Juan Cabrillo reached for the telephone and placed a call to the acting harbormaster.

“Don’t worry,” he said, after lying that his parent company had ordered him to leave immediately, “we have another ship lined up in Manila to take the load of fireworks to the United States. She’ll be here day after tomorrow.”

The harbormaster seemed to accept this as fact. Because it was late and little was happening, he was talkative.

“Singapore,” Cabrillo said in answer to his question, “but they haven’t told me the cargo, only that we need to be there seventy-two hours from now.”

Singapore was fifteen hundred miles as a crow flies, and from what the harbormaster had heard, the Oregonwould be hard-pressed to make twenty knots an hour. The man had no way to know that if the ship made it into open water by sunrise, it could be in Singapore by lunch the next day. Nor did he know the Oregonwas not going to Singapore at all.

“Yes,” Cabrillo said, “it’s pushing for sure, but orders are orders. Is the pilot on his way here?”

The harbormaster answered in the affirmative, and Cabrillo hurried to get off the telephone.

“We’ll keep an eye out for him,” Cabrillo finished, “and thank you.”

Hanging up the telephone, Cabrillo turned to Hanley. The time was 4:41 A.M.

“Sounds like he bought it,” Cabrillo said. “Order the lookout to watch for the approaching pilot boat.”

Hanley nodded. “The helicopter with Adams and Reyes is back, and I’ve ordered all the hatches battened down. Which means we need to retrieve the Zodiacs in open water.”

“What do you hear from them?” Cabrillo asked.

“Seng and Huxley report they are still waiting outside,” Hanley said, staring at his watch. “Murphy was ordered to blow up an inner cavern any time about now to seal off the flow of paint and at least allow the four rescuers to escape. As of the last communication a few minutes ago, Hornsby, Jones and Meadows had not shown up with the Golden Buddha.”

“I don’t like it,” Cabrillo said.

“I had to make a decision when you were dealing with the art dealer,” Hanley said quietly. “If the helicopter salting the water didn’t throw off the Chinese, not only would we lose the men in the tunnel, but the rescue crew as well.”

“I know, Max,” Cabrillo said. “You’re just following the book.”

The two men stared at one another for a moment. Then Eric Stone spoke.

“Sirs,” Stone said, pointing at a screen, “we just detected a shock wave from an explosion.”

MURPHY had the throttle on the Zodiac as far forward as she would go. The trio of boats was rocketing down the tunnel leading out to the bay. They were only ten feet ahead of the approaching wave from the explosion, but now that they were at full speed, the margin was remaining constant.

“Try to reach Seng on the radio,” Murphy shouted over the noise, “and tell him what’s happening.”

Kasim nodded and reached for the microphone.

“Eddie,” he shouted into the microphone, “we have the target with us. Clear away from the opening—we’re coming out hot.”

“Got it,” Seng shouted from just outside the pipe.

A few minutes before, Seng and Huxley had heard the rumble from the explosion and had climbed aboard the second Zodiac. They were just backing away from shore when Kasim radioed. Seng turned the Zodiac and then accelerated away into the bay. Once they reached the edge of the fog and rain band, he turned toward land and pointed a spotlight at the outflow pipe.

“Call the Oregon,” he said to Huxley, “and report team two is on their way out.”

THE pilot boat pulled alongside the Oregon. A single tugboat hovered nearby, awaiting instructions from the pilot. The pilot climbed off his boat at a boarding ladder, made his way on deck, and then stared around. The upper deck was a tangled mess of rusting equipment and cables. He stared above, where the smokestack was polluting the air around the slip with smoky, oily fumes. This was a ship begging to be put out of her misery at a scrapyard.

“What a pile of junk,” the pilot muttered to himself.

A man stepped from behind a pillar. “I’m Captain Smith,” he said. “Welcome aboard.”

The captain was dressed in a tattered yellow rain slicker spotted with grease and dirt. His face had a full beard, stained around the mouth by nicotine, and when Smith cracked a smile, he showed a forest of yellow stubs.

“I’m ready to guide you out,” the pilot said, staying a safe distance away from the man’s odor.

“This way,” the captain said, turning.

The pilot followed the captain as he wove his way around the tangled mess on the decks to the rusted metal stair leading to the pilothouse. Halfway up the stair, the pilot gripped for a handrail and it came off in his hand.

“Captain,” he said.

Smith turned, then walked a few steps to where the pilot was stopped. Then he took the length of rusted pipe in his hand and tossed it over his shoulder onto the cluttered deck.

“I’ll make a note of that,” he said, swiveling around again and climbing the last few steps to the pilothouse.

The pilot shook his head. The sooner he was off the ship, the happier he’d be.

Six minutes later, the Oregonwas turned and partway out of the port. The pilot ordered the line from the tug removed and the Oregonheaded away from land under her own power.

To the rear of the Oregon, now growing dimmer in the distance, the mountain peak on Macau began to recede in the rain and fog. Only a few lights from the airport remained in sight.

“How long until you can be picked up?” Cabrillo asked the pilot.

The pilot pointed to a channel marker thirty yards ahead. The high-powered light was penetrating the gloom. A few more minutes and he could be off this beast of a ship.

“LIGHT at the end of the tunnel,” Murphy shouted.

The Zodiac was racing toward the bay just ahead of the shock wave that would fill the pipe to the top. Hornsby was holding tight to his raft and the top of the Golden Buddha, while Meadows gripped the side of the Zodiac and glanced down at Jones, who was clutching his side in the bottom of the raft.

“A few more seconds, Jonesy,” he shouted, “and we’ll be in the clear.”

Jones nodded but did not speak.

The exit from the pipe was like riding over a waterfall on a class IV rapid. The water was spewing out of the pipe with tremendous force. The plume cascaded through the air twenty feet, then dropped seven feet down to the water of the bay. Murphy held to the wheel as the Zodiac was propelled through the air. As soon as he felt the boat leave the water, he pulled back on the throttle so he wouldn’t over-rev the engine, then braced himself for the splashdown.

“Let go,” he screamed to Hornsby and Meadows.

The lines on the two towed rafts were released and they separated a few feet from the Zodiac at the same instant the wall of water filled the pipe, then burst through the air with tremendous force.

“Wow,” Seng shouted at the sight of the rafts squirting through the air.

“Hold on,” Meadows shouted to Jones as the raft flew through the air, then slapped on the surface of the water before slowing almost to a stop.

“Are you okay?” Meadows said a few seconds later. “Do you need anything?”

Jones wiped the water from his face, then shifted his body to ease the pain of his cracked ribs as the raft stopped in the water and bobbed.

“I’ve been better,” Jones said. “I think it would help if you would hum a few bars of ‘Suwannee River.’”

PO was inside the conference room with Rhee, Ho and Marcus Friday. A police sergeant entered and whispered in his ear.

“What the hell do you mean?” he asked.