  “I think we’d better get down to Ling Tang’s shop this morning,” Mr. Brewster said. “It must be something important for him to have called so early. Especially if he knows Biff is leaving for Burma tomorrow.” Biff waited until his father had finished his second cup of coffee, and then rose from the table. “All set, Dad?” he asked. “I’ll get the car.” Not until they were in the car did Biff bring up the subject of the ring. “What do you think of this, Dad?” He took his key chain from his pocket, removed the ring, and placed it in his father’s hand. Thomas Brewster looked at the ring carefully. “It’s a beautiful ring. Jade. Where did you get it?” “Someone threw it at me this morning,” Biff said, a grin on his tanned face. “Threw it at you? What do you mean?” Biff explained quickly, then handed the note to his father. “Read this.” Mr. Brewster read the words: “Fortune shines upon, and the gods protect, the wearer of this ring.” He looked back at his son, shaking his head in puzzlement. “This is all? You haven’t any idea who the man was?” “Not the faintest, Dad.” “H-m-m.” Mr. Brewster studied the ring again. “Jade, and it looks Chinese. That call from Ling Tang may be connected with this in some way.” “Hey! Maybe you’ve hit on something!” Biff exclaimed. It was nine o’clock when Biff and his father entered the small Chinese curio shop of Ling Tang. Ling Tang, a small, neat man in his middle thirties, greeted them with a deep bow. “You honor my humble establishment by your presence,” he said. “Rather it is you who honor us by inviting us here,” Mr. Brewster replied, falling easily into the polite form of greeting used by the Chinese. Ling Tang’s shop was filled with graceful Chinese urns and vases, beautifully decorated with green and red dragons, flowers, and tree-filled valleys. Chinese fans hung from wires stretched from wall to wall. In glass-covered cases were carved idols of jade and delicate pieces of ivory. A heavy aroma of incense filled the small store. Ling Tang had attended Butler University in Indianapolis with Charles Keene, the uncle Biff was going to visit. They had become close friends, and this had led to a friendship with the entire Brewster family. On graduating, Ling Tang had returned to China. After several years, when the political atmosphere of Red China had put a stern, cruel check on freedom of movement and freedom of speech, Ling Tang had fled his beloved country and returned to America. He had opened his shop and thrived. “We received your message, Tang,” Mr. Brewster said. Ling Tang placed the tips of his long, well-cared-for fingers together. “It is true that your son goes to Burma soon?” “Yes. Tomorrow.” Tang’s face remained expressionless. “Perhaps what I have to tell you is of no importance. I do not wish to alarm you.” He paused. “This trip was arranged several months ago?” Biff and his father nodded their heads. “And there has been no attempt to keep it secret?” “There was no need to,” Thomas Brewster stated. “I wonder. Was the boy’s trip not arranged when my good friend Charles Keene visited here last?” “Yes. But I don’t see—” Biff began. “Your Uncle Charles had just returned from Cape Canaveral, had he not?” Biff nodded his head. Uncle Charlie had been in the Navy for several years. He was a pilot in the squadron of planes assigned to tracking missiles fired from the Cape into the South Atlantic. It was the squadron’s task to recover the instrument-loaded nose cones dropped from the powerful rockets. Uncle Charlie had bounced around the world quite a bit. He had flown a fighter plane during the Korean conflict and had traveled as much as he could about the Orient on his furlough time. He remained in the Navy following Korea, and was delighted when he was assigned to Canaveral. But after two years there, his traveling feet told him, “I want out.” So he had resigned his commission to join an old pilot friend establishing a fleet of planes for Explorations Unlimited, in Burma. Charles Keene wanted badly to get back to the Orient. He was fascinated by the eastern countries so different from his own. “I’m interested in the money, too,” he told the Brewster family on his visit. “There’re plenty of American businesses building up in the Orient. Flying for this outfit in Burma is real opportunity and big money. I want some of both before I’m too old.” Explorations Unlimited had its headquarters at Unhao, on the Irrawaddy River, northeast of Rangoon near the Chinese border. “Why don’t you ship Biff out to me for a few weeks?” Uncle Charlie had suggested. “He could get a glimpse of the other side of the world—learn a lot, too.” Those words had been music to Biff’s young ears. A family council had been held, and it had been agreed that the trip would be a good way for Biff to spend the remainder of his summer vacation. “About a month after your uncle’s visit,” Tang continued, “two men, countrymen of mine, traveling on Burmese passports, arrived here. They asked many questions about your uncle.” “I still don’t see what that has to do with Biff’s going to Rangoon,” Mr. Brewster said. “I try your patience,” Tang said. “Now to my point. Only last night these same two men came again to our city. This time, they were most curious about your son, Biff.” |
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