Golden Buddha Part 39

"How's she fly, Tiny?" he asked as he slid into the copilot's seat.

"She's as slow and steady as a diesel trawler," Gunderson answered.

"Did you get any sleep?"

"Yep," Gunderson said. "Tracy needed to rack up some flight time, so she and Judy flew us here from Vietnam."

Cabrillo nodded and turned his head back to the cargo area.

"How'd it go with Mr. Silicon Valley?" he asked. x "We made it through," Michaels said.

"I want to apologize to both of you," Cabrillo said quietly. "If there was any other way ..."

"We know, sir," Pilston said. "It was just a job--and we treated it as such."

"Still . . . ," Cabrillo said, "it was above and beyond what we should ask of you. I approved a special bonus for you both, and Hanley has 322 323.

scheduled you for a month off with pay as soon as we finish this mis sion.

"Thank you, sir," Michaels said. "And this helped soften the blow somewhat."

She held up the stack of bearer bonds.

"I trust," Gunderson said, "you mean that figuratively and not literally."

THE U.S. AMBa.s.sADOR to Russia sipped from a small gla.s.s of vodka, then smiled at President Putin. The men were seated in front of a roaring fire inside the presidential offices in Moscow. Outside, a spring storm was finally exhausting itself after dumping nearly a foot of wet snow on the capital city. Soon the first flowers would pop their heads from the soil. Then it would all turn green.

"How much are we talking about?" Putin asked.

"Billions," the amba.s.sador said.

"And the structure?"

"As you know," the amba.s.sador said, taking another sip, "this is not a United States government operation. For all intents and purposes, 'i you will be making the agreements with a separate company that we subcontract with."

"But they work for you?" Putin asked.

"Not on paper," the amba.s.sador said, "but we have used them in the past."

"Give me some details," Putin said as he rose to stoke the fire with a poker. "I'd like to know with whom I'm getting into bed."

"They call themselves the Corporation," the amba.s.sador noted quietly.

"They handle things of a sensitive nature for us and other countries.

The company has specialized skills, huge amounts of funding and an unparalleled reputation for integrity."

"They can be trusted?" Putin asked.

"You may consider their word their bond," the amba.s.sador confirmed.

"Who runs this Corporation?" Putin asked.

"A man named Juan Cabrillo," the amba.s.sador answered.

"And when do I meet this Juan Cabrillo?" Putin said, turning from the fire, placing the poker back in the rack and sliding into the armchair.

"He will be in Moscow late this evening," the amba.s.sador said.

"Good," Putin said. "I welcome the chance to hear him out."

The amba.s.sador finished the small gla.s.s of vodka and waved away Putin's attempt to refill it. "Now," he said, "how much ha.s.sle are you getting from the Chinese?"

"Enough," the Russian president admitted, "but not more than we can handle."

"If you need to," the amba.s.sador asked, "are you ready to go in?"

Putin pointed to a folder of papers on the table. "There is the plan.

In less than twenty-four hours, we can cross the Tarim Basin in a lightning-fast raid and reach the border of Tibet."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," the amba.s.sador said.

"If I have to order that approach," Putin said, "I want your president on paper supporting that move. There is no other way."

"We don't think you'll need to do that," the amba.s.sador said. "It won't go that far."

"Just know," Putin said, "if we stand up--he does too."

"I'll let him know," the amba.s.sador said.

THEY APPEARED OUT of nowhere," the head of Chinese state security said.

Chinese president Hu Jintao stared at the man with barely concealed contempt.

"Five hundred Buddhist monks just materialized out of the mist in People's Park in downtown Beijing?" Jintao said. "That's some magic."

The man sat mute. There was nothing to say.

324.

325.

"And they are chanting and calling for Tibetan freedom?"

"Yes, sir," the man from state security said.

"When was the last time we were faced with a Tibetan protest?"

Jintao asked.

"In Beijing?" the man said. "It's been over a decade--and then it was tiny and easily dispersed."

"And this one?"

"It's growing by the minute," the man admitted.

"I've got a ma.s.sive Russian war exercise on the border with Mongolia, Tibetan separatists in downtown Beijing, and I'm not sure what's going on in Macau province. This spring is not coming up with fresh-smelling flowers."

"Do you want me to order troops to disperse the protesters?" the head of state security asked.

"Absolutely not," Jintao said. "Our world standing still has not been repaired from Tiananmen Square, and that was in 1989. We take action against peaceful Buddhist monks, the repercussions will reverberate for decades."

"Then do nothing?"

"For now," Jintao said, "until we figure out what is happening."

