Golden Buddha

turned.

“Ready your knife,” he said.

Unclipping a folding knife from his belt, Meadows opened the blade and nodded.

Hornsby crouched and hopped the short distance to the lead raft. As soon as he was clear, Meadows sliced through the tether, then dug his paddle into the side to slow down his raft. Hornsby squirted ahead. In the dim light, Meadows could see the Buddha was awash, and only a portion of Hornsby’s head and torso were above the waterline.

“Going right,” Hornsby shouted as he pulled ahead, “then left.”

AS the storm sewer pipes came closer to the water, they increased in diameter so the storm water would not become pressurized and blow apart the tiles. At six places under Macau were large square pondlike storage facilities where the water could pool and lose some speed before spilling out into the last series of pipes and eventually the bay.

Murphy and Kasim were motoring around in circles in one of them.

“Five more minutes,” Murphy shouted. “Then we go in and find them.”

Kasim gave three more blasts on the air horn. “They should be here by now,” he agreed.

At just that instant, Murphy’s digital pager beeped and he pushed the button to light the screen. Scrolling through the message, he nodded his head.

“They poured paint into the sewers to follow the flow,” he said as he steered the Zodiac into another tight circle. “If it makes it down our escape channel, we’re screwed.”

“What do you mean?” Kasim asked.

“The paint will bring the Chinese to the area, as well as marking the sides of the Zodiac,” Murphy said. “Then they’ll grab us and take us in for questioning.”

“What’s the Oregon recommend?”

Murphy was quiet for a moment before answering. “They want us to blow up the tunnel leading into here and seal off the tainted water.”

“How long do we have?”

“Six minutes and forty-seven seconds,” Murphy said, removing a satchel charge from one of the bags in the bottom of the boat.

“What about the others?” Kasim asked.

“If they aren’t out by then,” Murphy said, “the Oregon said to assume they took a wrong turn or drowned inside. Then we need to protect our own asses and make a safe retreat.”

Murphy angled the Zodiac over to the pipe leading into the holding pool. Using the power of the outboard motor, he held the boat in place against the strong current until Kasim had attached the charges to the top of the storm sewer. Once the explosives were in place, Kasim activated the digital timer. Four, three, two, one, and the red light blinked.

“Give the signal again,” Murphy said as he backed the Zodiac away.

IT was like Hornsby was riding a log down a flume. He was almost awash and the distance over his head to the top of the pipe was narrowing as the water continued rising. The last turn had been made by gouging his paddle into the water and bringing the bow slightly to one side. He readied his leg to push against the wall for the next bend. Hornsby had lost sight of the others. The light on his hard hat was nearly out and he had no way to know if Meadows and Jones had taken the correct channel. Anyway, there was nothing he could do if they hadn’t. He was more concerned for his own survival. He jammed his leg against the wall and the raft lumbered over into the correct channel.

And then, like the distant chirping of a mother bird calling her young, he heard the faint sound of a horn sounding three times. The raft, with Hornsby atop the Golden Buddha, raced on the current in the direction of the sound.

AS the Zodiac circled, Kasim attempted to keep a portable spotlight trained at the opening of the pipe. The timer on the satchel charge was ticking down and, quite honestly, he was beginning to lose faith this was all going to work out.

“Two minutes,” he said over the sound of the motor.

Murphy listened intently. A sound was coming from the tunnel that sounded like the bellowing of a wounded animal. And then, riding on a scream and a prayer, Cliff Hornsby shot from the pipe and slid halfway across the pond. Murphy quickly angled the Zodiac alongside and Kasim grabbed the edge of the raft.

“Where are the others?” Murphy shouted.

Hornsby wiped the water from his eyes and glanced at the high-barreled ceiling just barely visible from the spotlight trained on the timer. “They were right behind me.”

“Did you see any colored water?” Kasim asked.

“What do you mean?”

“They poured paint in the manhole to trace the flow of water,” Murphy said. “Did you see anything in the water?”

“No,” Hornsby said.

“One minute, thirty seconds,” Kasim said.

“What’s happening?” Hornsby asked.

“We’ve been ordered to seal off this exit,” Murphy said, “so we have a chance at a clean escape. Sound the horn.”

JONES was lying in the bottom of the raft, barely able to move. If they had to go in the water or needed to attempt an escape, Meadows figured he’d have to carry him. They had made the last turn, but just barely. Anything from here on out had a limited chance for success.

“How’s it going, pal?” he asked.