"They were hardly normal times, were they?"

"No. Civil war between the Communists and the Nationalists. Invasion by Japan.

Then the knockdown years until the Communists finally won in forty-nine. I would guess that David's father told him not to come back until it was all over. And then, of course, the wrong people had won-if you were a Shanghai millionaire.

David bounced around, quietly accumulating degrees; money was never a problem, I gather, and at the end of it all, there was nothing to come back to-the Wang empire was just one more victim of revolution. Whether he was cut off from his family or broke with them I don't know, but he never mentioned them. He settled in at St. Edward's and never left. I suppose he-"

"Excuse me. That'll be my boys." Powell caught the phone on the second ring.

Stratton stared out the window at weeping willows in the overgrown courtyard.

When the consul returned, Stratton sensed there was no news.

"We've got Dr. Wang listed at the Heping Hotel. The culture officers had invited him to call or come by when he got back from Xian, but so far no one's heard from him. Maybe he just decided to spend an extra day or two at the digs."

"Maybe so," Stratton said, unconvinced.

"Our fellas are a little disappointed, too. They're looking forward to meeting your Dr. Wang. You know about his brother?"

"David told me he was a vice minister or something."

"A deputy minister, Mr. Stratton. Deputy minister of art and culture. A big gun.

His name is Wang Bin. He's in charge of new archaeological digs and the big museum here."

Stratton said, "Maybe I'll just drop by David's hotel to see if there's a message for me. What was the name again?"

"Heping," Powell said. "It means 'peace.' It's a nice place, off the usual Peking trails. I can draw you a map… "