Mrs. Pollifax and the Hong Kong Buddha (17 page)

Over his shoulder they peered at the last slip of paper:

Marko whispered, “So now we know … what a find! Mrs. P., we are in your debt.”

“But still no mention of
when
,” pointed out Mrs. Pollifax. “We’re assuming the terrorists plan to take over Hong Kong by late next week, but only because Detwiler’s housekeeper expects him home by then, and that’s very tenuous, vague and secondhand and gives no clue at all as to what day.”

“No, but we’ll take no chances,” said Robin, “I’ll put through a call to the Governor at once—don’t worry, he’ll understand without my saying too much over the phone—and alert him to their
modus operandi
.” He went to the phone and began dialing.

Marko, smiling at Mrs. Pollifax, said, “So I think we now have a busy day finding out about this Mr. Feng of yours, among other matters. And you—what is this decision of yours to walk into the lion’s den? You know the risk.”

From the other side of the room, phone in hand, Robin said, “Risk? Suicidal! You’re thinking of delivering an empty Buddha to Feng Imports, and you expect them to let you return here?”

“I’m not even considering the Buddha that Mr. Detwiler gave me,” she said with dignity. “There’s a very similar one down in the mall in a gift shop, inferior in
workmanship but otherwise the same size, identical pose and carved from the same fine white ivory. Mr. Detwiler will see at once that it’s not the same Buddha but I doubt that Mr. Feng will notice.”

“Nonsense,” growled Robin, and then his call came through and he turned his back on them, speaking in a low, rapid voice of what they’d just learned.

Marko pointed out gently, “Mr. Feng will know the difference once he attempts to open up a Buddha that cannot be opened.”

“There are no terrorists at Feng Imports,” she reminded him with a lift of her chin. “There’ll be Detwiler and Mr. Feng, and Sheng Ti and Lotus in the building, and you have men watching both the front and the back of Feng Imports. If I can’t defend myself against those odds—”

Robin, hanging up the phone, returned to them. “You’ve got to put this insane idea out of your head,” he said flatly. “My God, woman, you must know it’s too dangerous. If Mr. Feng is behind this he’ll be waiting for you!”

“Of course,” she said, nodding. “He was undoubtedly listening to every word Detwiler said to me on the phone, and holding a gun on Detwiler, too, for all I know.”

“Then why?” demanded Robin.

She considered this, wondering if he would understand. She said at last, slowly, “Because if I
don’t
go I think it quite possible that Detwiler will be killed for giving me the Buddha—his usefulness must certainly be coming to an end … Because Detwiler has been my assignment … Because his telephone call was an appeal for help … and because if I go, I just may learn from Detwiler the day and hour of the terrorist attack.”

Robin said incredulously, “And you expect Feng to let you leave?”

With a glance at her wristwatch she said briskly, “I’ll make every attempt, of course, to play the part of an innocent in all this but if it’s necessary to use force I see no reason why my knowing a little karate should unduly raise Mr. Feng’s suspicions. And as I pointed out earlier, you have Krugg and Upshot nearby, and Sheng Ti and Lotus already on the premises.”

“If they all
stay
there,” said Robin darkly.

Marko cleared his throat and spoke. “That is something you could double-check, then, before she goes, is it not?”

“My God,” said Robin, turning on him, “you, too?”

Mrs. Pollifax stood up, saying dryly, “Robin, you’re sounding more and more like an overprotective parent, you know there are no guarantees in this business. In the meantime I’m the only one given entree into—as Marko puts it—the lion’s den, and I shall hope to discover something from Detwiler that may help to prevent eleven Liberation 80’s men turning Hong Kong into another French hostage affair.” She glanced at her watch. “If you can lend me three hundred Hong Kong dollars—for this, too, I need you,” she said ruefully, “I’ll go down and buy the other Buddha now, because it’s already half-past ten and I promised to be at Feng Imports by eleven. The Buddha,” she added, “costs a great deal of money and I’ve not enough at the moment and I absolutely refuse to give up this particularly glorious Buddha.”

With an amused smile Marko brought out his wallet and counted bills into her hand. “I think we will be here when you return,” he said. “
I
intend to be, yes,
and in the meantime I will speak with Robin here most seriously.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks.” With a more ironic smile for Robin she waved and left.

When she returned twenty minutes later only Marko was in her room, eating the toast from her breakfast tray and sipping another cup of coffee. He took the Buddha from her and unwrapped it, holding it up next to the original, and he nodded. “Not bad!”

