219.

down in the inner workings of the Oregon. Finding all in order, he spoke to Huxley in a low voice.

"You got everything?"

Huxley stared at her list, then found the last item. "We're good."

Next, Seng reached across between the boats and handed Kasim a CD. "These are the coordinates for the onboard GPS--we are running an exact copy on this boat. Let's try to stay within ten feet or so of one another, that way the radar shielding should hide us both."

Kasim nodded. "You got it, Eddie."

"Okay, Mark," Seng said quietly as he threw off the line, "you can take us out."

Murphy slid the control lever down and the boat backed in reverse.

A few minutes later, the two boats were skimming across the rain-splashed water at speeds of nearly thirty knots. For all intents and purposes, they were undetectable. Any radar that might try to paint them was being jammed; anyone listening for the engines would not be able to hear the noise over the storm. Help was coming.

TWO IN THE morning and the trio in the tunnel had between three and four hours until first light.

That was not as much of a problem as it might seem. Right now, the main threat was drowning. Hornsby stared ahead to where a large tile pipe was spilling its contents into the main sewer. What had begun as a trickle from the offshoot pipes had grown into angry torrents of water. The pipe ahead was raging with such force that the stream of water was slapping against the far wall of the main sewer like the torrent from a broken fire hydrant.

"From that point forward," Meadows said, "we lose the bottom half of the sewer to water."

Already the water was knee-deep, and the farther the men had gone, the more it had risen. Now they were at an impa.s.se. From here to the i.: i i i .

end of the line, the water would be too deep to walk through. "Let's inflate the rafts," Jones said wearily.

Hornsby opened one of the duffle bags and removed a pair of folding rafts. Taking a high-pressure air supply from inside the bag, he attached it to a raft and turned the switch. The raft unfolded and quickly became rigid. Two minutes later, Hornsby turned off the inflator.

"We need to place the Buddha in one raft," Hornsby said, "and the three of us in the other."

"Weight problems?" Jones asked.

"Each raft can carry a maximum of seven hundred pounds,"

Hornsby said. "Since none of us weighs under a hundred pounds, he'll need to ride alone."

Meadows was unpacking the second raft. He laid it out and attached the inflator. As it was filling with air, he spoke. "What do you think?"

he asked his partners. "Should we let the Buddha lead or follow?"

Hornsby thought for a moment. "If he's behind, the weight might push us into something."

"But if he leads," Jones said, "we can let go of the lead rope if we get into trouble."

Meadows stared at the rapidly filling pipe just ahead. "There will not be much steering required," he said, pointing to the rising water. "I think we'll all just go with the flow."

"Then he leads," Hornsby said as he grabbed one end of the Buddha to wrestle it onto the raft, "and we just go along for the ride."

"Hear, hear," Meadows said.

"Makes sense to me," Jones added.

221.

device malfunction, he might have been all right--as it was, everything that had happened to him was rushing back in a flood. Now these people had created some kind of robot. Who knew what they might do next?

"Mr. Talbot," Spenser managed to say.

"I think you fixed it, Kevin," Hanley said.

Spenser stood mute.

"Okay, everyone, listen up," Cabrillo said, "it's almost time."

TALBOT?" SPENSER SAID. "You're part of this?"

Hanley walked over to Spenser and stood as the art dealer examined him. At least he seemed to be pa.s.sing the visual test--Spenser was waiting for him to answer.

"Win . . . ston Spen . . . ser, you old . . . ," Hanley croaked.

He sounded like a cheap P.A. system in a run-down school. Hanley moved the small device from his voice box and spoke in his normal voice. "Kevin," he said, "come take a look at this--I thought I had it dialed in right."

Nixon walked over and flipped the device over. He took a pen from his shirt pocket and clicked a small toggle switch over two notches.

"You had the delay used for telephone transmissions engaged, boss,"

Nixon said. "Try it now."

"Hi, Winston," Hanley said. "Long time no see."

Spenser stared at the man and shook his head. Had he not seen the I DETECTIVE LING PO stared at the ma.s.s of melted metal. The support beams of the float had been twisted into grotesque shapes by the intense heat of the fire, and they were wrapped around the remains of the motorcycles like the blackened tentacles of an octopus. A handler with a dog was poking at one side of the wreckage.

"Sir," the handler said, "the dog is not signaling any human remains."

"Does that mean there are none?" Po asked.

"Usually, it would need to be an extremely hot fire to fully turn a corpse to ash. Anything less than that he'll smell."

Po glanced at the wreckage. It had melted the asphalt of the road, and parts of the metal support beams were imbedded into the roadway.

There was no way to tell with any certainty what was underneath.

"Hook a chain to the end," Po said, "and drag it with one of the trucks. I want to see what's under there."

A fireman ran to remove a chain from the storage compartment on his truck. A few minutes later he had one end secured to the wreckage and the other end to the truck's b.u.mper. Slowly, the fireman eased the truck forward and the wreckage was wrestled from down in the asphalt.

After dragging it a few feet north, the fireman stopped his truck.

"It that far enough?" he shouted out the window to Po.

"Perfect," Po said, staring at the manhole cover.

Bending down, Po tried to lift the cover, but he had no luck. Another 222 223.

fireman removed a tool from the truck and slid it into the small opening on the manhole cover, then pried it open. He slid the cover a few feet away. Po removed a small flashlight from his pocket and shined it down into the hole.

"Bingo," he said.

Reaching for his cell phone, he dialed the number for headquarters.

"Sir," he said, "I think I know where the A-Ma Temple Buddha went."

