Emma sat stunned, unable to speak. Zuberan glanced at the house, then continued.
“Smuggling guns was an extremely serious offense in those days, but somehow Etienne managed to find the right official to bribe. We were in jail for only a few weeks. My mother came and stayed with Marie the whole time. Things were strained between Etienne and me from then on, however. I felt humiliated, betrayed. I was a young man, just starting out. I was grateful that Etienne had taken me out of the gutter, but now, thanks to him, I would have a criminal record for the rest of my life. That is why I have never talked about this to anyone. I was ashamed. I am still ashamed.”
Emma started to speak, but fell silent as the white-haired houseboy appeared from the house carrying a silver tray with her coffee. The man walked briskly to the table, placed elegant blue-and-white porcelain cups in front of them, and from a silver pot with a looping ivory handle poured coffee that smelled as if it had been brewed for a god.
“Thank you,” whispered Emma as the servant finished his task and retreated back to the house.
Up to this point Zuberan's story had been excitement itself. It was wonderful to imagine that Etienne Lalou, the mysterious Frenchman who had owned the
Kaito Spirit
, was really her dear grandfather, Jacques Passant, and that he had found some kind of sunken treasure. Now, however, Emma felt sick. If Zuberan was telling the truth, it meant that her sweet little Pépé had been a criminal when he was young.
Not that smuggling was such a terrible crime, Emma rationalizedâespecially
if you were very poor and living in a place like Peguero's San Marcos. Emma was certain that Pépé must have had very good reasons to do what he did.
Suddenly many things began to make senseâfor instance, why Jacques Passant would never tell Emma about his past. She had always believed her grandfather was simply a private person. Apparently he had also had something to hide. Perhaps, like Señor Zuberan, he was ashamed, too.
“For several months Etienne kept the dragon hidden in a false compartment in the bow of the
Kaito Spirit,”
said Zuberan, resuming his story. “It was pleasant, dreaming of how we would be able to buy a bigger boat with all the money Etienne would get from selling his treasure one dayâmore pleasant than thinking how we would actually get it off the island without being cheated or killed in the process. With the dragon sailing with us in its hiding place, our lives on the
Kaito Spirit
had not really changed, but somehow we felt richer, more optimistic. The tensions that had grown between us after the arrest began to fade. Then Marie got sick.”
“What happened?” said Emma, her hand moving involuntarily to her throat.
“I do not know,” said Zuberan. “She left the island and went to stay with an aunt in New York. It was not supposed to be serious, but Etienne soon came to me, distraught. He said Marie had taken a turn for the worse. She was now very ill and needed an operation. Etienne had to find the cash to pay for her treatment. His only hope was to smuggle the dragon out of the country, but how? The answer was suddenly obviousâthe model of the
Kaito Spirit
I had just completed.”
“The model? You built it?”
“It took me over a year to carve the pieces and assemble them,” said Zuberan. “I had learned the art of model-building from an old Portuguese seaman at the marina. I had built many models, but the
Kaito Spirit
was my masterpiece. I had planned to keep
what little savings I had in its secret compartment.”
“Secret compartment?”
“Yes, if you put your finger through the window and turned the tiny steering wheel, the cabin would slide back, revealing a hollowed-out interior.”
“âThat she may take her place at the helm and turn the wheel on the legacy that I have kept hidden from her ⦠.'”
“I beg your pardon?” said Zuberan.
“That's what my grandfather said in his will about the model of the
Kaito Spirit,”
said Emma.
“Then it all fits,” said Zuberan with a deep sigh. “Inside the model of the
Kaito Spirit
, wrapped in rags so it would not knock around, we placed the golden dragon. Etienne planned to sell it in New York to pay for Marie's operation. The authorities were alert to the possibility of Etienne smuggling in contraband, but they saw no danger in a sentimental sailor taking with him a model of his boat.
“When Etienne left, he asked me to take care of the real
Kaito Spirit
. He said he would return in a month or two, but that was the last time I ever saw him. As I promised, I took care of the
Kaito Spirit
. I eventually parlayed it into a whole marina full of boats, into everything I have today. Years later, after I had become a rich man, I hired the best investigators to find him, but Etienne had left no trace. There was no aunt in New York that we could find, no record of Marie's operation, no word about the sale of a priceless gold dragon.”
Emma took a sip of her coffee. It was lukewarm now. And bitter.
“At least that part of the mystery is finally solved,” Zuberan said softly. “Etienne must have kept it. He must have still had it when he was killed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The dragon. Marie must have recovered without needing the operation, which is why there was no record of it. And since
Marie never needed the operation, Etienne wouldn't have had to sell the dragon.”
“You mean, all these years this thing was there on his dresser in the model of the
Kaito Spirit?”
gasped Emma.
“Until your antique dealer killed him for it,” answered Zuberan, staring out over the ocean.
“No,” said Emma. “That can't be. Mr. Caraignac didn't even know my grandfather. He was just a stranger I met on a ferry.”
“You are sure?”
Emma started to speak, then stopped. She wasn't sure of anything anymore. Was it mere coincidence that Henri-Pierre had been on the Sausalito ferry that day? Or had he been following her? How could she be sure that Henri-Pierre hadn't taken the model? It had been the model, not the real
Kaito Spirit
, that had been her legacy all along. And if Henri-Pierre had taken the model, perhaps he had also â¦
“If Henri-Pierre killed my grandfather,” Emma said, her voice cracking, “then who killed him? And why?”
