Golden Buddha Part 17

If someone had, and they were knowledgeable, they might have noticed that one of the motorcycle's sidecars had been enlarged and reinforced.

The modifications were barely perceptible, but if you looked closely, you could see that there was a heavy-duty training wheel underneath, and that the pa.s.senger seat had been removed and made into a cargo compartment. The motorcycles continued north to the stop sign, then turned left and headed in the direction of the Inner Port. The bikers had an appointment to keep in a place not too far distant.

THE BAND WAS performing a sound check. The wall of speakers behind the bandstand lent an air of full-on rock concert, but the actual sound coming out of them was less than one would have thought.

Unless someone was standing directly in front of the speaker wall, he'd have no way to tell that many of the speakers were not functioning.

Some were hollow sh.e.l.ls, others held items that would be needed for the operation.

Ross walked over and spoke to Cabrillo.

"The first set starts at seven," she said. "Are you ready?"

Cabrillo stared at the players, then at the crowd that was still milling about the tent, some seated, more still flitting from table to table. "I'll put the background music on in a second. That should signal we're about to begin."

He walked over to the main console and adjusted a switch. At the sound of the music, the crowd began to make their way to their a.s.signed seats. Stanley Ho was standing just inside one of the tents on the left side of the Y. He was attempting to regale Huxley with stories of his Vast wealth and power.

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"I love the Buddha," Huxley said, smiling. "Perhaps you have some other artwork you could show me later."

"I'd be glad to," Ho said. "In fact, there are many pieces in my upper office that might interest you. Maybe we could slip away later and take a look."

"I'd like that," Huxley said.

Ho nodded greedily. He was already imagining the possibilities the suicide blonde might offer his libido--if he needed to ignore his guests '

for the opportunity, so be it.

"I need to go to the front and make my introductions now," Ho said, "but we can meet later."

Huxley smiled and slinked away. Ho walked through the crowd, stopping at various tables to glad-hand his guests. A few minutes later, he was standing in front of the bandstand.

"I'm Stanley Ho," he said to Halpert. "Might I use your microphone to make an introduction?"

Halpert handed his microphone to Ho, who tapped the top to be sure it was working.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said.

The crowd quieted down.

"I'd like to welcome you to my Good Friday party."

The crowd clapped.

"I hope that you are finding the food and drink to your liking."

Another round of applause.

"I hope each of you has a chance to view my latest acquisition, a good-luck charm. I have displayed the piece at the entrance to the tent.

Like another we honor tonight, he signifies enlightenment and spirituality and that is the theme of this evening's festivities. Now, if we could take a second to remember those that have sacrificed themselves for our freedoms."

The crowd was silent.

"Thank you," Ho said a few moments later. "We will have fireworks and light displays tonight, as well as an excellent band straight 155 from California in the United States. Please join me in welcoming the Minutemen."

He handed the microphone back to Halpert. At the same time, the lights in the tent began to dim until a single spotlight illuminated Halpert's back, which was turned from the crowd. The band keyed their instruments and the opening notes of the Eagles song "Already Gone"

began pulsing through the crowd.

Halpert swung around and began to belt out the lyrics.

MORE THAN ANY one thing, the key to a successful robbery is stealth. The pair of men on the motorcycles knew this and they moved quietly through the A-Ma Temple toward their target. The tourists had gone home for the night and most of the monks were in the dining hall partaking of their simple evening meal. The side room where their target stood was dimly lit, and the men, who were dressed in black clothes and face masks, blended into the air like whispery goblins.

"There he is," one man whispered.

The man was pushing a heavy-duty dolly stolen from a rental store the previous night. He wheeled it over, examined the artifact, then waited while his partner closed the door on the wooden crate and tilted it so the other man could slide the dolly underneath. After securing it with straps, they began to make their way toward the door.

WINSTON SPENSER WAS past wine and into cognac. He was pleasantly buzzed and beginning to feel that he might just accomplish his goal. He glanced at his watch. He had some time before he needed to slip away and meet the armored-car company at the temple.

Then he would make his way to the airport and consummate the sale with the software billionaire.

By first light, he'd be on his way away from here, then he'd take a break from all the drinking.

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Finishing the snifter, he motioned to a pa.s.sing waiter for a refill.

Then he turned to one of the guests seated next to him.

"Excellent band."

