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, Horny,” 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 button 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.
“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 button 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 button 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 almost 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.”
