“I just had a call from the thieves,” Po said rapidly. “They claim the Buddha is in a white Chevrolet truck on the runway at Macau airport.”
HANLEY, Spenser, and Adams ran to the rear of the hangar to where a limousine was sitting with the engine running. Monica Crabtree was behind the wheel. Once the trio of men was safely in the rear compartment, she placed the limousine in gear and raced toward the gate.
“Okay, Kevin,” Cabrillo said.
Using a remotely operated device he had installed a few hours earlier, Nixon began to back the ramp away from the 737. As soon as the ramp lurched backward, the billionaire knew he had been had—he swiveled around at the top of the ramp and glanced down. The truck was there, but no one was visible.
Larry King watched the 737 through the nightscope. Less than a minute later, he watched as Gunderson slid into the pilot seat, then motioned he was ready. King flashed a red laser on his rifle sight at the pilot’s window of the 737, and, at the signal, Gunderson fired the engines on the jet. The ramp was retracting faster and faster, and Nixon steered it to the side. Once it was safely clear of the jet, he let his joystick go neutral and the ramp began to roll to a stop. Tossing the controller into a box, he did a final visual sweep of the hangar with Cabrillo. He and Crabtree had packed everything else into the trunk of the limousine in the half hour before Spenser had made his approach. All that remained was for Nixon and Cabrillo to hightail it off airport property.
Once the ramp was free of the 737 and a safe distance away, King signaled again with the laser and Gunderson began to advance the throttles.
Cabrillo and Nixon were walking quickly for the rear door when King radioed.
“Chuck’s started his taxi,” King said.
The ramp had finally slowed enough for the billionaire to leap off. He ran down the tarmac after his retreating737. A few seconds of that and he knew the situation was hopeless, so he raced toward the Chevrolet. Once he reached the vehicle, he was surprised to find the Buddha still aboard. Pushing over the aluminum awning, he slammed the rear door closed, then climbed into the driver’s seat. Another break, the keys were still in the ignition. His $100 million in bonds were lost—but the Buddha was worth twice that. Now his plan was to escape with the Golden Buddha and worry later about who had stolen his jet. He started the truck and placed it in gear.
On board the 737, the brunette flight attendant was guarding the cockpit door. No one had told her to do this, she had just thought it prudent. One of the bimbos walked forward and started for the cockpit door.
“Get back,” the brunette said.
“I need to talk to the pilot,” the blonde said.
She started for the door again, and the brunette threw a punch that never landed. The blonde deflected the blow, then struck the brunette in the breadbasket with a chop.
“Chucky,” the blonde shouted over the noise of the engines, “will you tell this bitch you need me up there?”
The brunette was bent over, trying to catch her breath, when the cockpit door was flung open. Through the open door, the brunette could see the 737 taxiing faster toward the runway for takeoff. Gunderson was sitting in the pilot’s seat. He turned and smiled.
“That’s okay, honey,” Gunderson said quickly. “She’s my copilot.”
The Macau taxi was sitting to the rear of the hangar, the purring engine making puffs of smoke in the rainsoaked air. Cabrillo and Nixon climbed into the rear just as King radioed again. “Okay, boss,” he said easily, “he went for the truck.”
“Come out of the nest,” Cabrillo said, “and we’ll meet you around front.”
King began to extract himself from inside the air intake at the same time the billionaire had the Chevrolet up to speed on the road leading from the hangars to the main terminal.
INSIDE the burgundy 737, Gunderson scanned the storm scope and answered a call from the control tower. Then he hit the switch to allow him to talk over the cabin speakers. “Ladies, if you could take a seat, I’d appreciate it—we’ll be taking off in a second. Also, after we get in the air, if one of you could bring a pot of coffee and some sandwiches to the cockpit, you’d be our hero.”
Then he turned to the blonde sitting next to him. “Hi, Judy, long time no see.”
ALONG the bridge leading from Macau proper to the island where the airport was situated, twelve police cars with sirens screaming and lights flashing formed a rolling barricade as they raced to the main terminal.
“There they go,” Crabtree said as she drove in the opposite direction.
She watched in the rearview mirror as several cars left the bridge, then crossed the median and sealed off both lanes of traffic. “Just made it,” Adams noted.
The driver steered the cab slowly around the front of the building, then waited as King slid down the drainpipe and climbed into the front seat. Then he turned his head and stared at Cabrillo.
“Take us to the far south end of the airport across from Coloane,” Cabrillo said. “We have a boat to catch.”
ON board the 737, the final clearance was approved at the same time as the Chevrolet SUV passed in front of the main airport terminal. In the distance, the billionaire could see a line of police cars blocking the road. Turning his head, he could see through the rain the flashing lights on the wings and fuselage of his burgundy 737 as it lifted from the runway and headed out over the bay.
“Destination?” Judy asked.
“Singapore,” Gunderson answered. “Now tell me—how was it for you and Tracy?”
“We took a couple for the team,” Judy said. “Then he got tired.”
28
THE full fury of the storm descended on Macau only a few minutes after Gunderson and the 737 cut a wide arc out over the South China Sea to head south. Inside the storm sewer, the waters were rising faster now, and the rafts holding the Golden Buddha and his three liberators hurtled faster
