Golden Buddha (Oregon Files 1)

“They launched cruise missiles from the Persian Gulf into downtown Baghdad,” Cabrillo said, “so we can assume either missile or aircraft support.”

“The enemy has rockets on the fast-attack corvette, and some long guns that can fire high-explosive rounds, plus the frigate should have some Chinese-made cruise-type missiles.”

“They any good?” Cabrillo asked.

“Not as accurate as ours,” Hanley admitted, “but they can sink a ship.”

“The hydrofoil?”

“Deck-mounted machine guns only,” Hanley said.

“And the Zodiacs are being pursued by harbor patrol boats?”

“Correct,” Hanley said. “A pair of forty-six-foot aluminum cruisers with diesel power. They each have a single bow-mounted machine gun.”

“Radios?”

“Nothing special,” Hanley said.

“So even if we took out the harbor boats,” Cabrillo said, “the Zodiacs would still need to pass the trio of vessels on our tail.”

“I’m afraid so,” Hanley agreed.

Cabrillo started sketching on a yellow pad with a black Magic Marker. When he finished, he handed the pad to Hanley. “Make sense to you?”

“Yep,” Hanley said.

“Okay then,” Cabrillo said forcefully, “hard a’ starboard. We’re going back toward land.”

33

ADAMS eased the cyclic to the left and banked the R-44. A few seconds earlier he had passed to port of the Chinese corvette and had just picked up a glimpse of the vessel through the fog. It was a wonder the Chinese vessel had not fired on him—surely they had detected the helicopter as it flew toward land. The frigate was fast approaching and Adams planned to give it a wide berth.

He was keeping the Robinson five to ten feet above the tops of the waves—maybe that was shielding him from detection, but Adams doubted it. To avoid radar detection, he needed to be closer to the wave tops—two, three feet maximum. With the weapons pods hanging from each side of his skids and seawater detrimental to their correct operation, Adams was taking no chances. If he had to trade avoiding fire from the Chinese ships to arriving too high to help his team members, he’d do it.

Adams eased forward on the cyclic and watched as the governor adjusted his rotor speed. He was doing 130 miles an hour, and according to his calculations he should be seeing the first Zodiac one minute forty-five seconds after he passed the frigate. He strained his eyes to catch sight of the Chinese vessel, while at the same time watching the dash-mounted storm scope, which was sending a radar signal into the weather.

HUXLEY pointed to the dash of the Zodiac but said nothing.

Seng nodded, then bent down and shouted into her ear. “If I was to guess,” he screamed, “I’d say we have something partially blocking the raw water intake holes on the drive. Might be something as simple as a piece of soaked paper or part of a plastic bag—the problem is, we need to stop and raise the outboard out of the water to check.”

“It doesn’t seem to be getting any worse,” Julia Huxley said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Seng said. “We are in the low red and staying there. If the engine can run at those temperatures for a little longer, we might just make it out of here alive.”

Huxley scanned the water through the fog as they raced along. She turned and caught a quick glimpse of the Zodiac being piloted by Kasim off the starboard stern. The pair of diesel cruisers had yet to get close enough to catch sight of either vessel, and if they maintained their speed they never would.

“Too bad we can’t ask for a time out,” Huxley said, “so I can clean the water intake.”

Eddie Seng strained to hear Huxley’s voice over the noise of his racing outboard motor. Something else was causing his ears to perk up—a slight thumping coming from the bow. Then, through the fog, he caught a glimpse of the R-44. And a voice came over the radio.

THE command bridge on the Gale Force was a buzz of shouted instructions. Messages were repeated more than once as the news that the Oregon was starting a turn back to land was relayed from radar operator to captain, captain to helmsman, then around to the other officers. The event was relayed to the captains of the corvette and the frigate, who immediately began to slow.

Captain Ching figured it would take the Oregon close to a nautical mile to complete the turn.

Once again,

Ching would underestimate.