Golden Buddha

rubber band, he fanned out the bills.

“How much to take me and a cargo to the border with Tibet?” he asked. “With amnesia included.”

“Amnesia?” the man said, not understanding.

“After this is over,” Gannon said, “I want you to forget we ever met.”

The man nodded. “One thousand dollars,” he said easily, “and one DVD player.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Gannon said. “Now, do you know where I can buy an ox?”

16

THEOregon was a buzz of activity. Belowdecks in the Magic Shop, the players in the band were checking their instruments and arranging their costumes. Juan Cabrillo flipped open his cell phone and answered a call.

“Situation is stabilized here,” Linda Ross said. “I’m headed to the site now.”

“We’ve got three men inside and one watching from outside the wall,” Cabrillo said. “If anyone catches on, you sound the alarm and help will come running.”

“Piece of cake,” Ross said.

The telephone went dead and Cabrillo turned to Max Hanley.

“Iselda is making her entrance.”

“So far so good,” Hanley said.

Mark Murphy finished with Kasim and patted his back. “There you go,” he said.

Michael Halpert was playing with a microphone. Murphy turned to him and motioned.

“Come on, kid,” he said, “let me get you strapped.”

Halpert walked over and turned his back to Murphy, who raised Halpert’s shirt.

“This is a featherlight thirty-eight, Mike,” Murphy recited as he taped a holster containing the weapon on Halpert’s lower back. “Now I want you to reach back and yank the smoke wagon.”

It was a line Murphy had heard from the movie Tombstone—ever since then, he’d used it unmercifully. Halpert reached back and pulled the pistol.

“Hang on,” Murphy said. “It’s too high, you’re cocking your elbow.”

He readjusted the holster and waited until Halpert tried it again.

“That’s better,” he said. “Let me see your boot.”

Halpert turned and raised his pant leg. Murphy strapped on a knife inside a hard plastic case.

“Be careful with this, Mike,” Murphy told him, “the blade has been dipped in a paralytic poison. If things turn to shit, you just have to nick someone and they’ll go down. The problem is, the same thing happens to you if your target takes it from you. Be sure he’s close and make sure you are in control of the situation.”

“Okay, Mark,” Halpert said quietly.

The knife was in place and Murphy climbed from his knees. “You worried?” he asked quietly.

“A little,” Halpert said. “I’m usually not on the operational end.”

Murphy nodded and smiled. “Don’t worry, buddy, I’m going to be right next to you. If trouble breaks out, they have to get through me first.”

Halpert nodded, then walked over to pick his microphone up again.

“Boss,” he said to Cabrillo, “you’re last.”

Cabrillo smiled and walked over to Murphy. He was dressed in a costume that would make Elton John blush. Murphy raised one of the sequined pockets on the vest and slid two hypodermic needles in covers inside. In the other pocket, he slid an arced carbon-fiber blade that had holes for fingers.

“Your blade is dipped in paralytic agent, too,” he said, spinning Cabrillo around and strapping a small automatic weapon to his lower back. “The bullets are wad cutters. There’s not as much horsepower in the rounds as I like, so be close before you pull the trigger.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Cabrillo said.

Lincoln had already been outfitted, and he stood to one side, playing with his bass guitar.

Cabrillo smiled, then spoke.

“Okay, everybody, we’ll be going in soon,” he said. “Remember the order of operations and make sure you’ve memorized the out. If at any time I give the signal to pull out, make your way to the extraction point. Keep in mind this portion today is only one part of the bigger picture—if this goes haywire, we still have ways of salvaging the operation. There are no bold heroes—only old heroes. The weapons are to be used only if everything goes to hell and one of our people is in danger of losing life or limb. What we want, as always, is an orderly operation where we do our job and return here safe and sound. Any questions?”

The Magic Shop was silent.

“Okay, people,” Cabrillo said, “then give your letters to Julia.”

Medical Officer Julia Huxley hated this part of her job. The letters gave instructions for the lengths of medical care each man wanted if critically injured. They also gave detailed instructions as to the dispersal of the operatives’ funds and other bequests. Whatever was in the letters, Huxley was bound to see it through. She walked around the