From a distance, to an untrained eye, she resembled the
She was far out in international waters when the antisubmarine aircraft dropped the first depth charge. It landed a hundred yards ahead of the bow and exploded with a cascade of water that reached eighty feet into the air.
“Heave to!” the captain shouted.
The alert reached the engine room, and the
It would be nearly an hour before a Chinese boarding party climbed across her decks.
The illegal stop was never explained.
DELBERT Chiglack stared up at the sky in amazement. He had seen some incredible things in the fourteen years he had worked on offshore oil rigs: strange sea creatures that defied explanation, unidentified flying objects, weird weather phenomena. But in all the years he had drilled offshore, he had yet to see a trio of parachutists come from nowhere and attempt to land on his rig. Gunderson, Michaels and Pilston had leapt from the 737 at an altitude of fifteen thousand feet, just above a cloud layer that hid the airplane from view. Sucking on oxygen bottles as they made their descent, they had floated around near the target before directing their parachutes in arcing corkscrews until they lined up above the helicopter pad on the offshore rig.
The rig was twenty miles off the coast of Vietnam, eight hundred miles from Macau, and owned by Zapata Petroleum of Houston, Texas. George Herbert Walker Bush owned the company—and someone from Virginia had asked him for a favor.
Tracy Pilston landed nearly dead center on the X in the center of the pad, Judy Michaels only six feet away. It was Chuck Gunderson who had the worst landing. He alit on the side of the elevated pad. The breeze tugged at his parachute before he could cut it away, and had Del Chiglack not grabbed him, he might have gone over the side.
Once his chute was free and Chiglack had yanked him back from the edge, Gunderson smiled and spoke.
“My friends called,” he said. “I believe we have a reservation for three.”
Chiglack spit some snuff juice into the wind. “Welcome aboard,” he said. “Your ride will be here soon.”
“Thanks,” Gunderson said.
“Now,” Chiglack said, “if you and the ladies will come inside, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
BACK in the control room, Hanley turned to Cabrillo. “We just received word from Tiny,” he said. “They arrived safe and sound with the bonds. They’re awaiting a ride home.”
Cabrillo nodded.
“You look beat,” Hanley said. “Why don’t you catch a few hours’ sleep and let me hold down the fort.”
Cabrillo was too tired to argue. He rose and started for the door. “Wake me if you need me.”
“Don’t I always?” Hanley said.
Once Cabrillo was walking down the hall to his stateroom, Hanley turned to Stone. “Truitt will be here in a few minutes to relieve you. Take four hours and get some sleep.”
“Yes, sir,” Stone said.
Then Hanley accessed the computer next to his seat and began to read the plan again.
LANGSTON Overholt slept all the way to Paris. The Challenger jet he was riding inside was registered to a company named Strontium Holding PLC, which was allegedly based in Basel, Switzerland. In reality, the jet’s tires had never touched Swiss soil.
The Challenger CL-604 had been purchased from a broker in London using CIA funds and outfitted with advanced electronics at a shop in Alexandria, Virginia, near Bolling Air Force Base. The large Canadian-made business jet seated ten people, had a cruise speed of 487 miles per hour and a range of 4,628 miles.
The distance from Virginia to Paris was just over 3,800 miles, where the jet was refueled and provisions were loaded aboard. The second leg of the trip, Paris to New Delhi, would cover 4,089 miles. The first leg of the journey required eight hours to complete; the second leg was made with a favorable tailwind and took just over seven hours. Within an hour of receiving word from Cabrillo at 6 A.M. Macau time that the Corporation was in possession of the Golden Buddha, Overholt had left U.S. soil. Virginia time had been 6 P.M. Good Friday. By the time the Challenger touched down, the time changes and flight time made it 9 A.M. Saturday.
The trip by turboprop to Little Lhasa in northern India took just over two more hours, so it was almost exactly noon on Saturday when Overholt finally met with the Dalai Lama again. The revered leader of Tibet had made it clear that if there was to be a coup d’etat, it needed to take place on Easter Sunday, March 31, exactly forty-six years after his being forced into exile.
That gave Overholt and the Corporation twenty-four hours to make a miracle happen.
CARL Gannon had been earning his keep the last several days. After procuring the truck in Thimbu, Bhutan, and plotting a route into Tibet, he had received a shopping list of tasks from the control room on the
The funding would come from the Corporation’s bank on the island of Vanuatu in the South Pacific Ocean, and the
Eighty Stinger missiles were bought from a friendly Middle Eastern nation, with delivery arranged to Bhutan using a South African company that had never failed to comply. Eight Bell 212 helicopters with extra fuel pods from an Indonesian company that specialized in offshore oil work arrived to deliver the load of missiles and small arms. Eighteen mercenary pilots from throughout the Far East were recruited, sixteen to fly, two extras in case someone got sick. Fuel pods, food for all the participants, and a series of hangars manned by Philippine Special Forces guards were secretly arranged.
Gannon’s last item was the strangest. The
