Hong Kong: June 17, Sunday
The deafening explosion that rocked the tranquil atmosphere at the Gold Coast Yacht and Country Club was heard at exactly six fifteen in the evening, just when the sun was setting in its home in the west, that exact moment when its red orange hue was about to darken into purple blue. It was followed by chaos and upheaval such as never before seen in the usually quiet and uneventful marina.
Seconds after the explosion, frantic people rushed along the floating dock, shouting, “Fire! Fire!” Running feet, panicked shouts, splashes of water followed. Everyone’s focus was on the burning super yacht which was no doubt on its way to sink into the depths of the South China Sea.
Which was why they barely noticed a lone man walking gingerly away from the fire scene, instead of toward it. Tall, broad-shouldered and donned in a blue thermoprene shorty wetsuit which molded his hard, muscled body perfectly, he strode barefoot, noiselessly on the dock. In his left hand, he gripped a 133 cubic foot steel air tank. His right hand clutched a large, gray duffel bag.
If anyone took a closer look at him and wondered why he was oblivious to the ruckus, they’d notice the earphones clamped to his ears, and they’d come to the conclusion that he was listening to songs at full blast, rendering him almost deaf from all the noise. Amid the commotion and as far as everyone was concerned, he was insignificant.
Of course, they wouldn’t know that his ‘earphones’ were connected to a thin, iPod-like device inside his suit, taped to his bare chest. Or that his wetsuit wasn’t wet, especially his naturally thick, wavy hair with sides cut short. Or that he was now in possession of a very valuable object—which he effortlessly took under a framed poster of Michael Jackson from the now burning yacht—and for which he would be paid a hefty sum of money.
A TIME FOR HEISTS
ROMANCE | SUSPENSE | MYSTERY