“They’re doing that now, sir,” the policeman said.
“Good,” Po said, “I’ll be in touch.”
He disconnected and turned to Rhee.
“They drugged the insurance man and his wife,” he said quietly, “and left a note of apology.”
Stanley Ho was becoming increasingly agitated. Not only had he been made a fool of—he had been made a fool of in an open and obvious manner. It was that son-of-a-bitch British art dealer.
“So I was set up from the start,” Ho said loudly. “The countess was fake, her illness a ploy and the air evacuation a ruse.”
Po raised his hand to be quiet as his telephone rang again.
“Po.”
“Sir,” the officer said, “we entered the apartment in the high-rise and found a woman named Iselda tied up in her closet.”
“Was she harmed?”
“Other than severe nicotine deprivation, no,” the officer said. “She’s smoked half a pack of cigarettes since we untied her.”
“Did she see her assailants?”
“She said it was like staring into a mirror,” the policeman relayed. “A woman disguised to look like her popped out of the closet and held a rag soaked with something to her mouth. That’s all she remembers.”
Po held his hand over the cell phone and spoke to Rhee. “They switched the party planner.”
Ho raised his hands in the air and began cursing.
“Carefully search the apartment for clues,” Po ordered. “Then have the kidnapped woman fill out a report at the station house.”
“Got it, boss,” the officer said as Po hung up.
Rhee’s mind was almost back to normal. He paced the living room as he spoke.
“This was a high-budget, carefully orchestrated operation,” he said. “So let’s take a minute and look at what happened from the start.”
“The insurance man was a plant,” Ho said. “They replaced my party coordinator and band with others, then put fake guests inside as well.”
“It appears they even provided their own security,” Rhee noted. “The alleged protectors were the thieves.”
Just then, the tow truck driver who had brought Po to the mansion walked into the living room.
“What do you need?” Po asked.
“Your tires have been changed,” the driver said, “but I found a hole inside the inner fender well.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think someone shot out your tire,” the tow truck man said. “There’s probably a slug somewhere inside the engine compartment.”
“We’ll look into it,” Po said. “If the car’s ready, you can take off. Just bill my department.”
The tow truck driver walked from the room.
“This is not some haphazard group of thieves,” Rhee noted. “They have snipers capable of long-range shooting, helicopter pilots and masters of disguise.”
“They sure as hell aren’t locals,” Po said quietly.