Golden Buddha (Oregon Files 1)

Hanley rubbed his face, then rose and walked over to the coffeepot and poured a cup. “Go ahead,” he said.

“Someone flagged just passed through Macau immigration.”

The Corporation maintained a large database on their computers. Over the years, the names of many people had been entered. Whenever any of them cropped up on any of the numerous systems the Corporation hacked into, the information was examined and analyzed. Hanley took a sip of coffee and then read the sheet of paper the operator handed to him.

“We considered that possibility,” Hanley said quietly, “and now he’s here.”

NIXON walked over to Spenser, aimed at his head and pushed the button.

Then he stared at the image in the digital camera.

“Can you grow facial hair?” Cabrillo asked.

“It’s sparse,” Spenser admitted.

“What have we got,” Cabrillo asked Nixon, “to make him look different?”

Nixon walked over to the bench and rustled through a box of disguises. “We’ve got hair, makeup and prosthetic mouthpieces. How far do you want to go?”

“It’s the new you,” Cabrillo said. “Where are you planning to hide?”

Spenser considered the question. On the one hand, he was not interested in having anyone know his ultimate destination—on the other hand, from what he had seen so far, these people would probably find out anyway.

“I was thinking South America,” Spenser said.

Cabrillo nodded. “Go with a light tan, medium matching mustache, nothing big, and slightly longer hair,” he said to Nixon, who nodded and began removing items from the box.

“I know from your file you don’t speak Spanish or Portuguese, so if I were you I’d try Uruguay or Paraguay, where your British accent won’t stand out as much.”

Crabtree walked over. “Why don’t you have Kevin make him a Canadian?”

Cabrillo nodded. “Here’s the deal,” he said. “You do the switch for us and we will build you a new identity. You become a Canadian who immigrated to Paraguay a few years ago and hold citizenship. We’ll give you a flat one million U.S. dollars to start over and a plane ticket from Hong Kong to Asuncion. What you do then is up to you and luck.”

“The authorities will stop me if I try to leave Hong Kong with a million cash,” Spenser said, feeling hope.

“We’ll take care of that,” Cabrillo said. “Now pick a name.”

Nixon walked over and began to apply the disguise.

“Norman McDonald,” Spenser said.

“Norm McDonald it is,” Cabrillo agreed.

TINY Gunderson was watching the customs officials walk through the 737 when his digital communicator vibrated. He removed it from his pocket and stared at the readout. Memorizing the message, he erased it and slid the device back in his pocket. The customs agents walked to where Gunderson was standing, then signed a sheet of paper and handed it to the pilot.

“We’ll move to the fuel ramp now,” the pilot said to the officials, who nodded and walked out the door and down the ramp. The ramp was retracted and the operator drove it away.

“Close the door,” the pilot said to Gunderson. Then he steered down the wet runway.

Thirty minutes later, the 737 was refueled and parked in a large hangar only yards from where Cabrillo and his team were waiting. The software billionaire dialed his satellite telephone.

HORNSBY, Meadows and Jones stopped to catch their breath. All along the walls of the storm sewer, metal and tile pipes were funneling water into the main line. There were eight inches of water on the floor of the main sewer and it was dotted with cigarette butts, scraps of paper and the refuse from the world above their heads.

“We’re gaining an inch every few minutes,” Meadows said.

Hornsby was staring at the blueprint under the light of his miner’s helmet. He traced the route and stared at his compass. “I don’t think the water is rising that fast,” he said, “but it is cause for concern.”

Jones stared around the crowded space. He didn’t like being in confined spaces and he wanted out as soon as possible. “Which way do we go, Horny?”