Golden Buddha Part 22

"The alleged protectors were the thieves."

Just then, the tow truck driver who had brought Po to the mansion '

walked into the living room.

"What do you need?" Po asked. 1 "Your tires have been changed," the driver said, "but I found a hole inside the inner fender well."

"What do you mean?"

"I think someone shot out your tire," the tow truck man said.

"There's probably a slug somewhere inside the engine compartment."

"We'll look into it," Po said. "If the car's ready, you can take off.

Just bill my department."

The tow truck driver walked from the room.

"This is not some haphazard group of thieves," Rhee noted. "They have snipers capable of long-range shooting, helicopter pilots and masters of disguise."

"They sure as h.e.l.l aren't locals," Po said quietly.

"Oh, that makes me feel so much better," Ho said loudly. "At least I was robbed by professionals. How about you two work on recovering 189 my Buddha first, then you can play all the mind games you want about their modus operandi."

At this second, there were seventeen Macau police officers and two other detectives searching the grounds and mansion. In addition, a trio of teams had been dispatched to the airport and the two kidnapping sites. The entire force had been mobilized and Ho was complaining.

"We are doing everything in our power, Mr. Ho," the detective said.

"We're going to catch them."

Ho shook his head with disgust and walked out of the room.

THE PARADE CAME down the hill just as the fireworks barge in the inner harbor launched the first several rounds of the evening's display. The Macau police had moved quickly and surrounded the edges of the route as soon as the pair of motorcyclists had been spotted. There was no chance of escape except a shoot-out. It was just a matter of time until the police captured the men. The man driving the motorcycle containing the Buddha steered down a side street, then honked his horn for the crowd to part. His partner followed close behind with the sound of sirens growing closer.

A tall float of a dragon was just ahead. At regular intervals, his mouth spewed fire.

ON THE OREGON, Max Hanley stared at the screen, then moved the joystick a little to the left. The dragon moved to the center of the road. On another screen, a camera was showing a view from the side. Hanley caught sight of the motorcycles. Another screen displayed a GPS map of Macau, with pulsing dots that showed the location of the police cars. The net was closing in on the motorcyclists. He adjusted the movement of the float again, and then stared at the blueprints stolen from the Macau Public Works Department.

190.

191.

CLIFF HORNSBY WAS tired and sweaty. Staring at his watch, he arose from the crate he was sitting on in the storm drain, then inflated a lift bag at the base of a metal ladder. Once that was in place, he climbed the rungs of the ladder. On the way up, he tested the wooden ramp to ensure it was solid. Finding it fine, he touched his hand to the bottom of the manhole cover he had already removed once, earlier in the night, to make sure that it was free.

Now he just had to wait for the signal.

Hanley stared at the control box. Gas jets for the fire from the dragon's mouth, aluminum powder charges for the maelstrom, joystick for control. Just then, a voice came over the radio.

"They have blockaded the route at Avenida Infante D. Henrique,"

Halpert said.

"Got it," Hanley said. "You're done, Michael, get out of there."

Halpert began walking in the direction of his hotel for the night.

"Go now," Hanley said to the motorcyclists.

Steering the float with the dragon over the top of the manhole cover, Hanley stopped it in its tracks. From the side camera, he could see the motorcycles approaching from the side street.

"Pop the top, Hornsby," he said over the radio.

Hornsby pushed against the manhole cover and-lifted it in the air.

Then he slid it to the side and stared up into the bowels of the beast that had stopped over his lair. Unclipping a flashlight from his belt, he scanned the inside. There was a metal frame constructed of welded tubes with a fabric outer layer. A round gas canister with tubing was attached to one side, another tube with a small explosive charge on the other.

The explosive charge was flashing with a tiny green light. At just that instant, Hornsby heard the sound of motorcycles approaching and he ducked down.

The first motorcycle drove under the fabric side wall and slid to a stop inside. It was as if he were inside a tent. The interior of the dragon float was fifteen feet long and more than eight feet wide, and the peaked top reached nearly seven feet above. The motorcyclist felt like a kid in a secret fort as he climbed off the seat. The second motorcycle steered under the fabric side curtain and stopped. Hornsby climbed from the hole.

Bob Meadows was unfastening his helmet; he got it off and tossed it to the side.

"I could see the cops," he said quickly. "They're right at the end of the street."

Pete Jones tossed his helmet aside. "So be it," he said to Meadows.

"Hey, h.o.r.n.y," Meadows said as he began to unfasten the Golden Buddha from the sidecar.

Jones walked over and dropped the hinged metal sides of the sidecar.

"This is heavy, Cliff."

"I've got a ramp," Hornsby said. "If we walk it to the ground and over to the ramp, we can just let go--it'll slide down to a lift bag at the bottom."

"Slick," Meadows said as he started to wrestle with the Buddha.

Hanley stared at the image from the forward camera. The Macau police had organized, and with weapons drawn, they were walking carefully through the parted crowd. He hit the b.u.t.ton for flames and the dragon's mouth roared.

