Flood Tide

The shock wave swept against the Oregon, and the following tidal surge from the sinking destroyer rocked her as if she was landlocked in an earthquake. On the bridge, Cabrillo had not seen the final death throes of the Chengdo. Only seconds before Pitt's shrewdly directed fire turned her into a smoldering wreck, the destroyer's light guns had converged their fire on the bridge, pounding it into a shower of debris and shattered glass, as if struck by a thousand sledgehammers. Cabrillo felt the air tear apart around him in a concert of explosions. His arms flailed at the air as he was struck and hurled backward from the bridge into the wheelhouse. He fell to the deck, closed his eyes tightly and wrapped his arms around the brass bi

On the deck below, Pitt released the trigger grip and retraced his steps through the wreckage littering the cargo deck. He reached Giordino and helped him upright. Giordino put his arm around Pitt's waist to steady himself, and then withdrew it, staring at a hand stained with red. “It appears to me that you've developed a leak.”

Pitt gave him a tight grin. “I must remember to stick my finger in it.”

Assured Pitt's wound was not serious, Giordino gestured at Seng and the others and said, “These guys are seriously injured. We must help them.”

“Do what you can to make them comfortable until the ship's surgeon can tend to them,” Pitt said as he looked up at the ruins of what had been the bridge, now a tangled mass of debris. “If Cabrillo is still alive I should try to help him.”

The ladder to the bridge wing from the cargo deck was a tangled piece of scrap, and Pitt had to scale the shell-riddled, twisted mass of steel that had been the aft superstructure to reach the wheelhouse. The shattered interior was deadly quiet.

The only sounds came from the racing beat of the engines and the rash of water along the hull as the badly punished ship raced from the scene of the battle, strangely enhancing the eerie silence. Pitt slowly entered Satan's scrap heap, stepping over the rabble.

There were no bodies of a helmsman or first officer in the wheelhouse—all fire-combat systems had been operated from the control center under the forecastle. Cabrillo had observed and directed the battle alone on the seldom-used bridge. Through the edge of unconsciousness he saw a vague figure approach and push aside the splintered remains of the door. Awkwardly, he straggled to sit up. One leg responded but the other proved powerless. His thoughts seemed lost in a fog. He was only dimly aware of someone kneeling beside him.

“Your leg took a nasty hit,” said Pitt as he tore off his shirt and tightened it above the wound to stop the bleeding. “How's the rest of you?”

Cabrillo held up the remains of a shattered pipe. “The bastards rained my best briar.”

“You're lucky it wasn't your skull.” Reaching up, Cabrillo grasped Pitt's arm. “You made it through. I thought you bought a tombstone for sure.”

“Didn't someone tell you,” he said, smiling, “I'm indestructible, thanks in large part to the body armor you suggested I check out.”

“The Chengdo?”

“Settling in the mud on the bottom of the China Sea about now.”

“Survivors from the destroyer?”

“Hanley has his engines wound as tight as they'll go. I don't think he has any inclination to slow down, turn around, go back and see.”

“How badly were we mauled?” Cabrillo asked as his eyes began to focus again.

“Other than looking like she was trampled by Godzilla, there isn't any damage a few weeks in a shipyard won't cure.” “Casualties?”

“About five, maybe six wounded, including yourself,” answered Pitt. “No dead or injured below decks that I'm aware of.”

“I want to thank you,” said Cabrillo. He could feel himself getting faint from loss of blood, and he wanted to get it in.

“You fooled both me and the Chinese boarding party with your fake-hands-in-the-air routine. If you hadn't taken them out, the outcome might have been different.”

“I had help from four good men,” Pitt said as he knotted the tourniquet on Cabrillo's leg.

“It took a ton of guts to ran across that shell-swept deck to man the Oerlikons.”

Having done all he could until Cabrillo could be carried to the ship's hospital, Pitt sat back and stared at the chairman of the board. “I believe they call it temporary insanity.”

“Still,” Cabrillo said in a weak voice, “you saved the ship and everyone on it.”

Pitt looked at him tiredly and smiled. “Will the corporation vote me a bonus at the next board-of-directors meeting?”

Cabrillo started to say something, but he passed out just as Giordino, followed by two men and a woman, entered the ravaged wheelhouse. “How bad is he?” asked Giordino.

“His lower leg is hanging by a thread,” said Pitt. “If the ship's surgeon is as skilled and professional as everyone else on this ship, I'm betting he can reattach it.”

Giordino looked down on the blood seeping through Pitt's pants at the hip. “Did you ever consider painting a bull's-eye on your ass?”

“Why bother?” Pitt retorted with a twinkle in his eyes. “They'd never miss it anyway.”

UNKNOWN TO MOST VISITORS OF HONG KONG ARE THE OUTLYing islands, 235 of them. Considered the other face of the bustling business district across from Kowloon, the old fishing villages and peaceful open countryside are embellished by picturesque farms and ancient temples. Most of the islands are less accessible than Cheung Chau, Lamma and Lantau, whose populations run from 8,000 to 25,000, and many are still uninhabited.

Four miles southwest of the town of Aberdeen on Repulse Bay, Tia Nan Island rises from the waters of the East Lamma Cha

Originally a Taoist monastery built in 1789 and dedicated to Ho Hsie Ku, one of the immortals of Taoism, the main temple and its surrounding three smaller temples were abandoned in 1949. In 1990 it was purchased by Qin Shang, who became obsessed with creating a palatial estate that would become the envy of every affluent businessman and politician in southeast China.

Protected by a high wall and well-guarded gates, the enclosed gardens were artistically designed and planted with the world's rarest trees and flowers. Master craftsmen replicated ancient design motifs. Artisans from all over China were brought in to remodel the monastery into a glorious showplace of Chinese culture. The harmonious architecture was retained and enhanced to display Qin Shang's immense collection of art treasures. His thirty-year hunt netted art objects from China's prehistory to the end of the Ming dynasty in 1644. He pleaded, cajoled and bribed People's Republic bureaucrats into selling him priceless antiques and artwork, any cultural treasure he could get his hands on.

His agents combed the great auction houses of Europe and America, and scoured every private collection on every continent for exquisite Chinese objects. Qin Shang bought and bought with a fanaticism that stu

Unlike so many of his superrich contemporaries, Qin Shang never settled into a “lifestyle of the rich and famous.” From the time he hustled his first coin until he made his third billion, he never stopped working at extending his thriving shipping operations, nor did he cease his maniacal, unending drive to collect the cultural riches of China.