Adams nodded and steered the Chevrolet back toward the bridge.
23
A light 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 Doberman. 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 button.
“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.
INSIDE the Chevrolet SUV, Juan Cabrillo adjusted his radio and called the
“Where are we at, Max?”
There was a slight lag as the scrambled signal was rearranged and delivered.
“The Ross team took a casualty,” Hanley said. “He’s being worked on in the clinic.”
“Report to me as soon as you know more,” Cabrillo said. “What else?”
“The temple team has made it to the catacombs, as planned.”
“I saw the smoke,” Cabrillo said. “No injuries?”
“None,” Hanley said. “So far so good. They are initiating the extraction.”
“What about the others?”
“Most everyone staying in town has reported in,” Hanley said. “King made it back to the boat and is going to direct offensive actions until Murphy returns.”
“Target three?”
“The 737 landed a few moments ago,” Hanley reported. “They should be going through customs as we speak.”
“Our man is still with them?”
“Awaiting instructions.”
“What else?”
“The second leg of the journey is almost ready to activate,” Hanley said. “The way it looks so far, we can deliver the package on time.”
“Good,” Cabrillo said. “We’re almost at the airport.”
Hanley stared at the flashing blip on one of the monitors. “I’ve got you made, Juan.”
