Flood Tide Read online

  The ladder to the bridge wing from the cargo deck was a tangled piece of scrap, and Pitt had to scale the shell-riddled, twisted mass of steel that had been the aft superstructure to reach the wheelhouse. The shattered interior was deadly quiet. The only sounds came from the racing beat of the engines and the rush of water along the hull as the badly punished ship raced from the scene of the battle, strangely enhancing the eerie silence. Pitt slowly entered Satan's scrap heap, stepping over the rubble.

  There were no bodies of a helmsman or first officer in the wheel-house-all fire-combat systems had been operated from the control center under the forecastle. Cabrillo had observed and directed the battle alone on the seldom-used bridge. Through the edge of unconsciousness he saw a vague figure approach and push aside the splintered remains of the door. Awkwardly, he struggled to sit up. One leg responded but the other proved powerless. His thoughts seemed lost in a fog. He was only dimly aware of someone kneeling beside him.

  "Your leg took a nasty hit," said Pitt as he tore off his shirt and tightened it above the wound to stop the bleeding. "How's the rest of you?"

  Cabrillo held up the remains of a shattered pipe. "The bastards ruined my best briar."

  "You're lucky it wasn't your skull."

  Reaching up, Cabrillo grasped Pitt's arm. "You made it through. I thought you bought a tombstone for sure."

  "Didn't someone tell you," he said, smiling, "I'm indestructible, thanks in large part to the body armor you suggested I check out."

  "The Chengdo?"

  "Settling in the mud on the bottom of the China Sea about now."

  "Survivors from the destroyer?"

  "Hanley has his engines wound as tight as they'll go. I don't think he has any inclination to slow down, turn around, go back and see."

  "How badly were we mauled?" Cabrillo asked as his eyes began to focus again.

  "Other than looking like she was trampled by Godzilla, there isn't any damage a few weeks in a shipyard won't cure."

  "Casualties?"

  "About five, maybe six wounded, including yourself," answered Pitt. "No dead or injured below decks that I'm aware of."

  "I want to thank you," said Cabrillo. He could feel himself getting faint from loss of blood, and he wanted to get it in. "You fooled both me and the Chinese boarding party with your fake-hands-in-the-air routine. If you hadn't taken them out, the outcome might have been different."

  "I had help from four good men," Pitt said as he knotted the tourniquet on Cabrillo's leg.

  "It took a ton of guts to run across that shell-swept deck to man the Oerlikons."

  Having done all he could until Cabrillo could be carried to the ship's hospital, Pitt sat back and stared at the chairman of the board. "I believe they call it temporary insanity."

  "Still," Cabrillo said in a weak voice, "you saved the ship and everyone on it."

  Pitt looked at him tiredly and smiled. "Will the corporation vote me a bonus at the next board-of-directors meeting?"

  Cabrillo started to say something, but he passed out just as Giordino, followed by two men and a woman, entered the ravaged wheelhouse. "How bad is he?" asked Giordino.

  "His lower leg is hanging by a thread," said Pitt. "If the ship's surgeon is as skilled and professional as everyone else on this ship, I'm betting he can reattach it."

  Giordino looked down on the blood seeping through Pitt's pants at the hip. "Did you ever consider painting a bull's-eye on your ass?"

  "Why bother?" Pitt retorted with a twinkle in his eyes. "They'd never miss it anyway."

  20

  UNKNOWN TO MOST VISITORS of Hong Kong are the outlying islands, 235 of them. Considered the other face of the bustling business district across from Kowloon, the old fishing villages and peaceful open countryside are embellished by picturesque farms and ancient temples. Most of the islands are less accessible than Cheung Chau, Lamma and Lantau, whose populations run from 8,000 to 25,000, and many are still uninhabited.

  Four miles southwest of the town of Aberdeen on Repulse Bay, Tia Nan Island rises from the waters of the East Lamma Channel across a narrow channel from the Stanley Peninsula. It is small, no more than a mile in diameter. At its peak, jutting from a promontory two hundred feet above the sea, stands a monument to wealth and power, a manifestation of supreme ego.

  Originally a Taoist monastery built in 1789 and dedicated to Ho Hsie Ku, one of the immortals of Taoism, the main temple and its surrounding three smaller temples were abandoned in 1949. In 1990 it was purchased by Qin Shang, who became obsessed with creating a palatial estate that would become the envy of every affluent businessman and politician in southeast China.

  Protected by a high wall and well-guarded gates, the enclosed gardens were artistically designed and planted with the world's rarest trees and flowers. Master craftsmen replicated ancient design motifs. Artisans from all over China were brought in to remodel the monastery into a glorious showplace of Chinese culture. The harmonious architecture was retained and enhanced to display Qin Shang's immense collection of art treasures. His thirty-year hunt netted art objects from China's prehistory to the end of the Ming dynasty in 1644. He pleaded, cajoled and bribed People's Republic bureaucrats into selling him priceless antiques and artwork, any cultural treasure he could get his hands on.

