In the distance, a police boat heard the noise from the helicopter but it could not make it out in the rain. Adams moved the helicopter up the line, salting the water on the east side of Macau. Then he steered around the end of the peninsula between Macau and Taipa to repeat the exercise.
DETECTIVE Po parked in front of the headquarters of
the Macau Police Department, then walked through the rain toward the front doors. In the east, the sky was lightening some, but the rain continued on unabated.
Entering the building, he rode the elevator up to Rhee’s floor, then exited the elevator and walked down the hallway. Upon reaching the reception area, he instantly knew that there was trouble afoot. The U.S. consular agent, the mayor of Macau, a Chinese general and four reporters were clustered around a man dressed entirely in black.
“This isn’t a case of shoplifting,” the man in black said loudly. “They’ve stolen a Boeing 737, for God’s sake.”
It had been a case of blind luck for the software billionaire. Still refused a telephone call, he had been brought to headquarters to be questioned by Rhee in his office. As soon as they had entered the office, however, the 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.”