“Where’s Robin?”

“Robin is speaking by radio to our two men in Dragon Alley, telling them that you will be coming. He’s giving orders that at any sign of disturbance inside the shop after you’ve arrived they are to act at once. Of course he does not want to see you go,” he added, “and for this you must be patient. He is newer at this game than you or I, and for you he has much fondness. He doesn’t understand.”

Mrs. Pollifax nodded.

“He has been persuaded,” continued Marko, “but only because of this.” He brought from his pocket an object somewhat smaller in size than the eraser at the end of a pencil. “For this,” he said, “you will cut open a seam in the hem of your frock and insert it inside. It is a device to tell us where you are at all times. A—what do you say in English—homing signal. We call it an Ackameter.”

“All right,” said Mrs. Pollifax, and went to her suitcase for needle and thread and scissors. When the device had been sewn into her skirt she brought out the original wrappings in which the first Buddha had been placed, and carefully wrapped the imitation. With a glance at her watch, she made a face. “I’ll just make it if I hurry.”

Marko nodded. “Robin has double-checked—no one has left Feng Imports this morning.”

“Good,” she said, smiling at him. “Marko—” She held out her hand.

He clasped it warmly. “When Cyrus arrives I will speak to him about recruiting you for Interpol,” he said humorously and then, continuing to hold her hand he said gravely, “If ever I am in Detwiler’s situation—may heaven forbid such a catastrophe—I shall fervently hope for a Mrs. Pollifax to ride to my rescue. Take care, Mrs. P.!”

“Thank you, Marko,” she told him with equal gravity, and withdrawing her hand from his, she picked up the Buddha and left.

Capturing an elevator almost immediately she descended to the ground floor and walked to the front entrance for a taxi; the sun was in her eyes as she emerged from under the canopy and she held up a hand to signal for a cab. One of them pulled out of line and stopped in front of her, a door was opened for her and she had climbed inside before she saw that the cab already held a passenger.

“Oh—so sorry!” she murmured, making a move to withdraw, and then she recognized the occupant of the cab and realized that something had gone horribly wrong, dismally and horribly wrong.

“You are most punctual,” said Mr. Feng with a faint dry smile. “Drive on, Carl—quickly, before we are noticed.”

R
obin was in their suite sitting by the radio when Marko joined him. “She’s gone?” he said with a lift of one brow.

“She has just left, yes,” confirmed Marko, and then, very gently, “Detwiler is her job, Robin, she had to do this. I am impressed—very.”

Robin shook his head. “I still don’t like it,” he said. Leaning forward he flicked on the switch of the transmitter. “Raven here, are you reading me?”

Krugg’s hearty voice replied. “Loud and clear, old chap.”

“Our friend has just left the hotel. Start the alert and let me know as soon as she arrives.”

“Got you, Raven, over and out.”

Robin turned the dial slightly and called in Upshot at the warehouse behind Feng Imports. “Keep your line open,” he told him. “Our party’s just left the hotel and
should be arriving you-know-where in about fifteen minutes.”

“Right on,” said Upshot.

Robin glanced at Marko and then at his watch. “Three minutes past eleven … she’s wearing the Ackameter?”

Marko nodded and drew from his pocket a slightly larger disk than he’d given Mrs. Pollifax. Pressing a button he attached it by suction cup to the wall, where it gave out a steady insistent hum. “Working,” he said. “Has Duncan reported yet on that radio-detection van?”

Robin nodded. “Good man, Duncan, the unit took to the streets at six this morning.”

“Very efficient,” murmured Marko. “Now which of us hunts out facts about Mr. Feng this morning?”

Robin gave him a quick smile. “I’ve been efficient too, I’ve already discussed this with Duncan and he promises a report on Mr. Feng by midafternoon, giving it top priority and complete secrecy. However,” he added, “once Mrs. Pollifax completes her visit there’s no reason why we can’t do a bit of investigating ourselves.”

Marko nodded. “She ought to be at Feng Imports in what, twenty minutes at the outside?”

Robin reached for the map of Hong Kong and traced out the route. “Let’s see … with no traffic possible in Dragon Alley she’ll leave the cab at the street above and walk down …” He checked his watch again. “It’s eleven-twelve now … Figuring a short wait for a taxi and even the worst of traffic, eleven-forty should do it.” Looking up a call number on his memo pad he contacted the radio-detection van cruising the streets. “Radio One at Hong Kong Hilton,” he said crisply. “We’ve sent out a party wearing an Ackameter, heading for the vicinity
of Lower Lasar Row … If by chance you pick it up, ignore it, we’ve a line on it here.”

