Golden Buddha (Oregon Files 1)

“The insurance company supplied them,” Ho admitted.

“Which company?” Po asked.

Ho retrieved a card from his tuxedo and Po dialed the number. After explaining who he was, he grilled the company operator, left his cell phone number, and then hung up.

“She’s calling her boss, Mr. Ho,” Po said, “but she has no record of any contact with you in the last month.”

“That’s nonsense,” Ho said. “They had an underwriter come out here and everything.”

“Was he your usual agent?” the detective asked.

Suddenly it all became very clear to Ho. He’d been set up from the start.

“Those bastards,” Ho screamed. Sweeping his arm across a side table, he spilled the knickknacks on the floor then threw a chair against the wall.

“Calm down, Mr. Ho,” Detective Po said quietly, “and tell me what has happened from the start.”

HANLEY watched the blips on the GPS screen showing the progress of the van, limousine and Peugeot. All were progressing according to plan, so he flipped over the page in the playbook.

“Time to report the kidnappings,” he said to an operator.

The man dialed the Macau police and gave them Lassiter’s address. Then he did the same with Iselda. Two minutes later, police cars were racing to the separate scenes. It was one more element of confusion and discord in an already confusing situation.

Below A-Ma Temple near the Maritime Museum, Linda Ross slid the Peugeot to a stop and climbed out. Reinholt, who was sitting in the passenger seat, had been hit by the bullet that had shattered the rearview mirror and was bleeding from his right ear.

“Help him to the boat,” she said to Pryor.

Then she raced over to the dock, where a thirty-foot-long high-performance Scarab sat waiting. Climbing aboard, she raced to the helm and started the motors. Once the engines had settled into an idle, she climbed off again and walked toward the Peugeot.

“Get him aboard and keep his head elevated,” she said as Pryor scurried past.

Then she took the keys to the Peugeot, opened the trunk and stared inside. Twisting a timer, she waited to make sure that it was counting down, then raced back to the boat.

“Can you drive this?” she asked Pryor.

“Damn straight,” he said as he engaged the drives.

Ross started to administer first aid to Reinholt as the Scarab pulled away from the dock. The boat was one hundred yards from the dock and just climbing up on plane when the Peugeot erupted in a fireball that lit the night sky.

“WE have an explosion near the Maritime Museum,” the dispatcher reported to Po.

“Summon fire and rescue,” Po said. “What’s the status on the kidnapping calls?”

“Units are just now arriving at the first scene,” the dispatcher said. “It’s a home in the northern section. A second group should be at the high-rise location in a few moments.”

“Keep me posted,” Po said, walking to the window and staring at the column of smoke in the distance.

ON the front seat of the limousine next to Reyes, Barrett started removing his Redman Security uniform. He was wearing a pair of lightweight slacks and a black T-shirt underneath.

“So, Rick, do you like the galley or operations better?” Huxley asked.

Huxley was in the rear compartment with Richard Truitt. She had pulled a sleeveless blue sweater over her leather top and was now fumbling around inside the sweater, unfastening her vest. Once she got it off and slid it out from under the sweater, she rolled down the window and tossed it out. Barrett had been watching the entire affair through the rearview mirror.

“I can’t say the galley is quite this exciting,” he admitted.

Truitt flicked on a light in the center console

of the limousine’s rear compartment, then removed a fake mustache from a small clutch and slapped it on his face. Once it was straight, he removed a set of false teeth from the same bag and slapped them over his own. He stared at the results in the mirror. He was rubbing gray liquid from a small bottle in the bag as he spoke.