Donovans 02 - Jade Island

it isn’t mine. I have no doubt about who owns that jade suit. Me.”
    “Archaeological treasures belong to the country in which they originated. American law on that point is quite specific. I’m sure your government—”
    “Who said anything about archaeology?” Farmer cut in. “I didn’t dig up anything. I bought a private collection. The suit was part of it.”
    “The jade burial suit was stolen from China. It must be returned. Immediately.”
    “No deal.”
    “Have you discussed this with your government?”
    “I pay a buttload of taxes. That’s all the discussion my government gets.”
    Seng’s surprise showed only in the slight lifting of his eyelids. “Even you are not entirely independent of your own government.”
    “Entirely? No. I still have property in the U.S.”
    Seng nodded and smiled.
    “But,” Farmer added, “I also have friends in Congress. A lot of them. American political campaigning is terriblyexpensive, as your government knows. Care to match China’s political contributions against mine?”
    Seng was silent.
    “Smart,” Farmer said. “Now let’s try it again. I have something China wants. China has something I want. There are three days until I open my museum. Talk to me, Seng. Tell me why I should give you my very valuable jade suit and get nothing more than an international pat on the head in return.”
    Seng started talking.
    Fifteen minutes later, Farmer got up and walked out.
     
    The door to the condominium shut behind Archer. Kyle’s code had appeared on the gizmo snitch, so Archer wasn’t surprised to see his brother at the kitchen table, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. But after what Archer had just learned from Uncle, he was surprised to see Kyle alone.
    “Where’s the Blakely woman?” Archer asked bluntly.
    “Where I’d like to be. Asleep.”
    “With her?”
    “If I was with her, I wouldn’t be sleeping.”
    “Still thinking with your dick?”
    “If I was, I wouldn’t be with you.”
    “You’re in a fine mood, aren’t you? Let me see your arm.”
    “How did you find out about—oh, hell, never mind. I’ll bet your informant drives a Ford Taurus. How much do you know about what happened?”
    “Is Blakely sleeping in your bed?”
    Apparently Archer wasn’t answering questions right now. Kyle didn’t feel like answering them, either. He looked out the kitchen window of the Donovan apartments. Dawn, such as it was, hovered like a coy date, smiling just beyond reach. The lights of Seattle gleamed amid patches of fog. Above the fog, rising in a silver majesty men could only envy, the Olympics waited for whatever mountains wait for.
    “Kyle?” Archer said impatiently.
    “Shut up and pour coffee.” Kyle rubbed his unshaved face and grimaced at the sandpapery sound. “Yes, Lianne is sleeping in my bed.”
    Kyle’s tone didn’t invite questions or idle conversation. Archer ignored the attitude and poured coffee. He was used to surly siblings at dawn. At the moment, he was one himself.
    “Do you think that’s smart?” Archer asked.
    “It beats the alternative.”
    “Just because she bandaged your manly wounds—”
    “The med-tech took care of that,” Kyle interrupted. “Give me the damn coffee.”
    Archer set a mug in front of Kyle. He drank, grimaced, and got up to look for milk in the refrigerator. Archer watched with cold steel eyes while Kyle poured milk. His brother didn’t have the relaxed, sated look of a man who had spent the night screwing his latest lady. Instead, he looked like a man who was worried.
    Or afraid.
    “Let’s have it,” Archer said.
    Kyle put the milk away, stirred the coffee with his finger, and drank deeply despite the scalding heat. Then he held out the cup for more.
    Archer poured coffee.
    “It’s pretty simple,” Kyle said. “Someone wants Lianne dead.”
    “The city cops say it was a mugging. Homeless illegal immigrant with a knife. Single woman with a purse.”
    “That’s crap.”
    “So are a lot of things. The guy’s lawyer got him out an hour after he woke up.”
    “Lawyer?” Kyle said in disgust. “What would a ‘homeless illegal immigrant’ know about lawyers?”
    “Enough to call one,” Archer said dryly.
    “Who?”
    “Ziang Lee.”
    “Is he a freelance ambulance chaser?”
    “No. Ziang and his partners specialize in Asian Pacific law. They also have a reputation for taking care of triad business in the Pacific Northwest.”
    “What kind of business?” Kyle