Golden Buddha

The water out the stern was not churning, as with most ships; instead, it seemed to be forming into concentric whirlpools that flattened the sea to the rear, as if a large container of glycerin had been poured overboard. Ching stared at the decks, but no crew was visible. There was only rusty metal and junk piled high.

Though the decks were deserted, the Oregondid not give the appearance of a ghost ship. No, Ching thought, beneath her metal skin, much was happening. At just that instant, a medium-sized helicopter flew over the Gale Forceabout a hundred yards to the port side, just above wave-top level.

“Where did that come from?” Ching asked his electronics officer.

“What, sir?” the officer said, staring up from a screen.

“A helicopter,” Ching said, “heading from sea toward land.”

“It didn’t show up on the sensors,” the officer said. “Are you sure you saw it through the fog?”

“Yes,” Ching said loudly, “I saw it.”

He walked over to the screen and stared at the radar returns.

“What’s happening?” he asked a few seconds later.

The electronics officer was short and slim. He looked like a jockey in a fancy uniform. His hair was jet black and straight and his eyes brown-edged with bloodshot red from staring at the radar.

“Sir,” he said finally, “I’m not sure. What you see has been happening intermittently since we began the chase. One second we seem to get a clear return, then it jumps to the other side of the screen like it’s a video game playing hide-and-seek.”

“The image is not even the correct size,” Captain Ching noted.

“It grows, then diminishes to a pinprick,” the officer said. “Then jumps across the screen.”

Ching stared out the window again; they were drawing closer to the Oregon. “They’re jamming us.”

“I can detect that,” the officer said.

“Then what is it?” Ching asked.

The officer thought for a minute. “I read in a translated science journal about an experimental system an American engineer was building. Instead of making objects disappear, as with stealth, or using extra signals, as on most jamming equipment, this system has a computer that takes in all the signals from our hull and reforms them into different shapes and strengths.”

“So this system can make them appear or disappear as they decide?” Ching said incredulously.

“That’s about it, sir,” the officer said.

“Well,” Ching said finally, “there’s no way an old rust bucket has anything like that on board.”

“Well, let’s hope not, sir,” the electronics officer said.

“Why’s that?” Ching asked.

“Because the article also stated that by changing the object dimensions, they can increase the targeting potential.”

“Which means?”

“That if the frigate to the rear or the fast-attack corvette coming up quick on our stern fires anything other than bullets, and they have a system like this, they could redirect the fire to us.”

“Chinese missiles used to sink Chinese ships?”

“Exactly.”

“RAMMING and jamming,” Eric Stone shouted. Lincoln was on the far side of the control room at the primary fire control station. He was ru

“Mr. Chairman, I’m good to go,” he shouted toward Cabrillo a few seconds later.

Cabrillo turned to Hanley. “Here’s the deal as I see it. The entire thrust of this operation was the retrieval of the Golden Buddha. We have it, but it’s still inside the circle of Chinese influence. Our first priority must be to get our teams and the Golden Buddha safely back on the Oregon, while at the same time making our escape.”

“I hate to say it, Juan,” Hanley said, “but I wish the weather wasn’t clearing.”

“A wasted wish, but I agree,” Cabrillo said.

“We don’t know what the navy is sending,” Hanley noted, “but we can safely assume there won’t be surface ships involved—our sensors don’t detect any other vessels for a hundred miles.”

“They launched cruise missiles from the Persian Gulf into downtown Baghdad,” Cabrillo said, “so we can assume either missile or aircraft support.”

“The enemy has rockets on the fast-attack corvette, and some long guns that can fire high-explosive rounds, plus the frigate should have some Chinese-made cruise-type missiles.”

“They any good?” Cabrillo asked.

“Not as accurate as ours,” Hanley admitted, “but they can sink a ship.”

“The hydrofoil?”

“Deck-mounted machine guns only,” Hanley said.

“And the Zodiacs are being pursued by harbor patrol boats?”

“Correct,” Hanley said. “A pair of forty-six-foot aluminum cruisers with diesel power. They each have a single bow-mounted machine gun.”

“Radios?”

“Nothing special,” Hanley said.

“So even if we took out the harbor boats,” Cabrillo said, “the Zodiacs would still need to pass the trio of vessels on our tail.”

“I’m afraid so,” Hanley agreed.

Cabrillo started sketching on a yellow pad with a black Magic Marker. When he finished, he handed the pad to Hanley. “Make sense to you?”

“Yep,” Hanley said.

“Okay then,” Cabrillo said forcefully, “hard a’ starboard. We’re going back toward land.”

33

ADAMS eased the cyclic to the left and banked the R-44. A few seconds earlier he had passed to port of the Chinese corvette and had just picked up a glimpse of the vessel through the fog. It was a wonder the Chinese vessel had not fired on him—surely they had detected the helicopter as it flew toward land. The frigate was fast approaching and Adams pla

He was keeping the Robinson five to ten feet above the tops of the waves—maybe that was shielding him from detection, but Adams doubted it. To avoid radar detection, he needed to be closer to the wave tops—two, three feet maximum. With the weapons pods hanging from each side of his skids and seawater detrimental to their correct operation, Adams was taking no chances. If he had to trade avoiding fire from the Chinese ships to arriving too high to help his team members, he’d do it.

Adams eased forward on the cyclic and watched as the governor adjusted his rotor speed. He was doing 130 miles an hour, and according to his calculations he should be seeing the first Zodiac one minute forty-five seconds after he passed the frigate. He strained his eyes to catch sight of the Chinese vessel, while at the same time watching the dash-mounted storm scope, which was sending a radar signal into the weather.

HUXLEY pointed to the dash of the Zodiac but said nothing.

Seng nodded, then bent down and shouted into her ear. “If I was to guess,” he screamed, “I’d say we have something partially blocking the raw water intake holes on the drive. Might be something as simple as a piece of soaked paper or part of a plastic bag—the problem is, we need to stop and raise the outboard out of the water to check.”

“It doesn’t seem to be getting any worse,” Julia Huxley said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Seng said. “We are in the low red and staying there. If the engine can run at those temperatures for a little longer, we might just make it out of here alive.”

Huxley sca

“Too bad we can’t ask for a time out,” Huxley said, “so I can clean the water intake.”