Clive Cussler: Golden Buddha

The man scurried off to fulfill the request while at the same time his aide approached.

“I’ve found a dozen men with at least basic knowledge of how to drive,” the aide said. “We can have the vehicles on the streets of the city as soon as they are painted.”

“Good,” Rimpoche said. “We need to show we’re in control.”

Right at that instant, he heard a helicopter approaching from Gonggar. He watched as it passed overhead and headed for Potala.

DETECTIVE Po and his Tibetan underlings had just escaped a mob of Tibetans intent on capturing them. Po was now on the outskirts of Lhasa at the east end of the city. More and more he was considering his mission a failure. Either there was no one answering the description of the people he sought, or the Tibetans he and his men had questioned were lying. But the situation went deeper than that. In the last half hour, Po had felt the tide turn.

More and more he was feeling like the hunted, not the hunter.

His last call to the Public Security Bureau had gone unanswered, and although it might be a figment of his imagination, he was thinking the Tibetans assigned to help him had begun eyeing him differently.

Right then, a helicopter flew overhead and slowed to touch down on the flats below Potala.

“Stop the truck,” Po ordered.

The driver slowed and stopped. The helicopter was only two hundred yards away and the skids had just touched the ground. Straining to watch with his binoculars, Po waited until the dust from the rotor wash had cleared and the occupants climbed out. The leader of the group was wearing a helmet, and he was pointing out a spot on the palace grounds to the other men who had climbed out. At that instant, Po saw the man remove a portable telephone from his belt. Then he removed the helmet to hear.

Po stared through the binoculars. The man’s hair was worn in a short blond crew cut, but his face was familiar. Po watched.

“YOU’RE sure, Max?” Cabrillo asked.

“I just received confirmation,” said Hanley, a thousand miles away on the Oregon .

“Good, I’m going in,” Cabrillo said.

“The media is on their way,” Hanley said, “and the Dalai Lama has already left India. Both are due to arrive in Lhasa in just over an hour. We need you all out of there posthaste. I’ve dispatched the C-130 from Thimbu, and Seng is rounding everyone up. Just get this done—and get out of there.”

“All I can say is that you’d better have some beer on board that plane,” Cabrillo said, laughing.

“Bet on it,” Hanley said.

THE smile. the smile was the same as that of the man on the tape. Po slid the binoculars back in the case and turned to the driver. “To Potala.”

“FLY the cargo to that level and unload it,” Cabrillo said, pointing to a stark white center section of the palace, “then start searching. I’ll meet you on the courtyard that abuts the taller section.”

The Dungkar in charge of the detail nodded.

“I’m going to take the stair and search the lower levels,” Cabrillo said, removing a small portable oxygen tank from inside the helicopter and strapping it on his back. He attached a nose clip, turned on the flow of oxygen, then started up the stairs.

A few minutes later, the helicopter lifted off the flats and dropped off the Dungkar and cargo. Four minutes later, the truck carrying Po and the Public Security Bureau members slid to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. Po unholstered his pistol and, followed by the others, started up the stairs. Cabrillo disappeared out of sight in the first structure bordering the stairs.

The helicopter, now empty, parked on the flats near the truck.

The pilot noticed the truck and radioed the Oregon .

“It has markings from the Public Security Bureau,” he said.

“I’ll call Cabrillo,” Hanley said, “but I wouldn’t worry about it right now. We’re receiving sporadic radar returns here. We have yet to determine the source. Watch overhead.”

GEORGE Adams had stopped and refueled the Chinese attack helicopter twice. Chuck Gunderson still had half a tank. For the most part, their mission so far had been quiet. Gunderson had been called in to monitor the fighting at the motor pool, but the Dungkar had gained control fast enough that they never needed his makeshift gunship. Adams had yet to locate a clear target to fire upon. In the last twenty minutes, the situation had changed—other than a few pockets of small-arms fire in the city, it appeared that Lhasa was now firmly under Dungkar control. Both men could see the transformation clearly from the air—the war was almost over.

“Gorgeous George, this is Tiny,” Gunderson said over the radio.

“Hey, Chuckie,” George said, “you as bored as I am?”

“I’m telling you—” Gunderson started to say.

“This is Climber One,” Murphy said. “A trio, meaning three, Chinese fighters just blew past me and Rescue One. We are fifty miles out of Lhasa inbound for Gonggar.”

“All Corporation members, this is the Oregon ,” Hanley said. “We have detected three Chinese fighters inbound from the northern theater. Assume them as unfriendly. Prepare to take cover. All offensive forces report in now.”

“Predator, ready,” Lincoln said from his remote station in Bhutan.

“Attack One, ready,” Adams said.

“Gunship One, ready,” Gunderson said.

“I’m sorry, people,” Hanley said. “They must have slipped in low under the radar. We now have intermittent returns and expect arrival in minutes.”

The three fighters roared down the canyon from the north toward Lhasa.

CABRILLO was in a large prayer room with small rooms to each side. He was searching each room one at a time, but the going was slow. Po and his team had made it up the stairs. Po paused outside the door with his pistol in the air and peered inside. Then, seeing no one, he crept inside. Cabrillo was searching through a large stack of wooden crates in a storeroom. His attention was focused on locating the poison gas, so he was unaware that Po and his men were outside. The crates contained scrolls, old textbooks and documents. Wiping his hands, he walked out.

Po was standing outside the door with his pistol trained on Cabrillo’s chest. The six members of the Public Security Bureau carried rifles, which they pointed at him as well.

Cabrillo smiled. “Morning, men,” he said easily. “Just changing the filters in the furnace. This old palace can get a mite drafty when it snows.”

“I’m Detective Ling Po from the Macau Constabulatory, and you’re under arrest for theft and murder.”

“Murder?” Cabrillo said quietly. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Your little Buddha theft and the subsequent escape left three Chinese citizens dead.”

“Do you mean when the Chinese navy attacked my boat?” Cabrillo said. “They started it.”

Right at that instant, the first fighter plane passed over Lhasa, and all hell broke out.

MURPHY’S warning gave Adams and Gunderson just enough time to prepare. Adams clung to the side of a mountain west of Lhasa, pointing his tail boom toward the fighters. Gunderson clung to the mountains on the east side with the mini-gun ready to fire. The Predator was in a slow orbit over Gonggar, ready to protect the area.

The fighters passed over Lhasa and unleashed their chain guns, killing scores of Tibetans, then they continued toward the airport. A minute or so later, the fighters neared Gonggar and the antiaircraft guns opened fire. Flying through flak, the lead fighter pilot passed over the airport, then made a sweeping left turn back toward Lhasa. Slowly a helicopter appeared against the mountain. Then a puff of smoke and a flaming spear emerged from under the fuselage.