Golden Buddha

“Don’t ask,” the DCI said, “but suffice it to say the United States’ strategic reserves of tungsten and molybdenum won’t need replenishing for some time.”

“That gives us choices for the contractor to offer to the Russians,” Overholt said.

“As soon as he meets with them, I need to know what they have decided,” the DCI told him.

“No matter what the time,” Overholt said.

“Day or night,” the DCI said before disconnecting.

GUNDERSON could not believe the lift the pair of wings gave the Antonov. Though he and the others had been flying the plane for nearly eight hours, this was the first time he had needed to land. Lining up to land, he floated the Antonov down to the runway like a feather fluttering to the floor. Halfway down the length of the runway, Gunderson realized he’d need to force the plane to the ground. Moving the yoke forward, he felt the wheels finally touch.

“Sorry about that, boss,” he said, pointing out the window at the Gulfstream on the far end of the runway. “She floats like a butterfly. I’ll taxi us back over to the Gulfstream.”

Cabrillo nodded and unsnapped the seat belt. Walking into the cargo area, he began to collect his things. Lifting the stack of bearer bonds, he placed them all in his bag, then thought better of that. He turned his head toward the cockpit.

“Do you have to take the plane back south again?” he asked Gunderson.

“No, sir,” Gunderson said, slowing as he approached the Gulfstream. “Gannon worked it out—the company will pick it up here. The ladies are boarding the Oregon, and I’m flying north on the C-130 as soon as it arrives.”

Cabrillo began to count the pile. When he finished, he spoke again.

“I’m leaving you a pile,” he said to everyone. “Give them to Hanley when he arrives. Tell him I took the rest north—I may need them to grease some wheels.”

Gunderson stopped the Antonov, then reached for the checklist for postflight. “Okay, boss,” he said as he started through the steps to shut down the engine. Michaels was unlatching the door while Pilston stood off to the side.

“You have some time to kill until the Oregon arrives,” Cabrillo said. “You’ll have guards from the Vietnamese air force, but I’d stay close. Hanley will make payment to their general when he arrives, so you shouldn’t have to deal with much.”

“Will they take us to a bathroom?” Michaels asked.

“I’m sure they will,” Cabrillo said as he walked for the door, “but one at a time, please. And whatever you do, don’t let anyone know you have that stack of bonds.”

“You got it, boss,” Gunderson said.

Cabrillo stopped at the door for a second. “Ladies, Tiny,” he said, smiling, “I’ll see you soon.”

Then he stepped off the Antonov and began walking to the Gulfstream. The pilot and copilot were standing next to the open door. The pilot smiled at Cabrillo and motioned for the step.

“We’re ready for you, sir,” he said. “Welcome aboard.”

“There’s a box on the biplane,” Cabrillo said. “Get some help and haul it aboard.”

Cabrillo walked up the ramp, made his way to a seat, and then waited while the pilots got the crate loaded inside, shut the door, and started the engines. Two minutes later, they were airborne. The Gulfstream was still climbing to cruising altitude when they crossed over the mountains of Laos.

IN Novosibirsk, Russia, General Alexander Kernetsikov was staring at a large chalkboard inside a hangar at the airport. Troops and material continued to pour into the area at a rate of deployment seldom seen in times of peace. There were thousands of details to attend to, but there was one that bothered Kernetsikov the most.

“Have we received an answer yet?” he said to his aide. “If this is a go, I need to know which fork to take at Barnaul. We either violate Kazakhstan and enter China near Tacheng, or we need to move the troops into Mongolia, take the road toward Altaj and cross over the mountains there, then sweep quickly across the plains and pass Lop Nur.”

The aide stared at the general. Lop Nur was the home of the Chinese nuclear test base and he imagined it would be heavily defended. The other route featured mountains that were still covered in snow. It was like choosing between a root canal and ripping off a toenail.

“There’s been no communication, General,” the aide said, “including whether this is not merely an exercise in fast deployment and war planning.”

“It’s just a feeling,” the general said quietly, “but I think that before this is over, we’ll be crossing the mountains like Hannibal.”

The aide nodded. Every good officer under whom he had served had a strong sense of history. He just hoped the general was wrong—facing off with the Chinese, even with the firepower they had amassed, was not a welcome thought.

IN Beijing, General Tudeng Quing was offering President Jintao a possible solution.

“If we pull all but two thousand troops out of Tibet, concentrating those left only in Lhasa, we could divert the rest to U? rumqi in the Xinjiang Province. They could be in place starting tomorrow.”

“How many?” Jintao asked.

“Say a thousand by plane in the next few hours,” Quing said. “The tanks and armored carriers have a nine- hundred-mile journey. Running them full out at forty miles an hour with refueling and such, they could be in place tomorrow this time.”

“We don’t have any troops closer?” Jintao asked.

“Airborne, we can bring them in from anywhere,” Quing noted. “It’s the armor we need—other than Tibet, the closest armored division we require is almost twice that distance away, and the trip is over rougher terrain. My aides have calculated three or four days minimum.”