“Enough of your lies,” Po thundered. “Men, prepare to fire.”
Cabrillo brushed his hand along his crew-cut hair, then smiled and winked.
“Fire,” Po shouted.
A volley of shots rang out and the prayer room was filled with the scent of gunpowder.
“THERE they are,” the leader of the Dungkardetail said.
Three stainless-steel canisters were marked with Chinese symbols. The Dungkarerected the apparatus to burn off the gas, then started to dress in gas masks and rubber gloves. The gas had been right where Zhuren had said.
“Has anyone seen the American?” the Dungkarleader asked.
The answer came back negative.
“Slowly and carefully start to destroy the gas,” the leader said. “I’m going downstairs to report.”
THE smoke cleared and Cabrillo was still standing. One of the Public Security Bureau officers reached over and took Po’s handgun from his holster. Then he did a quick pat-down search to look for other weapons.
“You missed,” Cabrillo said, wiping a fleck of blood off his cheek from where a chip of stone had struck.
Stone looked over at Hanley, who smiled. “The Tibetans are with us,” he explained. “They have been all along.”
Stone raised his arms in the air in exasperation. “No one tells me anything,” he said.
Cabrillo was walking over to pick up his telephone when the Dungkarleader burst into the room. He stared at the scene in shock. Against the far wall was a large outline of a man that had been made by the bullets striking the stone. Five PSB officers were standing with rifles, while a lone PSB officer was placing another man in handcuffs.
“We found the gas,” the Dungkarblurted out. “We’re burning it off now.”
Cabrillo bent down and retrieved the telephone. “Max,” he said, “did you hear that?”
“I did, Juan,” Hanley said. “Now get the hell out of there.”
Cabrillo folded the telephone in half and slid it in his pocket. “Norquay, I assume?” he asked the leader of the PSB officers.
“Yes, sir,” the officer answered.
“Assist the Dungkarwith the destruction of the gas,” Cabrillo said. “Then secure Potala. General Rimpoche will be in contact with you soon—thanks for your help.”
Norquay nodded.
“To a Free Tibet,” Cabrillo shouted.
“To a Free Tibet,” the men answered.
Cabrillo began walking toward the door.
“Sir?” Norquay said, “there’s just one more thing.”
Cabrillo paused.
“What do you want us to do with him?” Norquay said, motioning to Po.
Cabrillo smiled. “Let him go.”
Cabrillo reached for the door handle. “But take his uniform and papers. He’s just too emotional to be a policeman.”
Then Cabrillo walked out the door, climbed down the steps and boarded the helicopter. Five minutes later he was back at Gonggar Airport. Ten minutes later he and his team were airborne in the C-130. They passed the fleet of leased helicopters in the air, headed for Bhutan, and the pilot of the C-130 wagged his wings. The helicopters returned the good-bye by flicking on their landing lights.
Then the team settled in for the short flight. Soon they’d be back on the Oregon.
46
IN Beijing, news of the events in Tibet was filtering in, and a hurried meeting was held.
President Jintao was direct. “What are our options?” he asked.
“We could send bombers to hit Lhasa,” the head of the Chinese air force said. “Then ready paratroopers for a later assault.”
“But that leaves us short on the Mongolian border,” Jintao noted. “What’s the latest intelligence on the Russian movements?”
The head of Chinese intelligence was a short man with a pronounced belly. He adjusted his glasses before speaking. “The Russian forces are enough for them to sweep down and flank our troops that are currently still headed down the pass into Qinghai Province. If they supported their efforts with air power, we could lose both Qinghai and Xinjiang Provinces, basically the entire western frontier.”
“That would give them control of our secret advanced weapons facilities at Lop Nur, plus a good portion of our space program,” Jintao said wearily.
“I’m afraid so, sir,” the head of intelligence noted.
“Okay—” Jintao started to say before his aide rushed into the room and walked over and whispered in his ear.
“Gentlemen,” President Jintao said, “continue discussions—I have an emergency meeting. The Russian ambassador is insisting we talk and has arrived ahead of his scheduled meeting.”
The Russian ambassador was waiting in an outer office. He rose as Jintao walked into the room. “Mr. President,” he said solicitously, “I apologize for moving up the time of our meeting, but the president of my country insisted I see you immediately.”
“Do you come bringing a declaration of war?” Jintao asked directly, motioning the Russian to take a seat on a couch near a window with a view of the outer gardens.
The Russian ambassador sat on the left end of the couch, Jintao farther down on the right.
“No, Mr. President,” the Russian ambassador said, straightening his suit pants. “I come with a business offer that can put an end to the tension between our countries, as well as placing your economy on solid footing again.”
Jintao stared at his watch before answering. “You have five minutes.”
The Russian ambassador explained it all in four.
“So you are convinced you can pull a UN Security Council vote?” Jintao said after he was through.
“We can,” the Russian said.
“What do we get if we go along with the vote?” Jintao asked. “If China votes to go along.”
The Russian ambassador smiled. “World peace?”
“I was thinking of a larger percentage of the field.”
Two minutes later, the Russian had his offer.
“Mr. President,” he said, “allow me to make a telephone call.”
“Tell them I want your armored column stopped immediately,” Jintao said, “confirmed by satellite reconnaissance.”
Eight minutes later, the new percentages would be confirmed and the Russian armored column would grind to a halt. Further negotiations would continue right up until the UN vote.
AT the same instant the Russian ambassador was calling Moscow, the C-130 containing the Corporation team was crossing into India. Off the right wing the jet carrying the Dalai Lama home passed. The pilot of the jet wagged his wings and the pilot of the C-130 reciprocated.
Less than an hour later, the team reached Calcutta, India, and was met by the Corporation’s amphibious airplane. Within minutes of the C-130 touching down, the crew was being flown out to the ship.
By sundown on March 31, the Oregonwas steaming south in the Bay of Bengal.
On the deck, Hanley and Cabrillo watched the setting sun.
“I got a call from Overholt after you left Calcutta,” Hanley said.
“I’m sure it was the usual,” Cabrillo said. “Rah, rah, good job. The check is in the mail.”
“He did mention that, and a wire transfer that Halpert has already confirmed.”
“What else?” Cabrillo asked.
“He has another job for us,” Hanley said.
“Where?” Cabrillo asked.
“The land of the midnight sun, Mr. Chairman,” Hanley said. “The Arctic Circle.”
Cabrillo sniffed the salt air, then began walking for the hatch inside. “Come on, you can explain over dinner.”