“Masquerade, this is Piper, we read.”
“Request immediate extracti
on,” Reyes said. “We have the target.”
“State point of extraction, Masquerade.”
“Spot one, one, primary, Piper. Spot one three, secondary HH.”
“Acknowledge extraction coordinates, Masquerade, they are inbound in three.”
Upon receiving the order, the helicopter that had delivered them to the river lifted from the ground at a spot ten miles between Lhasa and Gonggar Airport, where the pilot had been waiting. Once he had the helicopter in forward flight, the pilot stared at a map listing the extraction points they had arranged, and glanced at the note he had scribbled on a pad attached to the clip on his knee. He flew fast and low toward Barkhor Square.
IN Little Lhasa, the Dalai Lama waited inside the communications room near a bank of radios. In the last few minutes, his network of spies inside Tibet had begun to report the progress. So far, at least, the operation appeared to be going flawlessly.
He turned to an aide-de-camp. “Are the preparations completed for our trip home?” he asked.
“As soon as word comes from Mr. Cabrillo, Your Holiness,” he said. “We can have you there in two hours by jet.”
The Dalai Lama thought for a moment. “Once we take off,” he asked, “how long will it be until we are over Tibet?”
“Half an hour,” the man noted, “give or take.”
“I am going to the temple now to pray,” the Dalai Lama said, rising. “Keep watch on the situation.”
“Yes, Your Holiness,” the aide said.
CHUCK Gunderson was helping George Adams strap himself into the attack helicopter. None of the Chinese helmets inside the hangar were large enough to fit his head, so he was using his own personal headset, plugged into the radio for communications. He was squeezed into the seat like a fat girl in spandex.
“They don’t make these for big guys like us,” Adams joked.
“You should see mine,” Gunderson said. “The Chinese still believe in quantity over quality. My cockpit looks like I’m back in World War Two. I keep expecting Glenn Miller music to start playing over the radio.”
“Look at this dashboard,” Adams said as Gunderson finished and stood upright on the ladder. “It’s got more metal that a fifty-seven Chevy.”
Just then, Eddie Seng walked over quickly. “You need to get airborne and clear the runway. Cabrillo just called. He’s five minutes out.”
Gunderson pushed down on the Plexiglas shield over Adams’s head and held it as he fastened it in place. Then he thumped the top and gave Adams a thumbs-up sign. Climbing back down the ladder, he motioned for the Tibetan helpers to wheel it out of the way. He began walking with Seng toward the cargo plane as he heard the igniters in the turbine engine of the attack helicopter begin to wind up.
“Mr. Seng,” Gunderson said, “what’s the latest?”
“I interrogated the Chinese lieutenant that was the ranking officer here,” Seng said. “He was not able to get word to Beijing before we captured his forces.”
“So for now,” Gunderson said, reaching the door of the cargo plane, “we don’t need to worry about an attack from Chinese fighters from outside the country?”
“If the Russians do their job and keep the Chinese on their toes,” Seng said, “your role right now seems to be to provide close air support for the Dungkar forces.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Gunderson said, climbing into the side door of the cargo plane.
“Good,” Seng said, patting the side of the plane. “Now get to work—the boss is coming.”
At just that second, Adams pulled the collective and the Chinese helicopter lifted from the ground. The helicopter wobbled a little as Adams fought to get the feel, then it moved forward, broke through the ground effect, and headed in the direction of Lhasa.
Gunderson walked up the slope to the cockpit, slid into his seat, then began the engine-starting procedure. Once the pair of engines were running smoothly, he glanced back to the four Dungkar soldiers manning the gun in the rear.
“Okay, men,” he shouted over the noise of the engines, “I’ll tell you when and where to direct the fire. For right now, we’re just taking a little flight.”
That sounded simple enough—but not one of the Tibetans had ever been inside a plane before.