Dragon Bones (34 page)

The action was lively and fast, with Fitzwilliams handling the crowd like a snake charmer. Paddles lifted here and there about the room. The men and women on the phones raised their hands periodically to indicate that their bidders were going up another increment. In less than thirty seconds the bidding had reached HK$1.5 million.

“Watch Fitzwilliams, David,” Stuart whispered. “If you knew the players, you’d know that he’s acknowledging bids for longtime Cosgrove’s customers before the bidders who are strangers to him or who he doesn’t like.”

“I’m out and off the book,” Fitzwilliams announced. The bidding had now gone above what the absentee bidders had offered. “Any advance on two million two hundred thousand?”

“See how people are no longer holding their paddles up high,” Stuart said. “They don’t want the others to see they’re still in the game. See that! Just a slight nod of the head or a lifted finger. Most people want to hide in the crowd to do their bidding. But some like to make a big show of it, hoping to intimidate others from even trying. As I said before, it’s all in how you play the game.”

When the blue-and-white languished at HK$2.4 million, Fitzwilliams said, “I want to remind everyone that Christmas is just a few months away.” Laughter rippled through the room from all except the two people still locked in the final phase of bidding. One of the men raised his forefinger, and Fitzwilliams said, “Two million five hundred thousand. Thank you, sir.” The auctioneer’s body oscillated slightly in the direction of the other bidder. “Going on? No? Fair warning then. Sold to paddle 417. Merry Christmas and good show.”

After a small but appreciative round of applause, Fitzwilliams moved straight on to Lot 15.

Madame Wang and Daisy Ting had a lively battle for the Song Dynasty
dingyao,
with the former triumphing. Nixon Chen, as predicted, bid repeatedly on the fifteen snuff bottles that came up as separate lots. After the blue-and-white bowl, the snuff bottles seemed like bargains, priced as they were between HK$500 and HK$6,500. Nixon came away with five, though none of his had gone over eighteen hundred. As Stuart Miller put it, “He’s a typical lawyer. He’s not the sort to get caught up in the moment.” David suspected it had more to do with the years Nixon had spent at the Red Soil Farm in the countryside with Hulan. Nixon had a fondness for luxury, but it was always tempered by the fear that it could be taken away again.

Stuart bid on the jadeite
ruyi
with the carvings of the Eight Immortals but dropped out when the piece went over the estimated price. Ma bid on all of the jade pieces, winning all of the
bi
s but falling out early on the one that looked like a boomerang, which went to someone in the front row. The latter, David read in the catalog description, was actually part of a larger musical instrument. Typically these chimes—whether made from stone, bone, or bronze—were hung from a double-tiered support system and hit with a hammer, creating sounds reflective of the size of each piece.

Lot 47 was the cloisonné
ruyi,
which Stuart easily added to his collection. After that, a pair of green-glazed early Tang Dynasty figures sitting astride horses sold for just over their estimated price. Through all of these lots, Fitzwilliams worked the room, enticing people to join the bidding, luring the audience with extra details about a piece, coaxing people to go higher, and praising them when they did. And when the action stalled or when prices soared, the waiters who lingered on the sidelines passed through the audience refilling champagne glasses, keeping bidders merry and purse strings loose. It was the most beautiful act of commerce David had ever seen.

At 8:45, the Site 518
ruyi
came up as Lot 95. Only one woman was on the phone and at the ready when Fitzwilliams opened the bidding at two thousand, a full thousand below the estimate. The price rose in the required increments of two hundred until it reached three thousand, then by three hundred until it reached five thousand. Fitzwilliams’s movements and the sound of his voice were mesmerizing as he quickly shifted between Dr. Ma and the person in the front row who’d won the chime. David could see only the back of the bidder’s head but could tell by the haircut that it was a man and by the color and texture of his hair that he was probably Chinese. Chinese American, as it turned out, which David learned when Stuart Miller once again filled him in.

“That’s one of those Silicon Valley guys I told you about. Bill Tang is very greedy, very nouveau riche. He even gives the Red Princes a run for their money. Our old friend Dr. Ma doesn’t stand a chance.”

