"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.