Golden Buddha (Oregon Files 1)

The electronic circuits throughout both ships shorted as cleanly as if a switch had been thrown. The engines ceased to function and the electronics in the wheelhouse and below went black. Both ships slowed in the water just as a burst of wind and rain raked across the sea.

“YEE-HA!” Adams SHOUTED as the wind hit the R-44.

He was eighty feet back of the stern and twenty feet in the air when he initiated his flare. Pulling up on the cyclic, he pitched the nose up using the drag on the powerless rotor to bleed off forward speed. He was four feet above the pad when the forward speed ceased and the Robinson dropped down on the deck with a thud. The foam reached halfway up the fuselage as Adams pulled on the rotor brake to stop the blades from spinning. Then he unlocked and pushed the door open. Next, he began to unsnap his harness.

Richard Truitt waded through the dissolving foam to the door as soon as the rotor stopped.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Shaken but not stirred.” Adams smiled. “What’s new?”

At just that instant the Oregon started moving again.

Truitt shrugged. “We’re heading out.”

“Open seas,” Adams said, climbing from the cockpit, “here we come.”

“Fill out a repair order,” Truitt said, “then meet me in the cafeteria. We need to do a little planning.”

The two men reached the edge of the foam just as a deckhand began to hose the foam over the side with a stream of seawater. They brushed flecks off their pants as they made their way to the door leading inside.

“Do I need to bring anything special?” Adams asked.

“High-altitude performance charts,” Truitt answered.

34

THEOregon steamed south just inside the edge of the storm. The time was 6 A.M. and the cafeteria aboard smelled of bacon, sausage, eggs and cinnamon rolls. Cabrillo was sitting at a table talking with Julia Huxley as Hanley walked t

oward them with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. He smiled and nodded.

“Now that,” he said to Cabrillo, “was exciting.”

“Never a dull moment around here,” Cabrillo agreed.

“How are Reinholt and Jones?” Hanley asked Huxley.

“Minor injuries,” Huxley reported. “Jonesy has a couple of cracked ribs—I gave him pain medication and he’s sleeping in sick bay. Reinholt claims he’s better, but I have him resting in his cabin just to be sure.”

“Did you check on repairs to the R-44?” Cabrillo asked.

“Yes, Mr. Chairman,” Hanley said as an attendant walked over and set a plate containing a cinnamon roll in front of him. “A buckle that controls movement to the rotor head was bent. They are replacing it now and estimate it will be ready to fly in a couple of hours.”

“Good,” Cabrillo said. “Once the Oregon steams closer to the mainland, I’ll need Adams to drop me off at the airport.”

“Just like we planned,” Hanley agreed.

“Now all we need to do is find the secret compartment inside the Golden Buddha,” Cabrillo said, “and see if its contents are still intact.”

SUNG Rhee caught sight through the window of the four men approaching his office. They did not look happy, and the aide did not bother to knock before swinging the door open. Rhee rose from his desk as the aide stood aside and allowed the admiral to enter.

“We managed to get air bags under the hydrofoil to keep her afloat until a salvage ship can tow her back,” the admiral said without preamble, “but my men tell me repairs will require close to six months.”

“Sir—” Rhee started to say.

“Enough,” the admiral thundered. “I have one ship out of commission and our only frigate and fast-attack corvette disabled and dead in the water. You set me up—and you will pay.”

“Sir,” Rhee said quickly, “we had no idea…the ship to all appearances was merely a decrepit cargo vessel.”