WHERE ARE WE at on this thing?" the president of the United States asked.

"Off the record, sir?" the Director of Central Intelligence asked.

"I did not sneak you into the White House through the underground tunnel so that I could discuss it tonight on Larry King, Director. Yes, completely off the record."

"It's progressing perfectly," the DCI noted. "And we are shielded behind an armor of deniability that couldn't be penetrated with an ant.i.tank round."

"How soon before you need me to do my thing?" the president asked.

"Tomorrow," the DCI said, "if all goes according to plan."

"Then," the president said, rising, "you make sure it does."

"Yes, Mr. President," the DCI said as the president walked through the door and down the hall to a state dinner that was already in progress.

THE OREGON WAS flying across the water. The schedule called for the ship to stop in Ho Chi Minh City. Once there, the operatives that would be needed in Tibet would be off-loaded and flown in a C-130 northwest to Bhutan. Then the Oregon would continue on, pa.s.sing Singapore. Traversing the Strait of Malacca, the vessel would race north into the Bay of Bengal, arriving off Bangladesh on Easter Day.

That was the closest to Tibet that the Oregon would ever be.

No one in the Corporation enjoyed it when the Oregon and her battery of electronics and firepower were far from the operation. The ship was the lifeline to the crew, their home away from home, their anchor in the stormy sea of intrigue where they operated.

Ross and Kasim were doing their best to smooth the difficulty.

"I've tested the satellite uplink," Kasim said. "The Oregon will have command-and-control capability. Everyone will be reachable either by radio or secure telephone."

Ross glanced up from her computer screen. "I'm programming the drones. We have two. That's less than I would like, but they're just so d.a.m.n expensive."

"Who will fly them?" Kasim asked.

"They will need to be operated from within three hundred miles,"

she noted. "Thimbu or inside Tibet itself."

Kasim nodded.

She scanned a sheet of paper that listed crew qualifications. "Four of us are trained in the operation. You, me, Lincoln and Jones."

"Lincoln would stand out in Tibet like a debutante at a. tractor 326 327.

pull," Kasim noted. "If he operates the drone, at least he'll be hidden inside a tent. If I were you, I'd recommend to Hanley he get the job."

Ross nodded her head in agreement. "He's good," she said, "and the drones are critical--they will be our only eyes in the sky. If Lincoln can keep them over station above Lhasa Airport, the control room here can watch the action unfolding."

"What have the Chinese got in Tibet to shoot them down?" Kasim asked.

Ross glanced at the sheet listing Chinese defenses that had been recently smuggled out of Tibet by the underground freedom movement.

"Some old antiaircraft guns and one ten-year-old missile defense battery.

Around Gonggar Airport near Lhasa there's not much," she said. "Looks like a couple of cargo planes, some helicopters, and rifles carried by the troops."

"I'd make a note to Hanley to target the antiaircraft guns for early destruction," Kasim said, "then have Lincoln fly only one drone at a time."

"That's what I was thinking," Ross said. "If he flies high, he can scan the entire city, plus keep the bird out of sight of riflemen."

"Makes sense," Kasim said.

"What do you find for radio and television transmitters?"

"There is one television," Kasim said, "and a pair of radios. We need quickly to gain control of both so we can keep the Tibetan people alerted."

"What's the report say?" Ross said. "Will they rally against the Chinese when the time comes?"

"We think so," Kasim said, "and G.o.d help the Chinese when they do."

"The Dungkart" Ross said.

"Tibetan for blackbirds with red beaks," Kasim said. "The fighting arm of the Tibetan underground."

Ross glanced at the sheet holding the a.s.sembled intelligence. "When it is time, we will feed on the carca.s.ses of the oppressors and the beaks will be red with blood and the day will be black with death."

"Brings a chill to my spine," Kasim said.

"And I thought," Ross said, "we had the air conditioning too cold."

ONE FLOOR BELOW where Ross and Kasim were planning, Mark Murphy was in the armory. Munitions and crates were piled to one side, and Sam Pryor and Cliff Hornsby were slowly moving them toward the elevator to be taken to an upper storage area where they would be off-loaded in Da Nang. On each crate to be used, Murphy attached a red-taped sticker. Then the contents were labeled with a felt-tipped pen. He was singing a ditty while he worked.

"I'm a gonna blow some stuff up tomorrow," he said. "Gonna blow me up some stuff."

Pryor wiped his forehead with a handkerchief before bending down to lift another crate to carry to the elevator. "Shoot, Murph," he said, "you packing enough C-6?"