aware that Huangfu or his men could have been only a short distance away with a sniper rifle. You’ve been reading way too many thrillers, she told herself ruefully. But the truth of the matter was that lately she’d been living a life not far off from those fictional heroes.
“Are you okay, Miss Creed?” Carew handed her identification back. He spoke in a pleasant baritone.
“Yes.”
“You’re not hurt?”
Annja shook her head. She wished she was back in her loft in Brooklyn. Before she’d left she’d just got the third season of Gilmore Girls on DVD and was looking forward to watching it. A bath, a glass of white wine, and an episode or two of the show and she could have slept like a baby.
Instead, her mind was filled with questions. She’d explored the belt plaque by touch but she still hadn’t gotten a good look at the piece.
“You said there was a helicopter?” Carew looked at her.
Annja met the ranger’s gaze. “There was. It left the area about ten minutes after I called you.”
Carew nodded. “You said the bodies of the three men this Huangfu fella killed were up near Volcanoville?”
“Yes.” Annja dreaded the next few hours. In her experience any time she dealt with law enforcement agencies she had to tell the same story over and over and over again.
“We’ve got a team over there looking into that. In the meantime, let’s get you out of here.” Carew held the stirrup out for her to mount the extra horse.
With easy grace, Annja pulled herself into the saddle and leaned down to gather the reins. She was glad to be going, but she knew her ordeal was far from over.
4
Darkly tinted windows in the conference room blunted the sun. Ngai Kuan-Yin stood in front of the windows and gazed out over the Bund. The early afternoon tourist crowd was making its way through the stores and shops along Zhongshan Road.
The wharves and docks just beyond them were also full. Among the historic buildings, the bones of the old walled city of Shanghai—which had been the international settlement area where the English and French had lived in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries—remained visible if someone knew where to look.
Normally such a sight would have brought peaceful thoughts to Ngai. He owned many of the shops along Zhongshan Road and had an interest in several others. Many of the fishing boats were among his holdings, as well. Ngai’s family had been in Shanghai for generations.
But Ngai wasn’t happy. He was in a murderous rage, though his calm demeanor didn’t allow it to show.
“Mr. Ngai, what do you wish to do?” The voice was soft and offered no threat or rebuke, though he knew the question had been offered because he hadn’t responded when he’d been asked minutes ago.
Slowly, Ngai turned to face the ten men seated at the long conference table. For the past twenty years, the men at that table had helped him build an empire of his father’s pharmaceutical company. He owed all of them something. They, in turn, owed him their lives. Without him, they would have been nothing.
To a man, they wore dark business suits that looked neat and professional. All of them were lean, hard men. Much like Huangfu Cao.
Ngai courted that image. His tailored black suit fit him like a glove. He was in his early forties and still followed the discipline of the sword and the warrior. Silver threaded his black hair. His face, unlined and cruel, had graced the covers of international magazines about wealth and business.
Calmly, Ngai sat at the head of the table and turned his attention to the matter at hand. “I have been informed by Huangfu Cao that he has lost the belt plaque he went to recover. The woman archaeologist, Annja Creed, has escaped with it.”
“Does the woman know that we—” Hong stopped himself “—that you are involved?”
Hong was in his eighties and grew more frail with each passing day. When Ngai had been younger, Hong had taught him in all subjects. Whenever Ngai thought of his old teacher, he remembered him as a strong young man, clever and fearless. Times had changed as age had robbed him of his strength and confidence.
“No.” Ngai barely kept himself from exploding. He was no longer young and no longer foolish. “I have not been compromised.” He glared at the old man in warning.
Hong cleared his throat, then spoke softly. “Perhaps it would be better if you were to let this go.”
Ngai tried to restrain himself and couldn’t. All of his life while his father had railed at him to get his education and to keep his imagination from running away with him, Ngai had thought only of the treasure that might one day be his—if he was smart enough and daring enough.
Ngai glared at the old man. “I will not give this up. The treasure is out there. That is why the government has sent in their archaeological teams.”
“Those teams,” Hong said, “have been sent in to discover what secrets Loulan might hold.”
Ignoring the old man for the moment, Ngai switched his attention to Yuan. “You have spoken with Suen Shikai?”
“On several occasions, sir. I have made every offer to him that you suggested.”
“He still refuses to sell it?”
“He does.”
Ngai leaned back in his chair. “Then we will take it from him.”
Silence was heavy in the room.
“Do you hear yourself?” Hong asked.
“It is the only way,” Ngai stated.
“Suen Shikai was a friend of your father’s.”
“He’s not a friend of mine.”
Sorrow touched the old man’s features. “He has been a friend to me also.”
“Can you convince him to give me the map?” Ngai knew the old man had tried.
“You know I was not successful.”
“I do. Today you will have to choose between friendships.”
Hong frowned. “Is Huangfu still in California?”
Reluctantly, Ngai nodded.
“Then there may yet be another chance to get the object from the American archaeologist. If you’re patient.”
“If I am patient,” Ngai said forcefully, “then I am only giving our government more time to discover the treasure that rightfully belongs to my family.”
Hong’s lips tightened in disapproval.
“Suen Shikai will be a bad enemy to make,” Yuan said.
“Then I will not make him an enemy,” Ngai said. “I will make him a corpse.” He glared at