The bidding passed ten thousand, then twenty thousand, then jumped to one hundred thousand. It had taken less than a minute, and the price was already considerably beyond the estimated value. People who’d gone to stretch their legs came back. Others, who’d become bored with the proceedings or were waiting for the reception and banquet to start, were suddenly intrigued. Feeling that there must be something to this piece they hadn’t realized, a few of the dealers Stuart had pointed out earlier joined in, driving the price up faster than the screen with all the foreign denominations could keep up. In the front row, Bill Tang held his paddle steadily aloft, signaling to everyone that he wouldn’t drop out.

The bidding hit 250,000, and Stuart Miller had yet to raise his paddle. A brief round of applause at one million caused Fitzwilliams to pause in his melody of numbers just long enough to chastise, “Ladies and gentlemen.” Then the bidding resumed, now jumping in increments of 100,000. There was a temporary lull at 1.5 million, with Bill Tang holding that bid, his paddle still held high enough for everyone to see.

“One million five,” Fitzwilliams said. “Any advance on a million five? No more bids?” Fitzwilliams addressed Ma directly. “You, sir, staying in?”

Ma shook his head.

“A million five,” Fitzwilliams picked up. “Fair warning then.”

Stuart lifted his paddle. The crowd murmured quietly. Fitzwilliams scowled like a scolding parent, immediately silencing the audience.

“We have a new bidder,” he resumed. “A million six, seven, eight, nine, two million. Two million one, two, three, four, five.” Again the bidding halted, only this time it was Stuart who refused to go on. “Are you sure, sir?” Fitzwilliams asked.

“Too rich for my blood, I’m afraid,” Stuart conceded.

Fitzwilliams’s stern gaze squelched the smattering laughter.

“Two million five Hong Kong dollars. Fair warning.” Fitzwilliams’s eyes swept the room one more time. “Are we all through then?”

“Sir,” the woman at the phone bank called out.

“A new bidder?”

“Yes, Mr. Fitzwilliams, sir.”

“Two six it is,” the auctioneer announced.

The price for the lowly
ruyi
had just passed that for the blue-and-white Ming Dynasty bowl, which had been billed as the most valuable piece in the auction. There were intakes of breath as the audience absorbed this.

Then the man in the front row said something audible only to Fitzwilliams, who rang out, “Twenty million Hong Kong dollars! Thank you, sir!”

This was nearly ten times the last bid and well over $2 million U.S.

“Twenty million,” Fitzwilliams repeated, then gestured casually from the man in the front row over to the woman on the phone, his motions no different than they’d been for the sale of one of Nixon Chen’s snuff bottles. The woman on the phone lifted a finger; the man in the front responded with another tip of the head. Back and forth Fitzwilliams went until the price reached 25 million Hong Kong dollars. Whoever the woman had on the phone held the bid. “It’s to the gentleman in the front row.” Nothing happened. “Want to go once more? You’re here. Whoever’s on the phone is not. His or her top price might be twenty-five million. Want to go one more shot?”

Bill Tang finally nodded.

“Twenty-six million,” Fitzwilliams said triumphantly, but before anyone could applaud, the woman at the phone bank lifted her hand. “Twenty-seven.” The audience let out a collective sigh of disappointment. Everyone was caught up in the drama with the man in the front row, even if they didn’t know who he was, while the person on the phone remained nameless and faceless. “We’re at twenty-seven. Coming in again, sir? Want to make it twenty-eight?”

It seemed to David that Tang’s paddle stayed steady, but Fitzwilliams said, “No? Then fair warning to you. Selling…. Sold for twenty-eight million Hong Kong dollars.”

The audience that one moment before had been with Bill Tang in spirit now erupted in wild applause. The
ruyi
had sold for a thousand times its top estimated value, and more than $3 million U.S. But the applause was cut short when Bill Tang jumped to his feet and shouted, “You cheated!”

Fitzwilliams looked down from the podium with an expression of utter contempt. “It is a sad fact of auctions that we can’t always win.”

“You didn’t recognize me!” Tang still hadn’t turned around, but his posture was aggressive.

“Of course I recognized you. You were in the front row. You lowered your paddle. I saw it clearly.”

“You shouldn’t have closed the bidding! I had my paddle up! I want to see the videotape!”

“Sorry, Mr. Tang, but we don’t tape our sessions.”

