“Hold on,” Hanley said from the
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
“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.
The first was a lime-green Plymouth Superbird with a hemi-engine. The second, a 1970 Ford Mustang Boss 302 in yellow with the shaker hood, rear slats over the window and the quarter-mile clock in the dashboard. The third was a 1967 Pontiac GTO convertible, red with a black interior, red-line tires and air conditioning. The last was a 1967 Corvette in Greenwood green, with the factory speed package and locking rear differential.
The man who carefully removed the cars from inside the 747 was of medium height with thick brown hair. As soon as the last car, the Corvette, was on the runway, he reached into the glove box, removed a letter, then climbed out and lit up a Camel filter.
“You must be the general,” he said to a man approaching followed by a dozen soldiers.
“Yes,” the general said.
“I’m Keith Lowden,” the man said. “I was told to give you this.”
The general scanned the letter, folded it and placed it in his rear pants pocket. “These all original?”
“They are,” Lowden said. “The serial numbers all match.”
Lowden then motioned to the general to walk over to the Superbird and started explaining the car, the documentation and the rare options. By the time Lowden had finished with the second car, the Boss 302, the general stopped him.
“You want—” he started to say just as Lowden’s cell phone rang.
“Sorry,” Lowden said as he answered. He listened for a minute, then turned to the general.
“They want to know if it’s a deal,” he said, placing his hand over the telephone.
The general nodded his head in the affirmative.
“He said okay,” Lowden said.
A second later he hung up the telephone and turned back to the general. “Now, what were you about to ask me?”
“I was wondering if you had time to spend the night here in my country,” the general said, “so we might talk