The Golden Buddha was lined up above the ramp, then released. It plunged down the wooden ramp onto the lift bag, then tumbled over on its side. Hornsby wrestled the ramp over to one side, then motioned to Meadows and Jones.

"You two first," he said. "Pull the ramp aside when you hit bottom.

I'll close the cover."

Meadows and Jones started climbing down the ladder. Hornsby walked over to the charge on the metal tube and armed the device. The light flicked red. He was walking back to the hole when Hanley came over the radio.

192.

"The police are less than a hundred feet away," he said quickly.

"Where are you at?"

Hornsby climbed down the ladder a few feet, then reached up and slid the manhole cover back in place. He flicked a tiny switch on the lapel of his thin jacket and spoke.

"We're armed and the door closed," he said. "Give me ten seconds to reach the bottom."

"Got it," Hanley said.

Hornsby reached the bottom of the ladder and stared at the crate containing the Golden Buddha. "So what have you guys been up to?"

he asked.

Hanley pushed a b.u.t.ton and increased the flow of gas to the dragon's mouth. A flame shot forty feet forward and the crowd backed away. Then he pushed the b.u.t.ton to ignite the charge. A small explosion ripped into the side of the metal tank containing the aluminum powder.

It began to burn with a hot white light. Almost instantly the fabric covering of the float ignited and began to burn. In a few seconds, the float was a maelstrom, with flames reaching twenty feet into the air.

"We need fire and rescue," one of the officers said, giving the address.

Then he stared at the firestorm, waiting for a pair of men to run screaming forth.

But no one emerged from the glowing pile.

THE WHITE CHEVROLET SUV pulled to the side of the road and Cabrillo climbed into the front seat. The helicopter pilot, George Adams, pulled away from the curb.

"Gorgeous George," he said, "any problems?"

Adams looked like a poster child for the American way. He had a chiseled jaw, short brown hair parted to one side, and a smile that could sell toothpaste. Strangely enough, in spite of his looks, he was almosl 193 without ego. Married to his high school sweetheart, he had been an army warrant officer before joining the Corporation.

"No, sir," he said.

"Monica?" Cabrillo said, turning to the rear seat.

"No, boss," she said. "Our guest is still out of it, however."

Cabrillo stared at Spenser slumped against the window. Then back to the rear compartment, where the speaker frame holding the fake Buddha was sitting.

"Did the folding ramp work?" he asked Adams.

"Like a dream," Adams said. "We just adjusted the legs to the same height as the helicopter floor, then pushed the package across on the wheels."

"Good. We've rented part of a small hangar at the airport," he said to Adams. "We need to go there now."

Adams nodded and steered the Chevrolet back toward the bridge.

195.

ALIGHT RAIN began falling over Macau. Sung Rhee and Ling Po were standing on the front porch of the mansion staring toward the city. Po disconnected his cellular telephone and turned to Rhee.

Down the hill, near the Maritime Museum, the lights from the fire trucks that had extinguished the burning Peugeot were still visible. To the right, along the parade route, a column of smoke lit by the city lights was visible from the burning float.

"Whoever's stealing Buddhas tonight, they're well trained and well funded," Po said to Rhee.

Rhee's mind was back to normal. And he was as mad as a Dobei man. It was bad enough that some team of thieves was using his city as a playground--it was worse that he had been made part of the heist.

"Whatever happens," he said, "they still have to spirit the icons out of the country."

"I have men at the airport and patrolling the waters," Po said, "and the border into China has been alerted to be on the lookout. They won't be able to leave Macau, that's for sure."

"All of the suspects except the British art dealer are American,"

Rhee said. "Did you pull up the list of tourist visas?"

"The tourism authority is closed for the night," Po admitted, "but I'll have someone there first thing in the morning."

"These guys are professionals," Rhee said quietly. "They won't hang around. By the time we get the list and begin to question all the Americans, they will be long gone."

Po's telephone rang and he unfolded it and pushed the b.u.t.ton.

"Po."

"The fire reached part of one of the buildings," an officer at the parade reported, "but the fire department has got that under control.

They are hosing down the float as we speak, but the framework is still hot and it melted in onto itself. There is a pile of twisted metal that is still too hot for inspection."

"Can you see the motorcycles inside the wreckage?"

"It seems they are inside the frame," the officer said, "but it's hard to be certain."

"I'm coming down there," Po said. "Keep the crowd back and order the rest of the floats to the end of the route. The parade has officially ended."

"Excellent, sir," the officer said. "See you shortly."

Po disconnected and turned to Rhee. "I'm going down to the parade.

Would you like to come along, sir?"

Rhee considered this for a moment. "I don't think so, Ling," he said. "We're going to get some flack over this--I think it's best if I go to headquarters and coordinate efforts there."

"I understand, sir," Po said as he started to walk down the driveway.

"You find these men," Rhee said, "and recover the objects."

"I'll do my best, sir," Po said.

Then Rhee opened the door to the mansion and went inside to report to the mayor of Macau.

196.