THERE ARE A total of sixteen places in Macau where the storm runoff exits into the bay. Seng and his team were pulling up to the only one that mattered. After securing the Zodiacs to some rocks alongside the grate, Seng walked over and examined the metal shield.

The square screen was made of tubular stock, with the openings measuring some two feet by two feet, or large enough to allow any trash to pa.s.s through. It was connected to the angled concrete slab that attached to the storm sewer by a series of large bolts. Seng walked back to the Zodiac and removed a toolbox. Finding the proper size socket, he attached it to a battery-operated wrench, then walked back over to the grate and began to remove the bolts. Once the bolts were all free, Seng, Huxley, Murphy and Kasim positioned themselves on all four corners of the grate and lifted it free. The water was racing out of the outflow, and on the far side Murphy and Kasim had some trouble pulling the grate onto the rocks. Once it was out of the way, everyone stared into the opening.

"It's becoming a river in there," Huxley said finally.

Seng threw a strip of bright yellow plastic in the stream and then timed the movement. He stared at the second hand of his watch intently-Once the piece of plastic was fifty yards out in the Inner Harbour, he calculated the speed.

"The water's flowing about ten miles an hour," he said, "but you know that's going to increase."

"Piece of cake for the Zodiacs," Murphy said.

Seng nodded.

"As long as we don't run out of headroom," Kasim said, "we should be able to collect our boys and be back on the Oregon in an hour or so."

Seng started walking back to the Zodiac. "Okay, you two," Seng said, "drive on in and collect the team. Julia and I will be providing security, just like we planned."

"Be back shortly," Kasim said as he climbed behind the wheel.

If only it'd be so easy.

225.

CABRILLO TOOK AN erasable marker and drew on a board placed on one of the benches.

"I just checked again and the 737 is parked here," Cabrillo said, making an X on the board. "They won't be moving until they taxi out to leave. Adams will drive Spenser in the SUV to the ramp, then park."

Adams nodded in agreement.

"Once you've stopped, climb out and erect the portable awning over the rear of the truck," Cabrillo said. "Then you can open the crate displaying the Buddha."

"What if the buyer wants us to bring the Buddha aboard?" Spenser asked.

"Tell him no," Cabrillo said. "He needs to do his inspection on the ground and take ownership on Macau soil."

Spenser nodded, but he didn't look convinced.

"Max," Cabrillo continued, "you are going to leave in a few minutes and make your way around to the front terminal, where a cab will bring you back to the 737."

"Got it," Hanley said.

Cabrillo paused and stared at the team. "This should go nice and easy," he said quietly. "Hanley will verify the authenticity, the payment will be made, and then the billionaire can haul the Buddha aboard. Any questions?"

No one spoke.

"All right then," Cabrillo said. "Good luck, Max."

Hanley nodded and walked toward a rear door to the hangar.

"George," Cabrillo said, "you and Spenser can climb in the SUV.

We'll want to give Hanley a few minutes to make contact and some small talk, then we need to make the approach."

Adams nodded and motioned to Spenser to climb in the pa.s.senger seat of the Chevrolet.

THE SOFTWARE BILLIONAIRE was drinking tea with coconut milk and smoking a thin cheroot. The intrigue of the event had caught up to him and, a few minutes before, he had retired to the rear compartment of the 737 to change into all black clothing. His success in the software industry, a condition of luck and timing more than skill and ability, had over the years allowed his ego to swell into dangerous proportions.

He was beginning to believe his own hype. At this instant, with the drugs and s.e.x wearing off and the nicotine and caffeine increasing, he was beginning to think he was a secret agent. The heist, followed by the payoff, and then absconding with the goods. He was already thinking about the fun he would have relaying the story to his friends.

H.

ANLEY WALKED OVER to the Macau taxi and climbed into the backseat. The taxi rolled around the edge of the mam terminal, 226 227.

then back down toward the 737. Once it was close to the ramp, Hanley I ordered the driver to slow, then sound the horn.

The billionaire heard the sound and glanced out a window of the jet. Seeing Talbot in the rear of the taxi, he walked forward toward the open cabin door, then stood at the top of the ramp. Hanley climbed ;'

from the rear of the taxi. The billionaire motioned for him to climb the ramp. : Hanley started up the steps. ; At that exact instant, Juan Cabrillo picked up a portable radio and pushed Talk. '- "Flyswatter,"

he said, "how you holding up?"

Larry King was perched inside the scooped intake of the hangar's air-conditioning system. The rain was occasionally blowing inside the shaft, but at least he had something over his head. "I stopped by the Oregon after the party," King said, "and picked up a thermos of tomato soup, a waterproof cover for the nightscope and some depleted uranium rounds. I'm in tall cotton."

Cabrillo was always appreciative of King's professionalism. The Corporation could parachute him into a barren wasteland with a few packaged meals and his rifle, and within hours he would have found a nest and lined up his shots. Then he would patiently wait until his special services were needed or not, without complaint. Since Cabrillo had access to the operatives' personal records, he knew that King was also the owner of a piano bar in Sedona, Arizona. It had been odd the single time Cabrillo had traveled through the area and caught King at work-- not only had the sniper been dressed in a black tuxedo instead of camouflaged sniper clothes, but he'd sung mainly love songs and ballads in a sweet melodious voice.

"How's the reception, Larry?" Cabrillo asked.

"The parabolic is distorted some by the droplets on the gla.s.s," King admitted. "But I can make out some of what's being said."

"You know to call if something big happens."

"Yes, sir," King said, staring through the nightscope and touching the earpiece to the microphone. "Hanley just made his greetings."

Monica Crabtree was on the far end of the hangar, staring out a crack in the door. "Mr. Hanley just walked inside," she said across the s.p.a.ce of the hangar.