A relieved voice said, “We’re sure picking it up, it’s been driving us bats. Mind giving us your ID so we know this is authentic?”

“Blue Dragon,” said Robin with a sigh, feeling as usual like a child with these passwords.

“Thanks. Over and out.”

Marko said, “Have a cup of coffee.”

Robin nodded, left his chair, poured himself a cup and returned to the radio to switch it on. To Krugg he said, “Raven here, I’m changing over to Receiving and leaving the line open for you now.”

Krugg said, “Roger … Nothing yet, all quiet.”

Marko carried a chair closer to the radio and sat with one leg over its arm, relaxed and waiting. Robin envied his calm. He knew Marko’s history, knew how hard-won was his detachment, but Robin conceded that he still found such calm impossible, he became too involved and now it was Mrs. Pollifax, his friend whom he had to worry about, and he felt ruffled and cross. He looked forward intensely to her arrival at Feng Imports, and he anticipated with even more fervor her safe departure from Feng Imports.

The Ackameter continued its steady drone and Robin’s tension began to infect the room. At half-past eleven Krugg said, “Still nothing …” and Robin put down his coffee and began to pace the floor.

They had agreed that she would be there by eleven-forty; at eleven-forty Robin swore, went to the radio, switched it to transmitting and barked, “What’s happening?”

“Nothing,” replied Krugg.

“I’m switching you off but I’ll be back.” He quickly
called the radio-detection van. “Blue Dragon,” he said. “That homing signal—I want a reading on it at once, something may have gone wrong. Right away—and report back to Radio One.” When he turned to Marko it was to give him a wan smile. “What do you think—a traffic jam, accident, flat tire—or trouble?”

Without replying Marko moved to the radio and switched to Krugg’s channel. “Don’t take your eyes off the target,” he said, “but give us a run-down on who’s left the shop—if anyone—since Robin checked with you half an hour ago. Read me everything in your report. You’ve Witkowski’s list there, too?”

“
Ja …
Let’s see, when I came on duty the old Chinese chap was just entering the shop carrying one of those string bags with fruit in it. At eight the young man Sheng Ti entered, and forty minutes later the pretty girl—Lotus, is it?—and then—”

“Wait a minute, go back,” said Marko. “If the ‘old Chinese gentleman’ entered at seven—Mr. Feng—when did he leave the shop?”

There was a silence and then Krugg said, “Damned if I know! I just looked over Witkowski’s list—he went off duty at six-thirty, as you know—and there’s no entry of the chap leaving.”

Stunned, Robin broke in to say furiously, “Did Witkowski fall asleep? Damn it, why do they send us burnt-out agents fresh off another case? He
must
have fallen asleep, Feng had to leave the building somehow if he returned to it.”

Krugg said flatly, “I’ve worked with Witkowski before and Witkowski doesn’t fall asleep on the job.”

Robin drew in his breath sharply. “My God,” he said, “do you suppose there’s another way out, another exit we missed?”

“Gently, gently,” said Marko, and dialing the radio detection van he said quietly, “Radio One, Blue Dragon. Anything on the homing signal yet?”

“At the moment, sir, it appears to be stationary in the Man Mo Temple area,” the man reported. “We’re heading toward it now down Queen’s Road Central and should be able to zero in on it inside of ten minutes at the most. Congested area.”

“Thanks—keep in touch,” said Marko, and turning to Robin, “That’s reassuring, she’s still in the Western District.”

“I’m going,” announced Robin, reaching for his jacket. “The Renault’s still parked in the rear, I can get there as fast as the van, maybe even faster.”

“Take your gun,” said Marko quietly.

Robin whirled on him, glared and snarled, “Don’t tell me that damn impervious optimism of yours has been dented slightly.” He stopped and added stiffly, “Sorry, Marko, really I am.”

“No harm done—fortunes of war,” murmured Marko, and as Robin slid a gun into his holster he handed him the Ackameter’s miniaturized detector, not as powerful as the apparatus installed in the van that was cruising the streets but a reliable gadget that would guide him to the Ackameter that Mrs. Pollifax was wearing. “I’ll stay with the radio,” he said, “and I’ll double-check Upshot on the rear exit of Feng Imports.”