Golden Buddha (Oregon Files 1)

THE billionaire slid the Chevrolet into park. There was really no other choice. To his front, three police cars were blocking the road. The officers were standing behind their vehicles with pistols drawn. To the rear were more cars and an armored personnel carrier that was being used as a temporary command post. Inside the APC, Sung Rhee peered through a gun port at the stopped truck. Reaching for a microphone, he spoke over the P.A. system.

“You are surrounded,” he said. “Step slowly from the vehicle with your hands above your head.”

Then he turned to one of the officers driving the APC. “Light him with the spotlight.”

The man flicked a switch and a four-million-candlelight-powered spotlight turned night into day. Rhee watched as the driver’s door slowly opened. Then a man dressed entirely in black stepped onto the wet pavement and took a few steps away from the truck.

“Stop,” Rhee ordered.

The man stopped dead in his tracks.

“Keep your hands in the air,” Rhee ordered. “If you are the only occupant of the vehicle, wave your left arm slowly.”

The man’s left arm moved back and forth.

“Take six steps into the direction of the light.”

The man complied.

“Now lay down knees-first, then belly-down, on the road.”

The man eased himself down until his entire body was prone on the wet road.

“Two officers forward,” Rhee said, “and restrain the suspect.”

A pair of officers approached from behind the police cars to the front and slowly made their way over to the man. With one covering, the other man bent down and handcuffed the suspect’s hands behind his back. Then he yanked him to his feet.

“I’m an American,” the billionaire said, “and I demand to see the ambassador.”

Rhee waited as the rear door of the APC was lowered, then he stepped out into the rain and walked over to the Chevrolet. After first flashing a light inside to verify the other seats were empty, he scanned the rear storage area and caught sight of the Buddha. Flipping open the rear gate, he glanced at the six-foot-tall chunk of gold. Then he reached for his cell phone.

THE limousine carrying Hanley was just pulling up in front of the Oregon. “Wipe it carefully and get rid of it,” he said to Crabtree. “You come with me.”

Spenser followed Hanley as he bounded up the gangplank. Once on the deck of the ship, he motioned for Spenser to follow him inside and started in the direction of the control room. Opening the door, he nodded at Eric Stone.

“Call for a guard for Spenser here.”

Stone spoke over a microphone.

“Where’s the chairman?” Hanley said next.

Stone pointed to a screen that showed a flashing light almost at the end of the airport island and a second separate light a few yards distant. “There,” Stone said, pointing. “The other is Barrett doing extraction.”

Hanley watched as the first light slowed, then stopped.

“Signal Barrett that they have arrived.”

Spenser was staring at the operation in amazement. He was just about to ask Hanley a question when the door to the control room opened and Sam Pryor walked in. “Take this man to the brig,” Hanley ordered, “and secure him.”

“Level?” Pryor asked.

“Minimum,” Hanley said, “but you stay with him—he’s not to use any communications devices or talk to anyone. You can feed him and you may allow him to sleep or use the entertainment syst

em for television or movies, but no computer.”

“Yes, sir,” Pryor said.

Hanley turned to Spenser. “You fulfilled your end of the bargain,” he said. “Don’t try anything stupid now and we’ll do exactly what we promised.”