“Why is very clear,” said Zuberan soberly. “With its long chain, the dragon weighed nearly a pound. A pound of solid gold would be motivation for many men to kill, but its value as an historical artifact was incalculably greaterâa fortune, for all I know. Perhaps the antique dealer shopped it around for the best price. Perhaps someone to whom he tried to sell it wanted the dragon without having to pay for it. Perhaps he had a greedy partner.”
“I don't believe it,” Emma said softly. “None of this makes any sense. If what you say is true, then why couldn't my grandfather ever return to San Marcos? He hadn't stolen anything. The dragon belonged to him.”
“Yes,” said Zuberan. “This thought has occurred to me as well. It may be that your grandfather was afraid Peguero's agents had gotten wind of his secret. They were very greedy men. They still are.
“What do you mean? Wasn't Peguero assassinated years ago?”
“Yes, but he had been in power for many years. The men who worked for him and their sons live in wealthy exile all over the world. They still scheme how they can return to power here and squeeze the country dry again.”
“Are you saying that one of them might be involved in this?”
“Anything is possible, but one thing is unmistakable: if you find the dragon, you will find the killer.”
“It's hopeless then,” said Emma. “It could be anywhere in the world by now.”
“Perhaps not,” said Zuberan. “One cannot sell something so unique just anywhere. If the murderer has any degree of sophistication, he will know that the dragon can realize its full value only in a very esoteric and rarefied marketplace.”
“Like where?” asked Emma. “Where would you sell such a thing?”
“I would go where Jacques went. Where your antique dealer had come from and no doubt expected to return. Where the world's elite congregate to spend their money, and where the world's most unusual treasures change hands at the world's great auction houses. I would go to New York City.”
Â
“I ate ice cream. I watched VCR and played Nintendo!” declared Timoteo, his eyes bright, his white teeth flashing in a carefree smile. Another of the blue-suited men, looking distinctly worn out, had just brought him from the house.
“I'm glad you had a good time,” said Emma, leaning over from her seat behind the steering wheel and opening the car door.
“Are you sure you won't stay for dinner?” asked Zuberan from the curb. “I have very nice rooms. I can put you both up for the night. For as long as you wish. I would like very much to get to know you better, Emma.”
“Thank you, Senor Zuberan, but we really have to be getting back. There are things I must do.”
“Please call me Bernal. We are friends, yes?”
“Yes ⦠Bernal.”
“You are going on to New York then?”
Emma nodded.
“I am having grave reservations about this now, my dear,” said Zuberan, looking uncomfortable. “I regret now suggesting it to you. The idea of your pursuing a trail that might lead to a killer makes me very uncomfortable.”
“Don't worry about me,” said Emma, smiling and tousling Timoteo's hair. “If things get tough, I can always send for my bodyguard here.”
When Timoteo made a face and pulled away, she playfully grabbed his nose and gave it a yank. A little gold coin the size of a dime seemed to materialize out of it and dropped into her hand.
“How you do that?” exclaimed Timoteo. “Teach me, teach me.”
“May I see that?” said Zuberan. Emma handed him the coin. He stared at it, his face unreadable.
“Where did you get this?”
“Pépé said he won it in a poker game. Why?”
“Just before he left, I persuaded Etienne to return to the spot where we had come upon the dragon, though how he found it again I do not know. He was the sailor, I was just his helper. I thought maybe we might discover something elseâa whole wreck, perhaps. I made one dive and came up with a single coin. A gold two-escudo piece. Like this one. Etienne said we didn't have time to make a proper search, but he made a map and said we would come back when he returned with Marie to San Marcos. He told me to keep the gold coin we had found. Before he left I gave it back to him to help pay for Marie's operation. He tried to refuse, of course, but I insisted he take it. I never saw him again. He never returned.”
Zuberan tried to hand the coin back to Emma, but she shook her head.
“You keep it, Bernal,” she said. “I think Pépé would want you to have it back.”
Zuberan did not speak for a moment.
“Please stay in touch and let me know how you are doing,” he said finally. “I have powerful friends in New York. I may be able to help you again.”
“That's very kind of you.”
“I am not being simply polite, Emma. I have a personal interest in this matter. In Etienne. In you, now.”
Emma bit her lip and nodded, then turned to Timoteo.
“Don't you have something to say to Señor Zuberan?” she asked.
The boy's face lit up.
“Will you hire me to be one of your guards and carry a big gun?”
“Maybe when you grow up.” Zuberan laughed. “Come and see me in a few years.”
“I can do it now,” said Timoteo eagerly. “I am very strong and very smart.”
“That I can see.”
“If you were really smart, you would know enough to thank the man,” muttered Emma.
“Thank you, señor!” shouted Timoteo with a big smile. “I will be back soon.”
“You come back soon, too, Emma,” said Zuberan quietly, leaning down toward the window. “You are always welcome here.”
“Thanks. For everything.”
“I believe there are no accidents, Emma. I believe that fate brings people together, brings them what they need. That is why it brought you here to me. It is what brought me to you. Promise me you will be careful. And don't put too much trust in the police. They are all bunglers and fools.”
“I promise,” Emma said softly. “Good-bye, Bernal.”
“Adiós, Emma Passant.”
He placed his hands behind his back as she drove away. Emma watched him in the rearview mirror as she headed down the road toward the gate. He never moved. The concerned expression on his face never changed.