Golden Buddha (Oregon Files 1)

“Oh, that makes me feel so much better,” Ho said loudly. “At least I was robbed by professionals. How about you two work on recovering my Buddha first, then you can play all the mind games you want about their modus operandi.”

At this second, there were seventeen Macau police officers and two other detectives searching the grounds and mansion. In addition, a trio of teams had been dispatched to the airport and the two kidnapping sites. The entire force had been mobilized and Ho was complaining.

“We are doing everything in our power, Mr. Ho,” the detective said. “We’re going to catch them.”

Ho shook his head with disgust and walked out of the room.

THE parade came down the hill just as the fireworks barge in the inner harbor launched the first several rounds of the evening’s display. The Macau police had moved quickly and surrounded the edges of the route as soon as the pair of motorcyclists had been spotted. There was no chance of escape except a shoot-out. It was just a matter of time until the police captured the men. The man driving the motorcycle containing the Buddha steered down a side street, then honked his horn for the crowd to part. His partner followed close behind with the sound of sirens growing closer.

A tall float of a dragon was just ahead. At regular intervals, his mouth spewed fire.

ON the Oregon, Max Hanley stared at the screen, then moved the joystick a little to the left. The dragon moved to the center of the road. On another screen, a camera was showing a view from the side. Hanley caught sight of the motorcycles. Another screen displayed a GPS map of Macau, with pulsing dots that showed the location of the police cars. The net was closing in on the motorcyclists. He adjusted the movement of the float again, and then stared at the blueprints stolen from the Macau Public Works Department.

CLIFF Hornsby was tired and sweaty. Staring at his watch, he arose from the crate he was sitting on in the storm drain, then inflated a lift bag at the base of a metal ladder. Once that was in place, he climbed the rungs of the ladder. On the way up, he tested the wooden ramp to ensure it was solid. Finding it fine, he touched his hand to the bottom of the manhole cover he had already removed once, earlier in the night, to make sure that it was free.

Now he just had to wait for the signal.

Hanley stared at the control box. Gas jets for the fire from the dragon’s mouth, aluminum powder charges for the maelstrom, joystick for control. Just then, a voice came over the radio.

“They have blockaded the route at Avenida Infante D. Henrique,” Halpert said.

“Got it,” Hanley said. “You’re done, Michael, get out of there.”

Halpert began walking in the direction of his hotel for the night.

“Go now,” Hanley said to the motorcyclists.

Steering the float with the dragon over the top of the manhole cover, Hanley stopped it in its tracks. From the side camera, he could see the motorcycles approaching from the side street.

“Pop the top, Hornsby,” he said over the radio.

Hornsby pushed against the manhole cover and lifted it in the air. Then he slid it to the side and stared up into the bowels of the beast that had stopped over his lair. Unclipping a flashlight from his belt, he scanned the inside. There was a metal frame constructed of welded tubes with a fabric outer layer. A round gas canister with tubing was attached to one side, another tube with a small explosive charge on the other. The explosive charge was flashing with a tiny green light. At just that instant, Hornsby heard the sound of motorcycles approaching and he ducked down.

The first motorcycle drove under the fabric side wall and slid to a stop inside. It was as if he were inside a tent. The interior of the dragon float was fifteen feet long and more than eight feet wide, and the peaked top reached nearly seven feet above. The motorcyclist felt like a kid in a secret fort as he climbed off the seat. The second motorcycle steered under the fabric side curtain and stopped. Hornsby climbed from the hole.

Bob Meadows was unfastening his helmet; he got it off and tossed it to the side.

“I could see the cops,” he said quickly. “They’re right at the end of the street.”

Pete Jones tossed his helmet aside. “So be it,” he said to Meadows.

“Hey, Horny,” Meadows said as he began to unfasten the Golden Buddha from the sidecar.

Jones walked over and dropped the hinged metal sides of the sidecar. “This is heavy, Cliff.”

“I’ve got a ramp,” Hornsby said. “If we walk it to the ground and over to the ramp, we can just let go—it’ll slide down to a lift bag at the bottom.”

“Slick,” Meadows said as he started to wrestle with the Buddha.

Hanley stared at the image from the forward camera. The Macau police had organized, and with weapons drawn, they were walking carefully through the parted crowd. He hit the button for flames and the dragon’s mouth roared.

The Golden Buddha was lined up above the ramp, then released. It plunged down the wooden ramp onto the lift bag, then tumbled over on its side. Hornsby wrestled the ramp over to one side, then motioned to Meadows and Jones.

“You two first,” he said. “Pull the ramp aside when you hit bottom. I’ll close the cover.”

Meadows and Jones started climbing down the ladder. Hornsby walked over to the charge on the metal tube and armed the device. The light flicked red. He was walking back to the hole when Hanley came over the radio.

“The police are less than a hundred feet away,” he said quickly. “Where are you at?”