Golden Buddha (Oregon Files 1)

Gunderson adjusted the mixture to the engine and watched the gauges a few seconds. Satisfied all was okay, he spoke again. “Tracy, can you pour me a cup of coffee? It’s time to call the mother ship.”

Pilston unscrewed the cup off the thermos, put a piece of folded duct tape on the bottom, then poured a cup and handed it to Gunderson. He sipped the hot liquid, then set the cup down on a flat surface, where it stuck. Then he reached for the radio, adjusted the frequency, and spoke.

“Tiny calling the chairman of the board, you out there?”

A few seconds passed before an answer came. “This is control, go ahead.”

“The ladies and I,” Tiny said, “will be there in a few minutes to hook you on board.”

“We have you on the scope,” Cabrillo said. “You should be seeing us shortly.”

“What’s the drill?” Gunderson asked.

“You’ll have two yanks,” Cabrillo said. “The first is the object—remember it’s heavy.”

“We have a cargo slide with a belt, but the door to this old bird is on the side,” Gunderson said. “My plan was to winch whatever we were taking aboard close, then do some fancy flying to get the load aboard.”

Back on the Oregon, Cabrillo shook his head in amazement. “Don’t try that on the second load.”

“Why’s that, boss?”

“Because the second load is me.”

Michaels was staring out the window. A speck that was the Oregon came into view.

“I have a visual,” she said.

“We have you in sight,” Gunderson said, “and we’ll take it easy bringing you aboard, Mr. Chairman, don’t you worry.”

“I’m going topside to strap up,” Cabrillo said. “Is there anything else you need?”

Gunderson looked at Pilston and Michaels, who shook their heads no.

“Maybe just some ham-and-cheese sandwiches,” Gunderson said.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Cabrillo said.

“We’re descending now,” Gunderson said. “See you in a few.”

CABRILLO opened the door and walked into the Magic Shop. Nixon had the Golden Buddha on a small table and was waving a small electronic radar device across the belly. He stared at a monitor and shook his head.

“There’s a space there, boss,” Nixon said to Cabrillo, “but I’ll be damned if I can figure out the access.”

Cabrillo stood thinking for a moment, then turned to Nixon. “Hand me a heat gun,” he said.

Nixon walked over to the tool bench and removed a heat gun from a peg, attached an extension cord, then dragged it over to the Golden Buddha. Cabrillo flicked the switch on and started to heat the Buddha’s belly.

“What are you thinking, boss?” Nixon asked over the roar of the heat gun.

“People always want to rub Buddha’s belly for good luck,” Cabrillo said. “Rub something enough and you make heat.”

Nixon reached over and touched the golden belly. It was becoming warm, like human skin.

Cabrillo stared at the icon, then turned to Nixon. “Get me a single-edge razor blade,” he said.

Nixon walked to the workbench, found a box of razor blades, grabbed them, then walked back, peeling the paper off one of the blades.

“There,” Cabrillo said. “There’s a crack forming.”