Golden Buddha

“They call themselves the Corporation,” the ambassador noted quietly. “They handle things of a sensitive nature for us and other countries. The company has specialized skills, huge amounts of funding and an unparalleled reputation for integrity.”

“They can be trusted?” Putin asked.

“You may consider their word their bond,” the ambassador confirmed.

“Who runs this Corporation?” Putin asked.

“A man named Juan Cabrillo,” the ambassador answered.

“And when do I meet this Juan Cabrillo?” Putin said, turning from the fire, placing the poker back in the rack and sliding into the armchair.

“He will be in Moscow late this evening,” the ambassador said.

“Good,” Putin said. “I welcome the chance to hear him out.”

The ambassador finished the small glass of vodka and waved away Putin’s attempt to refill it. “Now,” he said, “how much hassle are you getting from the Chinese?”

“Enough,” the Russian president admitted, “but not more than we can handle.”

“If you need to,” the ambassador asked, “are you ready to go in?”

Putin pointed to a folder of papers on the table. “There is the plan. In less than twenty-four hours, we can cross the Tarim Basin in a lightning-fast raid and reach the border of Tibet.”

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

“If I have to order that approach,” Putin said, “I want your president on paper supporting that move. There is no other way.”

“We don’t think you’ll need to do that,” the ambassador said. “It won’t go that far.”

“Just know,” Putin said, “if we stand up—he does too.”

“I’ll let him know,” the ambassador said.

“THEY appeared out of nowhere,” the head of Chinese state security said.

Chinese president Hu Jintao stared at the man with barely concealed contempt.

“Five hundred Buddhist monks just materialized out of the mist in People’s Park in downtown Beijing?” Jintao said. “That’s some magic.”

The man sat mute. There was nothing to say.

“And they are chanting and calling for Tibetan freedom?”

“Yes, sir,” the man from state security said.

“When was the last time we were faced with a Tibetan protest?” Jintao asked.

“In Beijing?” the man said. “It’s been over a decade—and then it was tiny and easily dispersed.”

“And this one?”

“It’s growing by the minute,” the man admitted.

“I’ve got a massive Russian war exercise on the border with Mongolia, Tibetan separatists in downtown Beijing, and I’m not sure what’s going on in Macau province. This spring is not coming up with fresh-smelling flowers.”

“Do you want me to order troops to disperse the protesters?” the head of state security asked.

“Absolutely not,” Jintao said. “Our world standing still has not been repaired from Tiananmen Square, and that was in 1989. We take action against peaceful Buddhist monks, the repercussions will reverberate for decades.”

“Then do nothing?”

“For now,” Jintao said, “until we figure out what is happening.”

“WHERE are we at on this thing?” the president of the United States asked.

“Off the record, sir?” the Director of Central Intelligence asked.

“I did not sneak you into the White House through the underground tu

“It’s progressing perfectly,” the DCI noted. “And we are shielded behind an armor of deniability that couldn’t be penetrated with an antitank round.”

“How soon before you need me to do my thing?” the president asked.

“Tomorrow,” the DCI said, “if all goes according to plan.”

“Then,” the president said, rising, “you make sure it does.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” the DCI said as the president walked through the door and down the hall to a state di

THE Oregonwas flying across the water. The schedule called for the ship to stop in Ho Chi Minh City. Once there, the operatives that would be needed in Tibet would be off-loaded and flown in a C-130 northwest to Bhutan. Then the Oregonwould continue on, passing Singapore. Traversing the Strait of Malacca, the vessel would race north into the Bay of Bengal, arriving off Bangladesh on Easter Day.

That was the closest to Tibet that the Oregonwould ever be.

No one in the Corporation enjoyed it when the Oregonand her battery of electronics and firepower were far from the operation. The ship was the lifeline to the crew, their home away from home, their anchor in the stormy sea of intrigue where they operated.

Ross and Kasim were doing their best to smooth the difficulty.

“I’ve tested the satellite uplink,” Kasim said. “The Oregonwill have command-and-control capability. Everyone will be reachable either by radio or secure telephone.”

Ross glanced up from her computer screen. “I’m programming the drones. We have two. That’s less than I would like, but they’re just so damn expensive.”

“Who will fly them?” Kasim asked.

“They will need to be operated from within three hundred miles,” she noted. “Thimbu or inside Tibet itself.”

Kasim nodded.

She sca

“Lincoln would stand out in Tibet like a debutante at a tractor pull,” Kasim noted. “If he operates the drone, at least he’ll be hidden inside a tent. If I were you, I’d recommend to Hanley he get the job.”

Ross nodded her head in agreement. “He’s good,” she said, “and the drones are critical—they will be our only eyes in the sky. If Lincoln can keep them over station above Lhasa Airport, the control room here can watch the action unfolding.”

“What have the Chinese got in Tibet to shoot them down?” Kasim asked.

Ross glanced at the sheet listing Chinese defenses that had been recently smuggled out of Tibet by the underground freedom movement. “Some old antiaircraft guns and one ten-year-old missile defense battery. Around Gonggar Airport near Lhasa there’s not much,” she said. “Looks like a couple of cargo planes, some helicopters, and rifles carried by the troops.”

“I’d make a note to Hanley to target the antiaircraft guns for early destruction,” Kasim said, “then have Lincoln fly only one drone at a time.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Ross said. “If he flies high, he can scan the entire city, plus keep the bird out of sight of riflemen.”

“Makes sense,” Kasim said.

“What do you find for radio and television transmitters?”

“There is one television,” Kasim said, “and a pair of radios. We need quickly to gain control of both so we can keep the Tibetan people alerted.”

“What’s the report say?” Ross said. “Will they rally against the Chinese when the time comes?”

“We think so,” Kasim said, “and God help the Chinese when they do.”

“The Dungkar?” Ross said.

“Tibetan for blackbirds with red beaks,” Kasim said. “The fighting arm of the Tibetan underground.”

Ross glanced at the sheet holding the assembled intelligence. “When it is time, we will feed on the carcasses of the oppressors and the beaks will be red with blood and the day will be black with death.”

“Brings a chill to my spine,” Kasim said.

“And I thought,” Ross said, “we had the air conditioning too cold.”

ONE floor below where Ross and Kasim were pla