“You think it is truly possible?”
“I think anything’s possible,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I’m associated with people who are working hard to make it happen. Our candidate for tsar is a grand duke with first-rate credentials, and I think his popular support base is growing nicely. Oh, I wouldn’t rush out and put my money in tsarist bonds, not just yet. But I think we’ve got a chance.”
“And if your grand duke becomes the tsar? Then will I be able to get a Russian passport?”
“You could probably get more than that,” I said. “You’re probably in line for a title. Your grandfather was a count or something, wasn’t he?”
“My great-grandfather,” she said. “My grandfather was a general in the Kuomintang.”
“The point is you’re descended from the Russian nobility. You can’t expect a restoration of lands and privileges, but you might wind up with a title.”
“A title,” she said. “I would be happy with a passport and a plane ticket. Any sort of passport, and a ticket to any place but Burma. I can’t stay here much longer, Evan. I am down to my last ruby.”
“The ring?”
She nodded, and rubbed the tip of her forefinger against the dark red stone. “I had a little packet of them,” she said. “I know nothing about rubies. I was afraid a dealer would try to cheat me. And I knew the stones would be more valuable outside of Burma. In Amsterdam, say, or London or Paris. But even in India they would bring a higher price than here. That is why Nizam was able to make money buying rubies here and smuggling them back to Jaipur.”
“So you didn’t want to sell them all.”
“And get worthless kyat for them? No, of course not. I found a dealer who seemed to be honest, or at least more honest than the rest of them. And I sold him a stone and used the money to live on, and when it was gone I went back and sold him another stone. I thought the rubies would last forever, but nothing lasts forever. I have rent to pay and I have to feed myself, and I spend far too much money on bad whiskey. But I have nothing else, Evan, and so I buy ayet piu and drink it.”
“Isn’t there any kind of work you can do?”
“I tried giving English lessons. But so many Burmese speak English, especially the older people who remember when the British were here. And my English is not so good, anyway. There is no other work for me.” She fingered the ring. “The last ruby. I have money enough for a few more weeks, maybe a month. And then I sell the ring, and in a few months that money is gone. It is no good, Evan. I must get out of Burma.”
“It’s good the Englishman in Room 514 didn’t run off with your ring.”
“It is funny. I thought he might. And I almost hoped he would, because that would mean I would not have to sell it.” She held out her hand so I could look at the stone. “It was not in the packet,” she said. “Those were all unset stones. This was a gift, Nizam gave it to me. It is all I have left from my marriage.”
“Maybe you won’t have to sell it,” I said. “Speaking of selling, what do you suppose these are worth?”
“The carvings? I don’t know. They are Burmese, which makes them much rarer than the Chinese. And they are old, and very finely done. A few hundred each, certainly.”
“Dollars?”
“Of course. Perhaps much more than that. They could be valuable rarities, museum pieces, even. But you cannot take them out of Burma because they are antiques.”
“And you couldn’t bring them into the U.S.”
“Because they are old?”
“Because they are ivory. The importation of ivory is prohibited in order to discourage poachers from killing elephants.”
“But this elephant was killed hundreds of years ago.”
“The law doesn’t distinguish between old and new ivory.”
“And does it work? Does it stop the slaughter of elephants?”
“Maybe it slows it down a little. Anyway, we can’t take these guys out of Burma or into the United States. Maybe the best thing to do is sell them here. Except-”
“Yes?”
“Well, the man who got killed didn’t just stick these in his pocket. He had them taped to the small of his back. He went to a lot of trouble to safeguard them.”
“Yes. I think perhaps they are stolen.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“From an important collection,” she said. “Perhaps from the National Museum.”
“So they might be extremely valuable.”
“Yes.”
“And completely unsalable. We can’t take them out of Burma or into the U.S., and we can’t sell them here. In fact, if they’re important pieces and they’ve been stolen recently, it’s probably dangerous to have them in our possession.”
“That is possible,” she agreed.
“Well, I’m really glad I took them off the corpse,” I said, “and even happier that I sent you chasing after them. When they’re done hanging us for the kilo of heroin, they can string us up all over again for stealing national relics.” I shook my head. “I never should have sent you to the Strand, Katya.”
“But it was an adventure,” she said. “And a gentleman bought me a drink, and I listened to a Chinese man play Cole Porter. He played well, Evan. The music did not sound Chinese at all.”
“That’s remarkable.”
She put her hand on mine. “And I did what you asked me to do. So now it is your turn, my Vanya. Take me out of this country.”
“Heroin, ivory, and thou,” I said. “Three things I can’t take out of Burma.”
“But you will.”
“I’ve been thinking,” I said, “and there might be a way. Do you have any money at all?”
“Just kyat, and not very much. A few thousand.”
“Let me have a couple hundred.”
“All right.”
“And have a look across the street every once in a while, in case I can’t slip past the clerk when I come back.”
“All right.”
“And hide those things, the dope and the carvings.”
“Where?”
Where indeed? “Lock the door,” I said, “and if the cops come, throw them out the window.”
“All right.”
“The statue and the carvings, I mean. Not the cops.”
“I knew what you meant, Evan. This carving is Good Luck. Touch him before you go.”
“And his buddies are Good Health and Long Life? I’ll tell you what,” I said. “I’ll touch them all.”
Chapter 15
“Change money,” the fellow murmured. “Change money.”
He was tall and thin, with an infection leaking pus in the corner of one eye. He wore a navy blue longyi and a Reebok T-shirt and carried a canvas shoulder bag, presumably chockful of kyat to be exchanged for dollars.
“I’m looking for a money changer,” I said.
“This is good,” he said, “for I am a money changer, the best in Rangoon. Let us have a cup of tea and we shall do some business.”
“The money changer I am looking for,” I said, “is named Ku Min.”
“You do not want to do business with this man. I will give you a much better rate.”
“I already changed all my money,” I said. “I have other business with him.”
“He is a money changer. What other business could you have with him?”
“It is personal business,” I said.
“Personal.”
“Yes.”
“I am the man for this personal business,” he said, taking my arm. “I can get you a much better girl than Ku Min can. More younger, more cleaner.” He cupped his hands and held them to his chest. “Bigger tits,” he said. “You American, right?”
“Right.”
“So you like big tits. I get you girl with great tits.”
“I don’t want a girl,” I said, “or a boy or a chicken.”
“A chicken?”
“Never mind.”
“Wait,” he said. I had started to walk away, and he was walking with me. “You sure you want Ku Min? He is Shan, you know.”
“I know.”
“You are more better off,” he said, “doing personal business with me.”