Golden Buddha (Oregon Files 1)

He saw the waves of acknowledgment.

“Ross, dispose of the punch and the doctored appetizers left on the tables.”

“Larry,” Hanley asked, “what do you see?”

“The policeman is leaning against the front of his car, waiting for help. I think we can count him out for now. One of the guards has just left the tent, carrying Monica. He’s making his way to extraction point one.” King scanned the grounds with the scope. “Two of the guards are wheeling the faux Buddha toward the rear door as I speak.”

“Good,” Hanley said, “everything is in play. You ca

n make your egress anytime you deem fit. If you make your way along the wall and wait by the street, I’ll have Juan slow the van down as he passes.”

“Understand,” King said.

He began to break down the rifle and fit it into its case. Once that was done, he climbed down to the edge of the wall and began to make his way west.

“Who haven’t we used?” Hanley asked one of the operators, who stared quickly at the list of participants.

“Truitt,” the operator replied.

“Where’s Julia?”

“Last we saw her, she was going back inside the tent,” the operator said. “But since the chairman broke down the keyboard set, we’ve lost the camera inside.”

“Dick,” Hanley said, “if you can hear me, signal someone in our team.”

Cabrillo pulled the van to the rear of the tent. It had been slow going with all the people wandering the grounds. He slid the van into Park and opened the door. Truitt appeared at the rear of the tent and motioned to the camera in the van’s mirror.

“Dick, I need you to find Julia,” Hanley said. “She immobilized the art dealer. Carry him to the landing zone, then I want the two of you to exit via Crabtree’s limousine.”

Truitt gave the camera a thumbs-up and raced away.

The members of the team were tossing the remaining speakers and electronics into the rear of the van. Out over Nam Van Lakes, the landing lights of the helicopter were visible and growing brighter. The thumping of the rotor blades increased as the helicopter drew near.

Inside the tent it was pandemonium. Truitt found Huxley talking to Ho, who seemed unable to move from where he stood. Too much was happening, his brain could not put it all into place.

“The megaphone,” he said in a daze. “I have to warn the guests.”

“Who has it?” Truitt asked Ho.

“The band,” Ho said. “The band said they had one.”

“I just saw them at the rear of the tent,” Truitt said. “You should go there.”

Ho raced off.

Truitt reached over and whispered in Huxley’s ear, “Where’s the art dealer?”

Huxley led him over, and she and Truitt carried Spenser out onto the grounds.

The helicopter pilot slowed his forward speed and initiated a hover. The Eurocopter EC-350 that the Corporation had leased was a sweet machine—it hung in the air with little input from the controls. Reaching to the radio on the control panel, the pilot changed the radio frequency.

“I’m waiting,” he said to the Oregon.

“What do you see?” Hanley asked.

The pilot flicked on his landing lights.

“I have two people carrying a body to the zone,” the pilot said. “Everything else is in place.”