Cabrillo was walking over to pick up his telephone when the Dungkar leader burst into the room. He stared at the scene in shock. Against the far wall was a large outline of a man that had been made by the bullets striking the stone. Five PSB officers were standing with rifles, while a lone PSB officer was placing another man
in handcuffs.
“We found the gas,” the Dungkar blurted out. “We’re burning it off now.”
Cabrillo bent down and retrieved the telephone. “Max,” he said, “did you hear that?”
“I did, Juan,” Hanley said. “Now get the hell out of there.”
Cabrillo folded the telephone in half and slid it in his pocket. “Norquay, I assume?” he asked the leader of the PSB officers.
“Yes, sir,” the officer answered.
“Assist the Dungkar with the destruction of the gas,” Cabrillo said. “Then secure Potala. General Rimpoche will be in contact with you soon—thanks for your help.”
Norquay nodded.
“To a Free Tibet,” Cabrillo shouted.
“To a Free Tibet,” the men answered.
Cabrillo began walking toward the door.
“Sir?” Norquay said, “there’s just one more thing.”
Cabrillo paused.
“What do you want us to do with him?” Norquay said, motioning to Po.
Cabrillo smiled. “Let him go.”
Cabrillo reached for the door handle. “But take his uniform and papers. He’s just too emotional to be a policeman.”
Then Cabrillo walked out the door, climbed down the steps and boarded the helicopter. Five minutes later he was back at Gonggar Airport. Ten minutes later he and his team were airborne in the C-130. They passed the fleet of leased helicopters in the air, headed for Bhutan, and the pilot of the C-130 wagged his wings. The helicopters returned the good-bye by flicking on their landing lights.
Then the team settled in for the short flight. Soon they’d be back on the Oregon.
46
IN Beijing, news of the events in Tibet was filtering in, and a hurried meeting was held.
President Jintao was direct. “What are our options?” he asked.
“We could send bombers to hit Lhasa,” the head of the Chinese air force said. “Then ready paratroopers for a later assault.”
“But that leaves us short on the Mongolian border,” Jintao noted. “What’s the latest intelligence on the Russian movements?”
The head of Chinese intelligence was a short man with a pronounced belly. He adjusted his glasses before speaking. “The Russian forces are enough for them to sweep down and flank our troops that are currently still headed down the pass into Qinghai Province. If they supported their efforts with air power, we could lose both Qinghai and Xinjiang Provinces, basically the entire western frontier.”
“That would give them control of our secret advanced weapons facilities at Lop Nur, plus a good portion of our space program,” Jintao said wearily.
“I’m afraid so, sir,” the head of intelligence noted.
“Okay—” Jintao started to say before his aide rushed into the room and walked over and whispered in his ear.
“Gentlemen,” President Jintao said, “continue discussions—I have an emergency meeting. The Russian ambassador is insisting we talk and has arrived ahead of his scheduled meeting.”
The Russian ambassador was waiting in an outer office. He rose as Jintao walked into the room. “Mr. President,” he said solicitously, “I apologize for moving up the time of our meeting, but the president of my country insisted I see you immediately.”