Golden Buddha (Oregon Files 1)

TWO hours later, Truitt had forged an agreement. A pair of trusts, one for each nation. Because the population of Kiribati was just over 84,000, they received $8.4 million. Tuvalu, with a population of 10,867, received $1.1 million. Another $5.5 million was dedicated for development of eco-tourism on the two chains of islands. To promote tourism, the two countries decided on a series of small island resorts where the natives would act as guides, scuba-diving masters and overseers.

The planned stilt homes would be self-service. The tourists could clean their own rooms.

Truitt caught the last flight out on Easter day.

HANLEY was staring at a satellite image of Tibet as he spoke on the telephone.

“You’re sure, Murph?” he asked. “He’s fit to fly?”

“It was like magic,” Murphy said over the secure line. “Gurt looks better than before he was shot. He’s outside doing repairs on the chopper as we speak.”

“Hold on,” Hanley said from the Oregon. “I’ll call off the cavalry.”

Reaching for a scrambled radio, he called the rescue helicopter. “Stop where you are,” Hanley said, “and wait. If my fuel calculations are correct, you should have more than half tanks right now. Wait until you see the other Bell pass nearby, then follow her home to Gonggar.”

“Understand,” the pilot answered. “What’s the ETA?”

“They’re about an hour away,” Hanley noted, “but I’ll monitor the situation and report to you when they are near.”

“We’re touching down now,” the pilot said, “and standing by.”

IN Washington, D.C., hands-off was becoming handson.

Langston Overholt sat in a room off the Oval Office, waiting for the president to reappear. Truitt had notified Hanley of his successful mission. Hanley had faxed the details to Cabrillo in Tibet. Once that was done, he had telephoned Overholt and reported the news.

Overholt then made his way to the White House to report to the president.

“For someone who was supposed to be outside the loop,” the president said, entering the room, “I’m as wrapped up in this as a kitten in a yarn ball.”

It was early morning in Washington, and the president had been preparing for bed when he had been summoned. He was dressed in gray sweatpants and a blue T-shirt. He was drinking a glass of orange juice.

He stared at Overholt, then grinned. “You must know I stay up late and watch Saturday Night Live.”

“Don’t all politicians, sir?” Overholt asked.

“Probably,” the president said. “It was always the rumor that it cost Gerald Ford the election.”

“How did it go, sir?” Overholt asked.

“Qatar was a gimme,” he said easily. “Me and Mr. al Thani are old friends. Brunei was not such a pushover. The sultan needed a few concessions—I gave them, and he agreed.”

“I’m sorry we needed to involve you, sir,” Overholt said. “But the contractors were short of both men and time.”

“Have you got the last vote?” the president asked. “Is Laos in the bag?”

Overholt glanced at his watch before answering. “Not yet, sir,” he said, “but we will have it in about fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll instruct the ambassador to the United Nations to call for a special vote in the morning,” the president said. “If your guys can hold down the fort for six hours or so, we’re home free.”

“I’ll notify them immediately, sir,” Overholt said, rising.

“Good,” the president said. “Then I’m going to catch a few hours of shut-eye.”

A Secret Service agent led Overholt down the elevator and into the secret tunnel. Twenty minutes later he was in his car and on his way back to Langley.

THE white 747 cargo plane slowed to a stop at the end of the runway in Vientiane, then taxied over to a parking area and shut down the engines. Once everything was shut down, the pilot began the process of raising the entire nose cone in the air, opening up the immense cargo area. Once the nose was in the air, cargo ramps were attached to a slot in the open front of the fuselage.

Then, one by one, cars were driven out onto the tarmac.