had to do was hang on until SunCo’s sails had been trimmed and the Tangs were welcome back in Hong Kong. After that, Joe could be trusted to carry on with the rest.
    “This last lock is sticky,” Lianne said, frowning and beginning the combination all over again. “Have you had the tumblers checked?”
    “Daniel will see to it,” Wen said, turning toward the jade screen. “Tomorrow, yes?”
    “Yes, Grandfather,” Daniel said from the far side of the screen.
    Wen grunted in satisfaction. His eyes might be gone, but he had a despot’s ability to sense people walking up behind him.
    The last lock finally gave way to Lianne’s deft fingers. The vault door swung open. Cool, incense-scented air washed over her. The area just beyond the vault door had once been an entire single-family home. Now it was a two-story, steel-walled, fireproof vault that was crammed with special drawers, cabinets, closets, and chests. This was the repository of Tang pride, the focus of Wen’s personal wealth and obsession. Jade.
    “Watch that worktable,” Lianne cautioned, lightly holding Wen back. “It has been moved since I was last here.”
    Wen grunted and suffered himself to be led around the table he could no longer see.
    With a mixture of hope and fear, Lianne looked toward the west corner of the room, where the priceless Han burialshroud was stored behind yet another locked door. As long as Daniel hovered nearby, she couldn’t bring up the Tang treasure unless Wen did. And Wen had made it clear that he wouldn’t.
    “Sit down, Uncle,” Lianne said, leading the old man to the only chair in the vault. A small table stood by the comfortable chair. The table held a white jade bowl that needed no special lighting to display its beauty. It was the equal, if not the superior, of the bowl that Dick Farmer had so proudly displayed at the auction last night. “Your favorite bowl awaits you.”
    Wen laughed dryly. “Are you still wishing that it had been part of the Jade Trader display?”
    “Of course.”
    “Only a fool advertises his wealth to the envious.”
    “Yes, Uncle.”
    Yet Lianne couldn’t help wishing Wen had allowed the bowl to leave the vault. The jade piece had a flawless shape and spectacular, luminous simplicity. A perfect fusion of art and function, the bowl would have stolen the show.
    Except, perhaps, for the Neolithic blade. It, too, had fused art and purpose, ceremony and function, into a single gleaming whole. And it had done so nearly seven thousand years before the Ch’ing dynasty bowl