Golden Buddha

“Control,” he said over a secure cha

Hanley took the call in the control room of the Oregon.

He sca

“It’s not too bad,” Adams said calmly. “I think I can set her down okay.”

“We’re coming in your direction now,” Hanley said. “Blow the pods and bring the ship home.”

“What do you mean?” Adams asked.

“There’s a toggle switch on the weapons control panel,” Hanley said. “Flip up the cover and lower the switch and the racks will drop free. We’ll deal with the second boat.”

Adams started an arc toward the harbor boat. “Give me a second,” he said. “I have an idea.”

ACROSS the room, Juan Cabrillo was on the satellite telephone to Langston Overholt in Virginia.

“We had to sink the vessel closest to us,” he said. “But there’s a corvette and a frigate still to contend with.”

Overholt was pacing in his office while talking on the speaker phone. In front of his desk, sitting in a chair and dressed in full uniform, was a United States Navy commander who was attached to the CIA. “I have a naval officer here in my office. My superiors are worried about fallout if you attack and sink the other two ships. How far away from you are they?”

“We are in no imminent danger for a few more minutes,” Cabrillo stated.

“If we can stop them in their tracks,” Overholt asked, “can you effect an escape?”

Cabrillo thought for a minute before answering. “We can retrieve our men and the object we came for and be back at full steam in five to ten minutes,” he said. “As long as the Chinese don’t launch any planes at us, I think we will be home free.”

“As of this instant,” Overholt said, “the only radio transmission that got through was about a helicopter attacking a harbor police boat. Right now, at least as far as the Chinese are concerned, you’re just a cargo ship they can’t reach on the radio. That could change, however, once the survivors of the ship you sank are collected.”

“By then we should be far out to sea traveling south,” Cabrillo said, “and back into the fog bank. With the electronics on board, we can hide from ship-to-sea radar. The fog will keep us hidden from above.”

Overholt turned to the navy commander. “Will this new device affect our ship as well?”

“Not if they turn all the electronics off as it passes alongside.”

“Juan,” Overholt said, “did you hear that?”

“Yes,” he said, “but I don’t understand.”

“It’s a new toy the navy has,” Overholt said, “called a FRITZY. It is designed to short out electrical circuits and we believe it will disable the remaining ships. What we’ll need you to do is shut down all the systems on the Oregonwhen we give you the order.”

Eric Stone was sca

“Slow to stop,” Cabrillo ordered. “Prepare to take our people aboard.”

ADAMS climbed to three thousand feet, then dove toward the harbor boat in the steepest angle the R-44 could handle. He could feel his body go light in the seat, and then tighten against the shoulder harness. Through the Plexiglas bubble windscreen, the harbor boat came into view, then grew in size as he streaked down from above.

The bow gu

Adams raced down in a steep dive. When he was only eighty feet above the stern, he pulled back on the cyclic and up on the collective. This slowed the dive, then began to raise the nose. Just as the R-44 hit the bottom of her arc, Adams flipped up the cover and down on the toggle switch. Both pods dropped from the sides of the helicopter and plunged straight down into the stern of the last harbor police boat. A static spark from the pods being cut loose fired one of the remaining missiles and it streaked down the last twenty feet, igniting the rear of the boat in a maelstrom of destruction.

With the weight and drag of the pods gone, Adams found he had better control. Turning the Robinson toward the direction of the Oregon, he began to scan the water for the outline of the ship.

“Scratch two,” he said quietly. “I’m coming home.”

WHEN a person is far out in the ocean and the weather is bad, the sight of anything man-made brings comfort and solace. For the seven people and one Golden Buddha on the small boats being chased by the Chinese navy, the bow of the Oregonlooming up through the fog was as welcome as the sight of four of a kind to a losing poker player.

“Steer over to the davits,” Hanley said over the radio. “We need to get you aboard fast.”

The two Zodiac pilots eased their boats into a pair of davits located off the port and starboard stern of the Oregon. The deckhands had the boats and the people hoisted through the air and back on the deck in less than two minutes. Murphy was climbing off the Zodiac when Franklin Lincoln walked over.

“I played with your toy,” he said. “You can put another ship sticker on the console.”

Murphy smiled. “Good shooting, Tex.”

“Everyone okay?” Lincoln asked.

“All but Jones,” Murphy said, pointing. “We need to carry him to sick bay.”

Lincoln walked across the deck to the second Zodiac and stared inside. “Jones,” he said, smiling, “you look pitiful.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Jones said. “My ribs are killing me.”

“You do what you set out to do?” Lincoln asked.

“Always,” Jones said, pointing to the case containing the Golden Buddha. “Now get me below to the sick bay and fill me up with painkillers.”

“Up you go,” Lincoln said as he reached into the inflatable and carefully lifted Jones from the floor as easily as plucking a puppy from a litter.

“THREE minutes to fire,” a voice said over the intercom on board the Santa Fe. Down in the launch bay, the pair of modified Tomahawk cruise missiles with the experimental FRITZY electronic destruction modules sat ready to launch. The FRITZY system used a burst of electronic waves to scramble the circuitry of any powered electronics. Captain Farragut was waiting anxiously for the launch. The anxiety did not stem from being worried about his crew’s actions—they were highly trained and would perform the task flawlessly. It was caused by the unknown. Farragut was curious if FRITZY was all it was cracked up to be—and if he could soon claim the crown as the first commander to use it in battle. That fact might help at promotion time; at the very least it would be worth a few free drinks once the Santa Femade port again.

“Doors open, sir,” the chief of boat said, “and all is in order.”

“WE see you,” Hanley said to Adams, “but you need to land now.”

Adams was making his approach behind the stern of the Oregonand lining up for his descent onto the landing pad.

“Two minutes or so,” Adams said.

“In a minute thirty,” Hanley said, staring at a timer, “your electronics will cease to function.”

“Clear the decks,” Adams said loudly. “I’ll climb, then shut the engine off and initiate auto-rotation.”

“Fire-foam the decks,” Hanley said over the intercom. “We shut down all the electrical power in one minute.”

Many people think that once a helicopter loses power it plunges from the sky. Actually, if power to the rotor is lost, the pilot can use the wind from his descent to spin the blades. The procedure, auto-rotation, is tricky, but the maneuver has saved more than a few lives over the years. Usually the pilot has a reasonably large field or clearing to land on. Doing a forced auto-rotation onto a pad just slightly bigger than the helicopter herself takes nerves of steel and fortitude. Adams used his minute to gain altitude. Then he lined up behind the landing pad. When his watch said it was time, he flicked off the governor and rolled back the throttle. The R-44’s freewheeling unit engaged and the drive shaft to the main and tail rotor disco