"They truly are," Crabtree replied.

TWO HUNDRED AND twenty-seven miles from Macau, in the South China Sea, the burgundy jet was pa.s.sing over Tungsha Island, inbound for landing. The software billionaire walked forward, fastening a sash around his black silk kimono.

"The ladies are tired," he said with a barely hidden trace of pride.

"Could you prepare pitchers of coffee, orange juice and some pastries and take them to the rear?"

"Immediately," the blond-haired man said, leaping to his feet.

Continuing forward, the billionaire knocked on the c.o.c.kpit door.

The copilot opened the door. "Sir?" he asked.

"How far out are we?"

"Less than half an hour," the copilot said, glancing at his navigational chart.

"Have you arranged for refueling?"

"All taken care of, sir," the pilot said, turning his head toward the c.o.c.kpit door. , Pa.s.sing through the galley, the billionaire could smell the coffee '

brewing. "About a half hour and we'll be on the ground," he said as he pa.s.sed.

The blond-haired man waited until he was gone, then removed a digital pager from his belt and pushed a few b.u.t.tons. Then he winked at the other flight attendant and resumed his preparations.

THE TRIO OF Redman Security officers glanced up as the band was finishing the last song in the first set. Then Sam Pryor turned toward a camera and touched his nose.

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Back on the Oregon, Max Hanley reached for a microphone.

"Julia," he said, "you can start now."

Huxley slipped from behind the speaker wall and motioned to Halpert.

Cabrillo, Lincoln and Murphy began to remove a few speakers from the bank behind them. Ho walked over.

"You have two more sets," he said.

"We have some electrical glitches," Cabrillo told him. "Three of the tower speakers aren't working. Don't worry--they haven't worked yet and we sound all right."

"Do you want me to take them back to the truck?" Huxley asked.

"That's part of your job," Halpert said.

Ho stared at Huxley. The thought of his suicide blonde becoming sweaty disturbed him.

"I'll have one of the guards give you a hand," Ho said. "Miss Candace asked earlier if she might have a tour of my home."

"Okay, Mr. Ho," Cabrillo said. "We'll move them around to the front of the tent, then have one of the guards help us put them in the van."

"Whatever," Ho said. "Now, Candy--may I show you my home?"

ROSS MOTIONED TO the caterer. "Before the second set, Mr. Ho wants to make a special toast."

"The pa.s.sion fruit punch?" the caterer said.

"Correct," Ross said.

"Just before the main meal is served?"

"That's the plan."

"I'll go ahead and ice down the punch then," the caterer said.

"You look busy here," Ross said, "I'll take care of the punch."

When the chef had his back turned, Ross removed the flask of liquid and broke the seal. The viscous fluid was a strange blue green with flecks of what looked like powdered silver. She swirled it around then poured 158 159.

it into the vat. Taking a wooden spoon, she stirred the mixture and added a block of ice.

The caterer was on the far end of the kitchen, talking to the chef.

Ross called across the room.

"Have the punch transferred to the crystal pitchers and taken into the tent," she said. "Then order the waiters to begin serving."

The caterer waved a hand in reply and Ross walked back outside.

Huxley walked over to Ho and rubbed her ample a.s.sets against his side.

"I'll quickly go make the toast," he said with a growing need.

"I need to make an appearance, too," Huxley said, "then we'll have plenty of time."

Ho motioned to the door and the pair started out of the office.

'' O IGNAL FROM ROSS," Larry King said.

On board the Oregon, Hanley was watching the monitors.

"We saw it too, Larry."

Hanley zoomed in on the Buddha; Reinholt, Pryor and Barrett were standing in a delta formation around the object, while to the left three large speaker stacks sat on carts awaiting removal.

"As soon as Ho makes his toast and the band resumes, we can begin the extraction," Hanley said. "Did anyone see where Ho went?"

"He headed inside with Huxley," King noted.

"I've got him on audio in the upper office," one of the operators on the Oregon said.

"Put him on speaker," Hanley ordered.

"It's a Manet," Ho was saying.

"I always get Monet and Manet confused," Huxley said. "But then, art is not my strong suit."

"What exactly is your strong suit?" Ho asked.

Just then, Hanley keyed the tiny earpiece in Huxley's ear. "Julia,"

he whispered, "you need to have Ho get back to the tent and make the toast now."