Golden Buddha

“Yes,” Ho said. “Perhaps out on the grounds?”

Truitt nodded. “Let me make a quick call.”

Ho pointed to his telephone, but Truitt whipped out a cell phone and hit the speed dial.

“Samuelson here.”

“Richard, you’re a magnificent bastard,” the voice said. “We have been listening for the last few minutes over the bug. Nice work.”

“I need a quote on a one-day rider to Mr. Ho’s policy to cover a piece of art valued at four hundred million until we can come up with an accurate figure for long-term coverage.”

“La de dah, de dah. All right then,” the operator on the Oregon said, “let me make up a number for you. How about twenty thousand dollars? Or whatever you decide. But I’d take the fee in cash if I was you. Then we can have a party after this is over.”

“I see,” Truitt said, nodding, “so we will require increased security. Hold on a minute.”

Truitt placed his hand over the telephone.

Back on the Oregon, the operator turned to Hanley.

“Truitt’s red-hot today,” he said. “I had not even thought of that angle.”

Ho was waiting for the adjuster to speak.

“The fee for the rider for the day will be eighteen thousand five hundred U.S. But my company is insisting on increased security. Luckily, we have a local firm we use—my office will contact them and have some men out here within the hour, if that’s okay with you.”

“Does the fee include the security detail?” Ho asked.

Truitt thought for a second, but decided not to push.

“The fee includes three security guards, but we will want the fee in cash,” Truitt said seriously.

Ho stood up and walked over to his safe. “Sounds reasonable,” he said.

Truitt smiled—the offer was anything but reasonable, but Ho had no way to know that.

“I’ll tell them,” Truitt said.

Ho began spinning the dial to his safe.

“We have an agreement,” he said to the operator on the Oregon, “but we’ll need the security people here as soon as possible.”

“Damn, you’re good,” the operator said.

“Yes, I am,” Truitt said quietly, then disconnected.

Ho returned with two wrapped stacks of dollars. Each strip read $10,000. Removing fifteen of the hundred- dollar bills from one of the stacks, he handed Truitt the rest. Sliding the stacks of money into his leather clutch, he smiled at Ho.

“Do you have a sheet of paper?”

“What for?” Ho asked.

“I need to write you a receipt,” Truitt said.

HANLEY reached for the telephone and dialed Cabrillo. “Dick Truitt just got us three more men inside the compound, acting as security guards.”

“Excellent,” Cabrillo said, “and there was no problem with the appraisal?”

“He handled it like the pro he is,” Hanley said.

“Have we got security guard uniforms in the Magic Shop?”

“Absolutely,” Hanley said. “I’ll just call Nixon and have him blast off a jazzy patch on the embroidery machine.”

“Get on it,” Cabrillo said quickly, “so we can extract Truitt.”

“Truitt’s been invited to the party,” Hanley said, “unless you want me to order him out.”

“Have him wait until the fake security team arrives,” Cabrillo said. “That way he can verify their identity to Ho. Then have him stick around—I have another job for him.”

“Done,” Hanley said.

Cabrillo disconnected and Hanley dialed the Magic Shop.

“Kevin,” he said, “I need three security guard uniforms with the appropriate badges.”

“Name?”

Hanley thought for a moment before answering.

“Make them Redman Security Services.”

“As in Redford and Newman?”

“You got it,” Hanley said, “The Sting.”

“It will take me twenty minutes or so to make the badges,” Nixon said, “but send the three operatives down right away. I can fit the uniforms while the patches are forming.”