The Scratch on the Ming Vase by Caroline Stellings Page B

bus stops, markets, and homes with blooming lilies and mai-say-lan trees on their front lawns. Everything looked so normal, so peaceful.
    Kimo Moi didn’t say a word. He barreled eastward through the downtown core until he came to that part of Oahu where the urban core meets the greener outskirts and high-rise buildings begin to mix with old Japanese temples and monkeypod trees. Up and down the winding slopes of the Manoa Valley he careened, occasionally turning his head just enough to look at Nicki out of the corner of his eye.
    She kept focused on what she had to do: she kept her muscles relaxed, her mind calm, and went over everything she’d learned in her years of training.
    Action, not reaction.
    If attacked, place yourself in a position of advantage while allowing your opponent to enter a position of disadvantage .
    Moi made his way to a residential area. Spread across an overgrown green hillside was the old Chinese cemetery, where graves dated back to some of the earliest immigrants to cross the Pacific Ocean. It caught Nicki’s eye, and she was momentarily deep in thought, until the police captain pulled his cruiser into a driveway and parked. Bougainvillea vines climbed up the high wooden fence that surrounded the house.
    â€œHe might be in here,” he muttered.
    Nicki followed him to the porch.
    Every window shade was drawn.
    He knocked once, then thrust open the door and threw her inside.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” came a voice from the next room. “I thought you were—”
    Newman stopped dead when he saw Nicki standing there.
    Moi closed the door and locked it.
    â€œWhat the…?” Newman’s eyes flew open, and his jaw dropped to the floor. “What’s she doing here?”
    â€œYou know this girl?”
    â€œShe’s a housekeeper. In Toronto. But—”
    â€œWhere is he?” Nicki demanded. “Where’s the professor?” She ran into the kitchen, then the living room.
    â€œStop her!” hollered Newman.
    She pulled open a door that led downstairs into a cellar.
    â€œDon’t go down there,” screamed Moi.
    She could hear the faint muffled sound of a man’s voice. “I’m coming,” she said, and started down.
    Moi drew his gun. “Make one more move and I’ll kill you.”

Chapter Twenty-One

    Nicki turned around slowly and came back up the stairs. Then she spoke to Newman directly.
    â€œYou’ll be charged with the attempted murder of David Kahana, you know.” She moved carefully, taking very small steps. She kept a conversation going with Newman, but never took her eyes off Moi. “Not to mention espionage.”
    â€œWho do you think you are?” said Newman. Then he looked at Moi. “I hired this kid a few days ago.”
    â€œI wish you hadn’t.” Moi kept the gun pointed at Nicki.
    She spotted a large box with several layers of mailing tape wrapped around it.
    â€œThe vase. It’s in there, isn’t it?”
    When they didn’t reply, she continued. “I know you’re a double agent, Mr. Newman—a mole for the People’s Republic of China. You knew when Master Kahana would be alone at the school. You knew he was there to meet Professor Aisin-Gioro. You stabbed him, took the vase, and then put a phony in the safe in room 813 to cover your tracks.
    â€œThat replica,” continued Nicki, “came from the Honolulu Police Department museum—it was a stand-in for the real one in the vault. Captain Moi here must have sent it to you.
    She took a long, deep breath.
    â€œI know that you are both working for Chinese Intelligence—it’s the only way you could have known about the Ming being transferred. What I don’t know is whether you confiscated the vase on orders from the Chinese government, or planned on disappearing with a fortune for yourselves. Either way, you had to make sure the professor never made it to Toronto. I