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“Sorry, Miss Iselda,” the Chinese worker said, scanning a sheet “These are what are on the list”

“Take them back, take them back,” she said as she furiously puffed away

A peacock wandered into the tent and rabbed a straw broorounds

“Where are the laser lights?” she shouted to no one in particular

AT exactly that sa in one of his three home offices, this one on the top floor of his house This was his private sanctuary None of the staff or assistants were allowed to enter this most private of spaces The attic room was decorated to Ho’s tastes, which ran to early eclectic His desk was fro ship, his television a brand-new plasma screen

Bookcases lined one wall, but they were not filled with the classy touests visited; these shelves were filled with pulp spy novels, soft porn featuring damsels in distress, and cheap paperback westerns

A giant wool rug with a stick-shaped phoenix design that had been woven by a Navajo in Arizona graced the wood floor, while the walls were dotted with framed posters from past and current popular movies The top of the captain’s desk was a study in disorderliness Stacks of papers, apens, and a dusty brass lamp shared the crowded space

Ho walked over to a serator shaped like a bank vault and re off the cap, he took a sip, then stared at the Golden Buddha sitting upright on the floor, the door of its case open

Ho was trying to decide if he should display his latest prize at the party

Right then, his private telephone rang It was the insurance underwriter, anted to schedule an appoint at his treasure

“AS long as we don’t lose power,” Kevin Nixon said, “no one should be the wiser”

“Did you receive their song list?” Cabrillo asked

“We got it,” Hanley said, handing his into the computer”

“Heavy on the sixties and seventies,” Cabrillo noted, “with a fair auitar riffs”

“Unfortunately, we can’t change the playlist without arousing suspicion,” Hanley said