A sound came up the valley. It was a whoosh, like a well-thrown football. Then a stark white-colored craft raced past at thirty feet above the tarmac. The strange object sped to the end of the airport, then made an arcing turn and lined up for a pass. Suddenly, twin streams of fire erupted from the sides and a pair of missiles streaked toward the parked transport planes.
The Predator had found her prey.
IN the hangar in Bhutan, Lincoln stared at the image from the Predator’s onboard cameras. Steering the Predator into another arcing turn, he lined up in front of the helicopters and flicked the trigger. Then he made another turn to see the results.
The cargo planes were ablaze. The helicopters would join them in a second.
At the same instant, 160 yards from the edge of the field, nearly one hundred Dungkartroops slid out from under white tarps that blended with the snow on the ground. Screaming a war cry, they raced toward the terminal. Dressed in black robes with ceremonial knives in their belts and handguns and rifles that had been smuggled into the country only days before, they swarmed like locusts into predetermined positions. From the south came the thumping sound of seven helicopters approaching. As the helicopter carrying Seng popped up to the plateau, he could see the fires from the Predator’s attack burning bright in the early morning.
Then, as if a divine light was making its way to earth, a series of red light sticks began to flicker on the tarmac. The Dungkarwere sending the message it was safe to land.
“Land inside the box,” Seng said to the pilot.
“Will do,” the pilot said, starting his descent.
Seconds after the helicopter landed, Seng climbed from the front while King made his way from the rear. Seng quickly walked to the terminal, where he met up with the leader of the Dungkar. At the same time, King motioned to the troops for help, and then began to unload crates of rifles and ammunition from the cargo area.
“What have you got?” Seng asked the man, who was no more than thirty.
“The hangars over there,” the man said, pointing, “contain one fighter plane, one cargo plane and a pair of attack helicopters. The hangar next door must be for repairs—there is a helicopter disassembled and the fuselage of an observation plane with the engine removed.”
Cabrillo had asked the Dalai Lama to make sure the Dungkarofficers he picked were able to speak English. There was no time for his team to learn Tibetan and less time for misunderstanding.
“Where did you go to school?” Seng asked.
“Arizona State, sir,” the man said eagerly. “Go, Sun Devils.”
“Good,” Seng said. “I’m sure you’re glad to be home—now, let’s see if we can keep it that way. First, I want a couple of your men to work with the guy coming in on that helicopter.” He pointed to another Bell, just touching down twenty yards away. “We need to rig these buildings with charges to burn them if necessary.”
“I’ll put a dozen of my best men on it,” the man said eagerly.
“How many Chinese have you captured?” Seng asked.
“Less than a dozen, sir,” the man said. “One of mine dead—two of theirs.”
The airport was a bedlam of activity. The fires burned at the far end of the field against the tapestry of the early morning, and the sound of the landing helicopters added a surreal element to the quiet air. All at once, solitude had become a salvo.
“Listen carefully,” Seng said to the leader of the Dungkarforces, “this comes from the Dalai Lama himself. There will be no brutality or mistreatment of the prisoners—make sure your men know this clearly. Once this is all said and done, we’re returning whatever prisoners we capture to China—my company doesn’t want to hear of any atrocities whatsoever. This is a coup d’etat, not an ethnic cleansing. Are we clear on that?”
“Company, sir?” the man asked. “Aren’t you United States troops?”
“We’re from the States,” Seng said, “at least most of us, but we are a private firm now working under the direction of your leader. If you and the other Dungkardo what we order, in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, there will be a free Tibet once again.”
“You’ve done this sort of thing before?” the man asked in amazement.
“There’s no time for chitchat,” Seng snapped. “You all do exactly what you’re ordered and this will go as smoothly as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Seng said. “Bring the highest-ranking prisoner to the main terminal and have him seated in a chair and guarded. We’ll be setting up operations there in the next several minutes—then I want to speak to him.”
The man shouted orders in Tibetan. The Dungkarsoldiers lined up in rows. He explained what Seng had relayed, then ordered six sergeants to the forefront. Then one group led by a sergeant went off to round up the prisoners. Another split off to the helicopter Kasim had left.
“Hali,” Seng shouted, “take these men and wire the other hangars to blow if we need to.”
Kasim motioned to the troops and raced back to the helicopter.
The Bell that had carried Seng and King to the airfield was now unloaded. King motioned for it to lift off. The pilot ascended to one thousand feet over the field and then began to fly in large lazy circles. Two more touched down, and Crabtree and Gannon climbed out.
“What’s your name?” Seng shouted to the leader of the Dungkar.
“Rimpoche, Pache Rimpoche.”
Gannon and Crabtree raced over.
“Carl,” Seng said, “this is General Rimpoche. Tell him what you need.”
Gannon walked a few feet away to where they could hear better and explained. Rimpoche summoned a sergeant and a dozen men raced off.
“I need the supplies unloaded and taken inside,” Crabtree said to Seng, who pointed to Rimpoche.
“General Rimpoche,” he said, motioning to the man, “will take care of it.”
Seng unclipped a portable radio from his belt and switched it on, then spoke.
“Airport is under our control,” he said to Hanley on the Oregon. “What do you see?”
Hanley studied the satellite image on the screen before answering. “No troop movement yet—but if they do come, it will be from the road that enters from the east. There is what looks like a bridge about three-quarters of a mile toward Lhasa. Control that, and you’ll be able to make a stand if necessary.”
“No planes or helicopter activity?” Seng asked.
“None,” Hanley said. “Anything not on the ground there is far to the north. Even if they called them back now, you have an hour or so.”
“Good,” Seng said as Meadows walked up. “Reach me by portable if the situation changes.”
“We’re on full alert,” Hanley said. “It all comes down to the next few hours.”
Seng clipped the radio back on his belt and turned to Meadows. “Bob, take fifty troops and your weaponry down that road,” he said, pointing. “There’s a bridge we need to control.”
“Who’s in charge from their side?” Meadows asked.
“General Rimpoche,” Seng said, pointing to the man.
At that instant, three trucks slowly drove in front of the terminal and were motioned to stop by Gannon. At the same time, Tom Reyes walked over.
“General?” Seng shouted.
Rimpoche approached. “Yes?”
“I need four of your best men, crack shots and fearless.”
Rimpoche turned and shouted out names to the cluster of troops. Four men emerged from the crowd. Not one of the men was over five feet six. Dripping wet, not one of them could have weighed over 150 pounds.
“Do any of them speak English?” Seng asked.
“All of them do a little,” Rimpoche said.
“Tell them this,” Seng said. “They will be going into Lhasa with two of my men to capture a very important man. They need to do exactlywhat my men tell them—without hesitation.”