Fitzwilliams made a slight motion to one of the security guards, which Bill Tang caught. He turned and quickly pushed his way up the center aisle to the row where Stuart Miller sat. Madame Wang had the presence of mind to stand and edge out of the way. Tang threw her chair into the aisle and shoved his face to just inches from Stuart’s.

“You took what’s mine!”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong there, Bill,” Stuart responded good-naturedly. “Everyone in this room saw me bow out.”

A pair of guards reached Bill Tang, but when they tried to take his arms he shook them off and grabbed Stuart by the lapels. “You took what’s mine, and I’ll get it back!”

Stuart stayed relaxed as he said evenly, “I may have driven up the price a bit. I’ll happily admit to that.” The words and the smile on Stuart’s face further infuriated Tang. He shoved the entrepreneur back with such force that his chair toppled over, which caused the two people behind Stuart to fall as well. Then Tang scuffled with the guards and was led to the back of the room. David helped Stuart to his feet. Madame Wang brushed him off and straightened his jacket and tie. After a little flurry of activity as chairs were righted and more champagne poured, the auction resumed for the last lots as though nothing had happened.

But something very significant had happened. David had recognized Bill Tang as soon has he’d come barging up the center aisle. The man whom Stuart Miller knew as Bill Tang, a foreign-born high-tech industrialist from the Silicon Valley, David had seen just last night standing on a ledge in a cave on the banks of the Yangzi River. Bill Tang was the man who called himself Tang Wenting, a lieutenant in the All-Patriotic Society, who just four days ago in Tiananmen Square had labeled Hulan “mother killer,” and who last night in the cave had singled out Stuart Miller for special censure.

David had desperately and repeatedly tried to shift Hulan’s focus away from the All-Patriotic Society in an effort to unlock her heart, but she’d been right all along. The cult
was
at the center of this, although he still had no idea what
this
was. The questions were startling and confusing. Who was the unnamed bidder on the other end of the telephone line? Who—
what—
was Bill Tang? What exactly was this
ruyi—
which was valued at three thousand dollars but had just sold for more than $3 million? Had last night in the cave been a ruse to push Hulan into investigating Stuart at the dam, thereby delaying or halting entirely the entrepreneur’s trip to the auction? Or had it been designed to get Hulan away from Bashan for some as yet unknown reason? David didn’t know the answers, but he had to get them, because Hulan was up there in Bashan without a clue that any of this had happened.

He pulled out her cell phone and dialed the Panda Guesthouse just as the hammer came down one last time and people applauded. All he got was an electronic whine, and he tucked the phone back in his pocket. Quickly everyone stood and began heading to the banquet room. David looked around. Bill Tang was still at the back of the room, negotiating with the guards. David had made a terrible mistake in judgment, and he had to act fast. He tried to push his way through the crowd that had suddenly clustered around Stuart to congratulate him on his triumph. It took a few seconds before David realized that Stuart was being congratulated not for the purchase of the cloisonné
ruyi
but for that of the Site 518
ruyi.
Stuart acted charming, effusively accepting praise one moment, then coyly denying that he knew anything about the
ruyi
the next. “You were in the room,” he said to Nixon Chen. “You saw me drop out.” This elicited raucous laughter from the other well-wishers. Stuart’s show of bidding then dropping out had just been comical pretense for those in the know.

Dr. Ma waited at the end of the aisle. “Mr. Miller, I hope that you’ll return what is China’s to China.”

“If I did that, Dr. Ma, then I wouldn’t have anything in my collection.” Stuart beamed happily.

“I’m not asking for everything, only the Site 518
ruyi.
”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stuart turned to Madame Wang and took her by the elbow. “Come along, dear,” he said, and they swept into the party.

Ma disappeared into the crowd. David edged forward, then stopped. Ma had told him to get the
ruyi.
Logic told David to stick with Stuart Miller. He might even be able to convince the entrepreneur to give it back of his own free will tonight. David had several persuasive arguments, and Stuart might want to avoid a lengthy—and public—legal battle. But David wanted answers, and instinct told him that the person he needed them from was Bill Tang, who was just now finishing up with the guards, shaking hands, and smiling. David hurried to the elevator, rode it down to the lobby, and found a place to stand where he hoped he wouldn’t be noticed. Sure enough, a few minutes later Bill Tang stepped into the lobby, purposefully strode across the marble floor, and left through the revolving doors. David waited just a fraction of a second, then followed Tang out into the night.