Golden Buddha

billionaire had noticed a copy of Fortune magazine on Rhee’s side table. His face was gracing the cover. Once he’d pointed that out to Rhee, things had begun happening fast.

The billionaire had turned from suspect to victim in seconds.

Po walked over and stood next to Rhee.

Po heard him whisper “Damn” as the elevator door opened again and Stanley Ho started down the hall.

“Have you found my Buddha?” Ho said as soon as he was within range.

“Who the hell is this?” the billionaire asked.

“I’m Stanley Ho,” Ho said in aggravation. “Who the hell are you?”

“Marcus Friday,” the billionaire said loudly. “You might have heard of me?”

“And you of me,” Ho said, affronted. “I’m one of Forbes’s richest people.”

“I know all the people ahead of me on the list—you aren’t one of them,” Friday retorted.

Detective Po smiled to himself. If all this was true, it was the greatest game of one-upmanship he had ever seen. Here was a pair of obscenely rich men vying for attention like children trying to be picked for kick-ball.

“Yeah,” Ho began to say, “well, this is my town, and you can—”

“Mr. Ho,” Detective Po said quickly, “why don’t you come down to my office so we can sort this out?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ho said loudly.

“Everyone calm down,” Rhee said.

He motioned to a conference room, pointed for the reporters to remain in the foyer, and then led the rest inside. Once everyone was inside and seated, he picked up the telephone, ordered tea to be delivered, then spoke.

“Okay, everyone,” he said slowly, “who wants to begin?”

Ho stared at the chief inspector. “A Buddha I purchased for two hundred million dollars in Switzerland was stolen tonight while you were at a party at my house. I demand to know if you have recovered it yet.”

“I lost a hundred million dollars in bearer bonds and my 737 to a gang of criminals,” the billionaire said, “and want to know what is going on in this godforsaken country.”

Po stood up and paced for a second. “Was your plane valued over a hundred million?” he asked Friday.

The billionaire shook his head.

“Then it looks like two hundred million is the highest bid here tonight,” Po said.

30

THE storm sewer was fast becoming a watery grave. Less than three feet separated the rising water from the arched dome of air overhead. The drainpipes on the top of the tube were gushing like a downpour. The water was littered with refuse washed from the streets above. Hornsby saw a rat swimming toward them in the current and slapped at the creature with a paddle. Just ahead was another junction.

“We need to make a decision,” he shouted over the roar of the water. “Sink or swim.”

Meadows looked forward. In the dimming light from the miner’s hard hat he could just see the torrent ahead, a cascade of white water that would make the rafts uncontrollable.

“Ready with the paddles,” he shouted. “The horse has to lead the cart.”

Digging into the water on the left side of the raft, they swung the stern of their raft to the right. The nose of the lead raft, which was carrying the Golden Buddha, pulled hard left but made the turn into the proper channel. The turn was not as smooth for the raft carrying the trio of men. It slammed amidships into the junction, and the corner struck Jones hard in his right side. He hung there for a minute pressed against a concrete arch until the rope holding them to the lead raft went taut and yanked them down the channel.

“Jonesy’s been hurt,” Meadows shouted above the din.

Pete Jones was clutching the side of his chest and wheezing to catch his breath. Turning his head, in the dim light Hornsby could just make out his shredded shirt and anguished expression.

“My ribs,” Jones managed to groan.

“We need to cut the raft loose,” Hornsby shouted. “There’s no way we’ll make the next turn.”

“Maybe we should slit the side and sink the Buddha,” Meadows shouted. “Then we can return when the water recedes and pull it out of here.”

Jones gritted his teeth and stared at his watch. “The Oregon,” he said painfully, “is due to sail this morning. If we don’t get this out now, we never will.”

Hornsby thought for a second, then decided. The next junction would be coming up in a few minutes. Taking a pen from his shirt pocket, he stared at the GPS, then drew the rest of their intended course on the back of his hand.

“Bob,” he said, “I’m going onto the lead raft. My weight will place it low in the water, but it should still remain afloat. As soon as I’m on top of the case holding the Buddha, cut me loose.”

He handed Meadows the GPS.

“You sure, Horny?”

Hornsby threw his paddle onto the top of the Buddha, pulled the rope to bring the rear raft closer, then