“Sounds about right,” the operator said.
“Thanks for the help,” Kasim said.
A line of Vietnamese air force airmen carried the last of the crates aboard the C-130. Hanley stood off to the side, talking to the Vietnamese general in charge of the arrangements. Kasim watched as Hanley handed the man an envelope, then the two shared a laugh. Hanley shook the general’s hand, then walked over to the C-130.
“Mr. Hanley,” Kasim said, “I have a plan.”
THE Gulfstream G550 carrying Cabrillo and the Golden Buddha landed at Amritsar, India, and Cabrillo and the icon were flown in a helicopter the rest of the way to Little Lhasa, near Dharamsala in the northern Himachal Pradesh region of northern India.
The aide quickly ushered him in to his meeting with the Dalai Lama.
“Your Holiness,” Cabrillo said as he entered and bowed his head slightly.
The Dalai Lama stood silently, staring at Cabrillo for a full minute. Then he smiled.
“You are a good man,” he said at last. “Langston told me—but I needed to be sure for myself.”
“Thank you, sir,” Cabrillo said. “These are the papers that we recovered from inside the Buddha,” he said, handing them to the Dalai Lama’s aide. “I’ll need them transcribed before my meeting with the Russians.”
“Copy them and translate them into English,” the Dalai Lama ordered his aide. “Mr. Cabrillo will need to leave again shortly.”
The Dalai Lama motioned to a long couch, where Overholt was already seated. Cabrillo sat on the end and the Dalai Lama slipped between the two men. “So explain the plan,” he said.
“I believe the Russians will support your bid to regain your country. They will offer the muscle to deter the Chinese from making an assault once we gain control of Lhasa, in return for the rights to develop what you claim those documents represent: the vast oil reserves of the Himalayas.”
“Their location’s known only to us,” said the Dalai Lama. “In those documents. So—your president got them to the border by offering them the aid package,” the Dalai Lama said, “but to fight, they need more.”
“Exactly,” Cabrillo said.
“And you?” the Dalai Lama asked. “Your company? What were you hired to do?”
“We were hired to steal the Golden Buddha and to pave the way for your return. Once you are back inside Tibet, our obligation would, by the contract wording, end.”
“So I would be left—how do you say it?—high and dry,” the Dalai Lama said.
“Hard to say,” Cabrillo admitted, “and this has bothered me and my associates.”
“Why?” the Dalai Lama said. “Are you not mercenaries? Once your obligation is over, don’t you just blend into the night?”
Cabrillo thought for a minute how to answer this question. He paused and thought as the Dalai Lama waited. “It’s a little more complex than that, Your Holiness. If we did what we did just for money, we would have all retired by now. It’s more involved than that. In the past, most of us worked for one government agency or another, and we were compelled by Congress, or public opinion, to do things we knew or felt were wrong. We don’t do those things anymore. We were formed to make a profit, that’s for sure, but as much as we like the money, we are also cognizant of the chances that arise for us to somehow right the wrongs of others.”
“You are speaking of Karma,” the Dalai Lama said. “Something I am most aware of.”
Cabrillo nodded. “We have decided that to leave you alone to fight the Chinese would be wrong. The solution came to us when we realized the significance of the papers inside the Golden Buddha.”
“And I assume your company will profit from such a deal?” the Dalai Lama asked.
“Is that bad?” Cabrillo asked.
“Not necessarily,” the Dalai Lama said, “but explain more.”
Ten minutes later, Cabrillo was finished.
“I’m impressed,” the Dalai Lama said, “now let me explain mine.”
Another five minutes passed as the Dalai Lama spoke.
“Brilliant,” Cabrillo said when the Dalai Lama had finished.
“Thank you,” the Dalai Lama said, “but to sway the vote will take funds—will you bear the cost?”
“We made a little money on a side deal,” Cabrillo said, thinking of the $100 million in bearer bonds. “So the costs are not a problem.”
Overholt had remained silent as the two spoke. Now he interjected. “If you can pull this off,” he said eagerly, “the president will kiss you.”
“Mr. Cabrillo,” the Dalai Lama said, “this gives us both an opportunity to keep the bloodshed down, while at the same time offering our actions a legitimacy that is indisputable. If you can make this happen, I will agree to your deal as offered.”
“Thank you, Your Holiness,” Cabrillo said.
“Good luck, Mr. Cabrillo,” the Dalai Lama said. “May Buddha bless your mission.”
After a short meeting with Overholt, Cabrillo collected the translated pages and maps, then climbed back in the helicopter and was flown back to Amritsar. President Putin had been promised the meeting would be worth the effort. Cabrillo would not fail to deliver.
JUST after midnight, the C-130 carrying the members from the Corporation landed in Thimbu, Bhutan, and the plane was surrounded by a dozen Philippine Special Forces soldiers. Off to the side, the eight Bell 212 helicopters were aligned in a row, with ten feet separating each ship.
A large domed hangar was nearby, with the door open and light spilling out onto the runway. Carl Gannon walked from inside and extended his hand to Eddie Seng. “They tell me you’re in charge until the chairman arrives,” he said. “Let me show you around.”
The others followed Seng and Gannon inside the hangar. “I’ve managed to scrounge up radios and have established a link with the Oregon,” he said, pointing to a wooden table with a computer and a stack of papers. “The latest data is on top.”
Alongside the table were several corkboards displaying maps of Tibet, satellite weather images and other documents. A chalkboard was erected on an easel, where Seng could make notes and draw the plans, as well as a large plastic-covered map showing the city of Lhasa that was taped to a piece of plywood and sat atop another table.
Off to the side, milling around an area with a large coffeepot, small refrigerator, and cardboard boxes containing food, were the eighteen mercenary pilots. Murphy made his way to the coffee, poured a cup and greeted an old friend. “Gurt,” he said, “you old dog.”
Gurt, a mid-fifties blond-haired man with a crew cut and a gold tooth in front, smiled.
“Murphy,” he said, flashing the tooth, “I thought this might be something you’d be involved in. It had the smell of a Corporation operation.”
The men continued visiting while Seng flipped through the information Gannon had amassed. Five minutes later, he called everyone to sit in the rows of folding wooden chairs arranged in front of the boards. The pilots ambled over and took seats behind the Corporation crew. Seng glanced at the assembled group before speaking.
“For those of you who don’t know me,” he said easily, “my name is Eddie Seng. Please call me Seng and not Eddie so there is no confusion. I will be commander in charge of this operation until the time that our chairman, Juan Cabrillo, arrives in the theater.”
The group nodded.
“The breakdown of flight operation will be as follows. Six of the helicopters will be tasked with offensive operations, one for the chairman when he arrives, one for medical. We will draw the assignments out of a hat on who is assigned to what, to be fair. Each of the helicopters will carry one member of our team, and the pilots will be required to fly this person anywhere he requests. Gentlemen, we will potentially be under fire and in harm’s way for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. If this is not what you signed up for, let me know now so you can be replaced. If not, I want you to understand that as pilots you will be answering to the team member aboard. If you hesitate or refuse to comply with a request, you will be replaced by one of our team that is qualified in helicopter operations, and you will forfeit your second half payment. Any questions?”