Golden Buddha

The man complied.

“Now lay down knees-first, then belly-down, on the road.”

The man eased himself down until his entire body was prone on the wet road.

“Two officers forward,” Rhee said, “and restrain the suspect.”

A pair of officers approached from behind the police cars to the front and slowly made their way over to the man. With one covering, the other man bent down and handcuffed the suspect’s hands behind his back. Then he yanked him to his feet.

“I’m an American,” the billionaire said, “and I demand to see the ambassador.”

Rhee waited as the rear door of the APC was lowered, then he stepped out into the rain and walked over to the Chevrolet. After first flashing a light inside to verify the other seats were empty, he scanned the rear storage area and caught sight of the Buddha. Flipping open the rear gate, he glanced at the six-foot-tall chunk of gold. Then he reached for his cell phone.

THE limousine carrying Hanley was just pulling up in front of the Oregon. “Wipe it carefully and get rid of it,” he said to Crabtree. “You come with me.”

Spenser followed Hanley as he bounded up the gangplank. Once on the deck of the ship, he motioned for Spenser to follow him inside and started in the direction of the control room. Opening the door, he nodded at Eric Stone.

“Call for a guard for Spenser here.”

Stone spoke over a microphone.

“Where’s the chairman?” Hanley said next.

Stone pointed to a screen that showed a flashing light almost at the end of the airport island and a second separate light a few yards distant. “There,” Stone said, pointing. “The other is Barrett doing extraction.”

Hanley watched as the first light slowed, then stopped.

“Signal Barrett that they have arrived.”

Spenser was staring at the operation in amazement. He was just about to ask Hanley a question when the door to the control room opened and Sam Pryor walked in. “Take this man to the brig,” Hanley ordered, “and secure him.”

“Level?” Pryor asked.

“Minimum,” Hanley said, “but you stay with him—he’s not to use any communications devices or talk to anyone. You can feed him and you may allow him to sleep or use the entertainment system for television or movies, but no computer.”

“Yes, sir,” Pryor said.

Hanley turned to Spenser. “You fulfilled your end of the bargain,” he said. “Don’t try anything stupid now and we’ll do exactly what we promised.”

Pryor started to lead Spenser away by his arm. “When will I be free to go?” the art dealer asked.

“We’ll let you know,” Hanley said, “but it will be soon.”

Pryor led Spenser into the hall. Just before the door closed, he looked back to see Hanley begin to peel the latex mask from his face.

BARRETT heard a beep in his earpiece and stared at the shoreline with his binoculars. A quick flash of headlights appeared like twin explosions in the green screen of his night-lit viewer, then the white dots faded to black.

Barrett flashed the docking lights on the Scarab, then steered closer to shore.

Tom Reyes finished wiping his fingerprints off the steering wheel and controls, then twisted the key to off. Turning around in the seat, he stared at Cabrillo and Nixon.

“We’re clean and green, boss,” Reyes said as he slid the keys into his pocket.

“Let’s go get wet,” Cabrillo said as he opened the rear door of the cab.

Nixon climbed from the cab, clutching the last box of props and tools, and followed Reyes and Cabrillo to the water. Staring to the east, he could just make out the sky beginning to lighten. To the west, the wind was diminishing. In a few hours it would be morning and the storm would have passed over Macau, but for now the sheets of rain continued to rake the islands.

Barrett angled as close to shore as he dared, then tilted the drive up to avoid rocks. Cabrillo waded into the water and grabbed the bow and held it in place. Reyes climbed into the Scarab, then took the box Nixon held in his arms. Placing it on the deck, he reached over again and helped Nixon over the gunwale. Once Nixon was on the deck, Cabrillo gave the Scarab a push backward and reached for Reyes’s hand. As the boat drifted backward he climbed over the side and Barrett lowered the drive and slid the control into reverse.

Slowly, he backed away from the southernmost edge of the airport island.

Once free from obstructions, Barrett slid the control forward and steered toward the Oregon.

“WHAT do you mean?” Hanley asked.

“The lead detective sent for buckets of paint,” Michael Halpert said quietly. “They are planning to pour them down the storm sewer to trace the flow of the water.”

“I understand,” Hanley said. “Good job. You can return to the Oregon now.”

Stone was studying the returns on the radar scope and he turned to Hanley. “Barrett is headed back across the water. He should reach us in a few minutes.”

Hanley was watching the storm scope.