  His agents combed the great auction houses of Europe and America, and scoured every private collection on every continent for exquisite Chinese objects. Qin Shang bought and bought with a fanaticism that stunned his few friends and business associates. After an appropriate time span, what could not be purchased was stolen and smuggled to his estate. What he couldn't display because of lack of space, or was documented as stolen, he stored in warehouses in Singapore and not Hong Kong because he didn't trust bureaucrats of the People's Republic government not to decide someday to confiscate his treasures for themselves.

  Unlike so many of his superrich contemporaries, Qin Shang never settled into a "lifestyle of the rich and famous." From the time he hustled his first coin until he made his third billion, he never stopped working at extending his thriving shipping operations, nor did he cease his maniacal, unending drive to collect the cultural riches of China.

  When he bought the monastery, Qin Shang's first project was to enlarge and pave the winding foot trail leading up to the temples from a small harbor so that construction materials and later his artwork and furnishings could be carried up the steep hill by vehicles. He wanted more than to rebuild and remodel the temples, much more; he wanted to create a stunning effect never achieved in a private residence or any other edifice so dedicated to the accumulation of cultural art by an individual, except perhaps the Hearst Castle at San Simeon, California.

  It took five years from start to finish before the grounds inside the walls were lushly landscaped and the decor inside the temples was completed. Another six months passed before the art and furnishings were set in place. The main temple became Qin Shang's residence and entertainment complex, which included a lavishly decorated billiard room and a vast heated indoor/outdoor swimming pool that meandered in a circle for over a hundred yards. The complex also sported two tennis courts and a short nine-hole golf course. The other three smaller temples were turned into ornate guesthouses. In the end, Qin Shang called it the House of Tin Hau, the patroness and goddess of seafarers.

  Qin Shang was an extremist when it came to perfection. He never ceased fine-tuning his beloved temples. The complex seemed in a constant state of activity as he redesigned and added costly details that enriched his creation. The expense was enormous, but he had more than enough money to indulge his passion. His fourteen thousand art objects were the envy of museums around the world. He was constantly besieged with offers by galleries and other collectors, but Qin Shang only bought. He never sold.

  When completed, the House of Tin Hau was grand and magnificent, looming over the sea like a specter guarding Shang's secrets.

  An invitation to visit the House of Tin Hau was always accepted with great pl
easure among Asian and European royalty, world leaders, society people, financial tycoons and movie stars. Guests, who generally arrived at Hong Kong's international airport, were immediately flown by a huge executive helicopter to a landing pad just outside the temple complex. High state officials or those of a special elite status were carried by water on Qin Shang's incredible two-hundred-foot floating mansion, actually the size of a small cruise ship, which he designed and built in his own shipyard. Upon arrival the guests were met by a staff of servants who would direct them to luxurious vans for the short drive to their sleeping quarters, where they were assigned their own private maids and valets during their stay. They were also informed about dinner schedules and asked if they preferred any special dishes or particular wine.

  Properly awed by the scope and splendor of the rebuilt temples, the guests relaxed in the gardens, lounged around the swimming pools or worked in the library, which was staffed with highly professional secretaries and specially equipped with the latest publications, computers and communications systems for businessmen and government officials so they could remain in convenient contact with their various offices.

  Dinners were always formal. Guests gathered in an immense antechamber that was a lush tropical garden with waterfalls, reflection ponds filled with vividly colored carp and a light perfumed mist that filtered from jets in the ceiling. Women, to protect their hairstyles, sat under artistically dyed silk umbrellas. After cocktails, they gathered in the great hall of the temple that served as a dining room and sat in massive chairs exotically carved with dragon legs and armrests. Rat-ware was optional-chopsticks for Oriental guests, gold-plated utensils for those used to Western tastes. Instead of the traditional long rectangular table with the host seated at its head, Qin Shang preferred a huge circular table with the guests comfortably spaced around the outer circumference. A narrow aisle was cut in one section of the table so gorgeous, svelte Chinese women in beautiful, form-fitting silk dresses with thigh-high slits in the skirts could serve a multitude of national dishes conveniently from the inside. To Qin Shang's creative mind, this was far more practical than the time-honored method of serving over a guest's shoulder.

  After everyone was seated, Qin Shang made his appearance in an elevator that came up through the floor. He usually wore the expensive silk robes of a mandarin lord and sat on an ancient throne elevated two inches above the chairs of his guests. Irrespective of status or nationality, Qin Shang acted as if every meal was a ceremonial occasion and he was the emperor.

  Not surprisingly, ranking guests loved every minute of a stylishly staged dinner that was actually more of a feast. After dinner, Qin Shang led them to a lavish theater where they were shown the latest feature films flown in from around the world. They sat in soft, velvet chairs and wore earphones that translated the dialogue into their native language. By the end of the program it was close to midnight. A light buffet was laid out, and the guests mingled among themselves while Qin Shang would disappear into a private sitting room with a selected guest or two to discuss world markets or negotiate business deals.

