Golden Buddha (Oregon Files 1)

“Here is what you tell him,” the oracle said.

Thirty minutes later, the Dalai Lama nodded and smiled at the oracle.

“I will have my aides prepare notes to buttress our argument,” he said, “and thank you.”

Rising from the chair, the oracle walked unsteadily from the room.

LANGSTON Overholt was using a borrowed office in a far corner of the compound at Little Lhasa. He was speaking on a secure line to the director of Central Intelligence in hushed tones.

“I didn’t order that,” he said. “I simply don’t have the apparatus in China to pull it off.”

“The estimates from our people on the ground place the number at five hundred and growing,” the DCI noted.

“I’ll ask the contractor,” Overholt said, “but it may just be a lucky break.”

“Whatever the case,” the DCI said, “reports say the Chinese are paying close attention to the protests.”

“What about the Mongolians?” Overholt asked.

“I had a secret meeting with their ambassador,” the DCI said. “They’ll play it either way.”

“What did that cost?” Overholt asked.

“Don’t ask,” the DCI said, “but suffice it to say the United States’ strategic reserves of tungsten and molybdenum won’t need replenishing for some time.”

“That gives us choices for the contractor to offer to the Russians,” Overholt said.

“As soon as he meets with them, I need to know what they have decided,” the DCI told him.

“No matter what the time,” Overholt said.

“Day or night,” the DCI said before disconnecting.

GUNDERSON could not believe the lift the pair of wings gave the Antonov. Though he and the others had been flying the plane for nearly eight hours, this was the first time he had needed to land. Lining up to land, he floated the Antonov down to the runway like a feather fluttering to the floor. Halfway down the length of the runway, Gunderson realized he’d need to force the plane to the ground. Moving the yoke forward, he felt the wheels finally touch.

“Sorry about that, boss,” he said, pointing out the window at the Gulfstream on the far end of the runway. “She floats like a butterfly. I’ll taxi us back over to the Gulfstream.”

Cabrillo nodded and unsnapped the seat belt. Walking into the cargo area, he began to collect his things. Lifting the stack of bearer bonds, he placed them all in his bag, then thought better of that. He turned his head toward the cockpit.

“Do you have to take the plane back south again?” he asked Gunderson.

“No, sir,” Gunderson said, slowing as he approached the Gulfstream. “Gannon worked it out—the company will pick it up here. The ladies are boarding the Oregon, and I’m flying north on the C-130 as soon as it arrives.”

Cabrillo began to count the pile. When he finished, he spoke again.

“I’m leaving you a pile,” he said to everyone. “Give them to Hanley when he arrives. Tell him I took the rest north—I may need them to grease some wheels.”

Gunderson stopped the Antonov, then reached for the checklist for postflight. “Okay, boss,” he said as he started through the steps to shut down the engine. Michaels was unlatching the door while Pilston stood off to the side.

“You have some time to kill until the Oregon arrives,” Cabrillo said. “You’ll have guards from the Vietnamese air force, but I’d stay close. Hanley will make payment to their general when he arrives, so you shouldn’t have to deal with much.”

“Will they take us to a bathroom?” Michaels asked.

“I’m sure they will,” Cabrillo said as he walked for the door, “but one at a time, please. And whatever you do, don’t let anyone know you have that stack of bonds.”

“You got it, boss,” Gunderson said.

Cabrillo stopped at the door for a second. “Ladies, Tiny,” he said, smiling, “I’ll see you soon.”