Golden Buddha

Hanley watched as the first light slowed, then stopped.

“Signal Barrett that they have arrived.”

Spenser was staring at the operation in amazement. He was just about to ask Hanley a question when the door to the control room opened and Sam Pryor walked in. “Take this man to the brig,” Hanley ordered, “and secure him.”

“Level?” Pryor asked.

“Minimum,” Hanley said, “but you stay with him—he’s not to use any communications devices or talk to anyone. You can feed him and you may allow him to sleep or use the entertainment system for television or movies, but no computer.”

“Yes, sir,” Pryor said.

Hanley turned to Spenser. “You fulfilled your end of the bargain,” he said. “Don’t try anything stupid now and we’ll do exactly what we promised.”

Pryor started to lead Spenser away by his arm. “When will I be free to go?” the art dealer asked.

“We’ll let you know,” Hanley said, “but it will be soon.”

Pryor led Spenser into the hall. Just before the door closed, he looked back to see Hanley begin to peel the latex mask from his face.

BARRETT heard a beep in his earpiece and stared at the shoreline with his binoculars. A quick flash of headlights appeared like twin explosions in the green screen of his night-lit viewer, then the white dots faded to black.

Barrett flashed the docking lights on the Scarab, then steered closer to shore.

Tom Reyes finished wiping his fingerprints off the steering wheel and controls, then twisted the key to off. Turning around in the seat, he stared at Cabrillo and Nixon.

“We’re clean and green, boss,” Reyes said as he slid the keys into his pocket.

“Let’s go get wet,” Cabrillo said as he opened the rear door of the cab.

Nixon climbed from the cab, clutching the last box of props and tools, and followed Reyes and Cabrillo to the water. Staring to the east, he could just make out the sky begi

Barrett angled as close to shore as he dared, then tilted the drive up to avoid rocks. Cabrillo waded into the water and grabbed the bow and held it in place. Reyes climbed into the Scarab, then took the box Nixon held in his arms. Placing it on the deck, he reached over again and helped Nixon over the gunwale. Once Nixon was on the deck, Cabrillo gave the Scarab a push backward and reached for Reyes’s hand. As the boat drifted backward he climbed over the side and Barrett lowered the drive and slid the control into reverse.

Slowly, he backed away from the southernmost edge of the airport island.

Once free from obstructions, Barrett slid the control forward and steered toward the Oregon.

“WHAT do you mean?” Hanley asked.

“The lead detective sent for buckets of paint,” Michael Halpert said quietly. “They are pla

“I understand,” Hanley said. “Good job. You can return to the Oregonnow.”

Stone was studying the returns on the radar scope and he turned to Hanley. “Barrett is headed back across the water. He should reach us in a few minutes.”

Hanley was watching the storm scope.

“Make sure there are a couple of deckhands standing by,” Hanley ordered. “We need the Scarab back in the hangar and out of sight.”

“Yes, sir,” Stone said as he reached for the microphone.

SUNG Rhee walked over to the suspect, who had been moved under the overhang just outside the departure terminal at the airport. In the bright lights spilling from inside the terminal, the man looked vaguely familiar.

“One of your partners turned on you,” Rhee said, “and phoned in your location.”

The man stared at Rhee with a look that contained equal parts pity and contempt. “I’ve got no idea what you are talking about.”

“There is no reason to try to be coy with us,” Rhee said. “We caught you red-handed.”

“You caught nothing,” the man said. “I was buying a piece of art, and a team of thieves scammed me. They’re the ones you should be harassing, not me.”

“When did you arrive in Macau?” Rhee asked.

“A couple of hours ago,” the man replied.

“The last ferryboat was three hours ago,” Rhee said, “and the next does not leave for two more. In addition, there are no commercial airline flights from the hours of one a.m. until five a.m. Your story is obvious nonsense.”

“I have my own jet,” the man noted.

“Indeed. Where is it now?” Rhee asked.

“I have no idea,” the man said. “The thieves stole it.”

“How convenient,” Rhee said. “You understand: If you refuse to answer our questions, we can make this very uncomfortable.”

The billionaire’s ire was rising fast. Any dealings with bureaucrats were usually limited to him telling them what he wanted to do. He was tired, slightly hungover and missing his hundred million dollars.

He looked right into Rhee’s eyes.

“Listen, you asshole,” the man said. “My 737 was stolen from your airport, and inside was a briefcase containing one hundred million dollars in bearer bonds. I don’t know what the hell has been happening tonight in this little pisspot of a country, but if you just unhook me from these handcuffs and let me use a telephone, I can clear this up in about ten minutes.”

Had Rhee listened to the billionaire, the 737 might have been tracked. Instead, the man’s belligerent attitude doomed him. Rhee motioned to one of the officers holding the man’s arms. “Take him to headquarters,” he said.

BARRETT steered the Scarab into the sling, then Barrett, Cabrillo, Reyes and Nixon climbed up the boarding ladder while the deckhands secured the boat.

“Doing some operation time tonight,” Cabrillo said to Barrett. “Do you like it?”

“Not as easy as frosting a cake,” Barrett admitted, “but a lot more exciting.”

The four men walked through a hatch into the interior of the Oregon. Cabrillo motioned down the hallway. “You men go and clean up. I’ve still got some work to do.”

The men started down the hallway to their cabins.

“Hey,” Cabrillo said to the retreating men, “good job.”

Then he walked down to the control room and opened the door. Stepping inside, he began to unbutton his wet shirt, then turned to Hanley.

“Where are we at, Max?”

FOUR feet of space remained between the surface of the rising water and the top of the storm sewer. The batteries on the hard-hat lights were growing dim, the water was rising fast, and the men could no longer safely climb from the raft to steer the Golden Buddha along.

Meadows had lashed the rafts together, and he and Jones were on each side where the two rafts met, standing in a half crouch. As the rafts careened along, they attempted to alter their direction by pushing against the hard sides of the pipe with their legs.

“Junction coming up,” Hornsby shouted. “We need the left cha

At the V in the pipes just ahead, the fast-flowing water was being parted like the bow wake on a nuclear submarine. Chunks of debris littered the water, the roof of the pipe was dripping so hard they might as well have been outside, and the pair of rafts was accelerating almost beyond control.

Jones watched ahead and timed his action. As the rafts reached a spot twenty feet in advance of the V, he reached over with his leg and shoved against the wall. The rafts lumbered to the left side, and then were carried in the current past the junction.

“We made that one,” Jones shouted, “but if we get much more water in this pipe, we’re going to have trouble on the next one.”