  This evening Qin Shang requested the presence of Zhu Kwan, the seventy-year-old scholar who was China's most respected historian. Kwan was a little man with a smiling face and small, heavily lidded brown eyes. He was invited to sit in a thickly cushioned wooden chair carved with lions and offered a small Ming-dynasty china cup of peach brandy.

  Qin Shang smiled. "I wish to thank you for coming, Zhu Kwan."

  "I am grateful for your invitation," Zhu Kwan replied graciously. "It is a great honor to be a guest in your magnificent home."

  "You are our country's greatest authority on ancient Chinese history and culture. I requested your presence because I wanted to meet you and discuss a possible venture between us."

  "I must assume you want me to do research."

  Qin Shang nodded. "I do."

  "How can I be of service?"

  "Have you taken a close look at some of my treasures?"

  "Yes indeed," answered Zhu Kwan. "It is a rare treat for a historian to study our country's greatest artworks firsthand. I had no idea so many pieces of our past still existed. It is thought many of them were lost. The magnificent bronze incense burners inlaid with gold and gem-stones from the Chou dynasty, the bronze chariot with life-size driver and four horses from the Han dynasty-"

  "Fakes, replicas!" Qin Shang snapped in a sudden display of torment. "What you consider masterworks of our ancestors were recreated from photographs of the originals."

  Zhu Kwan was astonished and disillusioned at the same time. "They look so perfect, I was completely fooled."

  "Not if you had time to study them under laboratory conditions."

  "Your artisans are extraordinary. As skilled as those a thousand years ago. On today's market your commissioned works must be worth a fortune."

  Qin Shang sat heavily in a chair opposite Zhu Kwan. "True, but reproductions are not priceless like the genuine objects. That is why I'm delighted you accepted my invitation. What I'd like you to do is compile an inventory of the art treasures that were known to exist prior to nineteen forty-eight, but have since disappeared."

  Zhu Kwan eyed him steadily. "Are you prepared to pay a great sum of money for such a list?"

  "I am."

  "Then you shall have a complete inventory itemizing every known art treasure that has been missing in the last fifty to sixty years by the end of the week. You wish it delivered here or at your office in Hong Kong?"

  Qin Shang looked at him quizzically. "That is quite an exceptional commitment. Are you sure you can fulfill my request in so short a time?"

  "I have already accumulated a detailed description of the treasures over a period of thirty years," explained Zhu Kwan. "It was a labor of love for my own personal satisfaction. I only require a few days to put it in readable order. Then you may have it free of charge."

  "That is most gracious of you, but I am not a man who asks for favors without compensation."

  "I will accept no money, but there is one provision."

  "You have but to name it."

  "I humbly ask that you use your enormous resources in an attempt to locate the lost treasures so they can be returned to the people of China."

  Qin Shang nodded solemnly. "I promise to use every source at my command. Though I have only spent fifteen years to your thirty on the search, I regret to say I have made little progress. The mystery is as deep as the disappearance of the bones of the Peking man."

  "You have found no leads either?" inquired Zhu Kwan.

  "The only key to a possible solution my own agents have turned up is a ship called the Princess Dou Wan."

  "I remember her well. I sailed on her with my mother and father to Singapore when I was a young boy. She was a fine ship. As I recall, she was owned by Canton Lines. I searched for clues to her disappearance myself some years ago. What is her connection with the lost art treasures?"

  "Shortly after Chiang Kai-shek looted the national museums and plundered the private collections of our ancestors' art treasures, the Princess Dou Wan sailed for an unknown destination. She never reached it. My agents have failed to trace any eyewitnesses. It seems many of them also disappeared under mysterious circumstances. No doubt lying in unmarked graves, courtesy of Chiang Kai-shek, who wanted no secrets about the ship to leak to the Communists."

  "You think Chiang Kai-shek tried to smuggle the treasures away on the Princess Dou Wan ? "

  "The coincidence and odd events lead me to believe so."

  "That would answer many questions. The only records I could find on the Princess Dou Wan suggested that she was lost on the way to the scrappers at Singapore."

  "Actually, her trail ends somewhere in the sea west of Chile, where a distress signal was reported received from a ship calling herself the Princess Dou Wan before she sank with all hands in a violent storm."

  "You have done well, Qin Shang," said Zhu Kwan. "

  erhaps now you can solve the puzzle?"
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  Qin Shang shook his head dejectedly. "Easier said than done. She could have gone down anywhere within a four-hundred-square-mile area. An American would compare it to looking for a needle in a field of haystacks."

  "This is not a quest to cast aside as too difficult. A search must be conducted. Our most priceless national treasures must be recovered." "I agree. That's why I built a search-and-survey ship precisely for that purpose. My salvage crew has been crisscrossing the site for six months and has seen no indication of a hulk on the seabed matching the size and description of the Princess Dou Wan."

  "I pray you do not give up," Zhu Kwan said solemnly. "To discover and return the artifacts for display in the People's museums and galleries would make you immortal."