Golden Buddha (Oregon Files 1)

“The ship was far from that,” the admiral said loudly. “She shot the side out from under the hydrofoil as if it was a routine exercise. We still don’t know what happened to the other two ships.”

Just outside the door, the admiral’s aide was whispering into a satellite telephone. He poked his head into Rhee’s office.

“Admiral,” he said quietly, “Beijing’s on the line.”

CHUCK “Tiny” Gunderson smiled at Rhonda Rosselli and held out one of the bearer bonds. “So,” he said, “here’s the deal. Tracy, Judy and I need to make an unscheduled midair exit. Once we are safely out, you can untie the pilots.”

“You’re abandoning me?” Rosselli asked pointedly. “All that talk about me joining your team was a lie?”

Gunderson pulled a thick cigar from his flight-suit pocket and slid it under his nose. Then he bit off the end and lit it with a solid gold lighter. He puffed the stogie to life. “I never lie to a pretty girl,” he said, smiling, “and I’m always right.”

“Then what’s the deal?”

Gunderson slipped the bearer bond into a plastic envelope and sealed it inside with the others. “The bond I showed you will be mailed to your home address once I reach land. That’s your payment for a job well executed.”

“What do I say when we land?” Rosselli asked.

“I’d tell them everything,” Gunderson said, “except about the bond. That should remain our little secret.”

“Just tell them?” Rosselli said incredulously.

“Why not?” Gunderson said. “I was careful not to relay any information that can incriminate my group. My team will make sure that the United States embassy is notified in whatever country the plane lands. Just spill your guts and they’ll let you go in a few days. Once you get back to California, someone that works with me will make contact in due time.”

“So I won’t see you again?” she asked.

“You never know,” Gunderson said as red-haired Tracy Pilston walked over.

“Our ride is only a few miles ahead,” Pilston noted, “and we’re both ready to fly the coop.”

“Did you take her down?” Gunderson asked.

Pilston nodded. “We’re to receive a signal, so we can time the jump.”

Gunderson removed two parachutes from a storage compartment where a Corporation team member had hidden them when the 737 was in her hangar in California. He helped strap one on Pilston’s back, then strapped on the other. Removing a sack containing goggles, he handed one over to Pilston.

“We’ll alert Judy,” he said quietly, “and exit from the rear.”

“Go forward,” Gunderson said to Rosselli. “Tell Judy it’s time, then stay in the cockpit.”

“Won’t everything be sucked out the rear?” Rosselli asked.

“We’re not pressurized,” Gunderson said, “so it won’t be that bad—I wouldn’t try walking around, however. Just stay in the cockpit, and after the egg timer goes off, raise the rear door and untie the pilots.”

“Okay,” Rosselli said as she went forward, opened the cockpit door and reported the news to Michaels.

“Understood,” Judy Michaels said.

Then she checked the speed once more, made sure the autopilot was operating, then pushed the lever to lower the rear door. The door began to lower slowly and the alarms on the dashboard began to beep. Twisting a cheap plastic egg timer, Michaels slid past Rosselli.

“Keep the door closed, and when that timer chimes, you know what to do.”

Rosselli nodded.

“Nice meeting you,” Michaels said as she slipped out the door.

Racing down the aisle, Michaels stopped for Gunderson to check her parachute. The farther the rear door lowered, the more wind raced through the fuselage of the 737. Magazines rustled, and any loose items inside fluttered in the wind. Gunderson watched as a silk kimono filled like a sail and shot out the rear. Then the trio made their way to the rear, where the steps were now pointing straight below the tail of the 737.

“What do you think they’ll do to Rhonda?” Pilston asked.