Golden Buddha Part 32

The second in command of the Chinese navy detachment in Macau was on the line.

"This is the chief of the Macau police. We need you to stop a s.h.i.+p heading out into the South China Sea," he said quickly.

"We have a hydrofoil that can run at sixty-five knots," the Chinese navy officer told him, "but it isn't very heavily armed."

"This is an old cargo s.h.i.+p," Rhee said loudly. "I doubt she'll put up much of a fight."

Rhee had no way of knowing it, but he'd just made the biggest error of his life.

CABRILLO BURST INTO the control room, shedding his grimy rain suit while at the same time removing the dental appliance that made his teeth appear as stubs. He tossed both to the side and tugged at his fake beard as he spoke. "Okay, what's the situation?"

"We just intercepted a communique from the Chinese navy to their high-speed hydrofoil. They've been ordered to intercept us--a naval frigate and a fast-attack corvette are following."

"Any other s.h.i.+ps?"

"No," Hanley said. "That's the only Chinese navy firepower currently in Macau."

"Where's our team with the Golden Buddha?" Cabrillo asked as he tossed the beard aside, then spit out a sliver of latex left over from the false teeth mold.

"They are driving at full speed out of port," Stone said, pointing to a screen. "But it looks like they have picked up a tail."

"Get me Adams," Cabrillo said. "While he's making his way here, have the deckhands drop the walls on the helicopter pad and start raising the Robinson from the lower hangar."

"Got it," Stone said.

"Max," Cabrillo said, "get me Langston Overholt on a secure line."

Hanley started to a.s.semble the satellite link.

Cabrillo stared at the screen showing the progress of the Zodiacs and the s.h.i.+p pursuing them. Then he glanced over at another screen that showed the Oregon's location and the path of the Chinese navy vessels giving chase. The screens were filled with blinking lights and estimated paths.

"Adams will be here in a second," Stone said.

"Sound battle stations," Cabrillo said quietly.

Stone pushed a b.u.t.ton and a loud whooping noise filled the Oregon.

Belowdecks in the sick bay, Gunther Reinholt heard the sound and sat up in bed. Swiveling to one side, he slid his feet into a pair of carpet slippers. Rising to his full height, he reached around and tightened his hospital gown around his body. Then with one hand on his IV drip, which was hanging from a stainless-steel rack with a wheeled base, he began to shuffle from the sick bay to the engine room.

Reinholt knew that if the Oregon went to war, they would need every hand on station.

269.

THE CAPTAIN OF the Chinese navy hydrofoil Gale Force, Deng Ching, stared through the square floor-to-ceiling windows of the control room with a pair of high-powered binoculars. His craft had risen up to her full height of twelve feet above the water a few moments before. The hydrofoil was now reaching speeds of nearly fifty knots.

Ching turned and glanced at the radar screen. The cargo s.h.i.+p was still a distance away, but the gap was closing.

"Are the sailors on the forward guns locked and loaded?" he asked his second in command.

"Yes, sir," the officer replied.

"Once we draw closer, I'll want to send a volley over their heads,"

Ching said.

"That should be enough," the second in command agreed.

LANGSTON OVERHOLT SAT in his office in Langley, Virginia. On his left ear was the secure telephone connected to Cabrillo on the Oregon. His right ear was occupied by a telephone connected to the admiral in command of the Pacific theater.

"Presidential directive four twenty-one," he said to the admiral.

"Now, what do you have nearby?"

"We're checking now," the admiral said. "I'll know in a few minutes."

"Can you bring some force to bear on the Chinese without it being tied to the U.S.?"

"Understood, Mr. Overholt," the admiral said. "Force from afar."

"That's it exactly, Admiral."

"Leave it to the navy," the admiral said. "We'll come up with something."

The telephone went dead. Overholt replaced the receiver and spoke to Cabrillo.

"Hold tight, Juan," he said quietly. "Help's a coming."

"Fair enough," Cabrillo said before disconnecting.

IN THE MOVIES, when a submarine goes to battle stations, it does so with much whooping from sirens and gongs. Men scurry down narrow pa.s.sageways as they race to their stations and the tension that comes over the big screen is palpable and thick.

Reality is somewhat different.

Noise inside or outside a submarine is the enemy--it can lead to detection and death. On board the United States Navy Los Angeles-cla.s.s attack submarine Santa Fe, the motions for battle were more like a roadie setting up a rock concert than the chaos of someone yelling "fire" in a crowded theater. A red light signaling action pulsed from numerous fixtures mounted in all the rooms and pa.s.sageways. The crew moved with purpose, but not haste. The action they would take had been rehea.r.s.ed a thousand times. They were as natural to the crew as 270 271.

shaving and showering. The commander of the Santa Fe, Captain Steven Farragut, stood on the command deck and received the condition reports from his crew with practiced ease.

"Electric check completed on packages one and two," an officer reported.

"Acknowledged," Farragut said.

"Boat rising to optimal firing depth," the driver reported.

"Excellent," Farragut said easily.

"Countermeasures and detection at one hundred percent," another j officer reported.

"Perfect," Farragut said.

"Sensors report clear, sir," the chief of boat said. "We appear to be j alone out here. We can commence operation inside of eight, repeat eight, j minutes."

"Acknowledged," Farragut said.

The great beast was rising from the depths and preparing to bite if i necessary.

ADAMS BURST INTO the control room of the Oregon. He was dressed in a tan flight suit that he was zipping up as he approached.

"Mr. Chairman," he said, smiling a blindingly white smile, "what can I do for you?"

Cabrillo pointed to one of the computer screens. "George, we have a situation. We have the two Zodiacs along with seven of our people trying to get out of Macau waters. We can't turn to pick them up because we're being pursued ourselves." Cabrillo pointed to another screen. "You can see they also have a tail. You need to provide support."

"I'll mount the experimental weapons pods Mr. Hanley designed for the Robinson. That gives me mini-rockets and a small chain gun, so I can cover their exit."

"What about the extraction system?" Cabrillo asked.

"I can't pull seven people aboard," Adams said, "I don't have the payload."

"That's not what I was thinking," Cabrillo said. "Let me explain."

CAPTAIN CHING STARED at the radar screen. He had been told the s.h.i.+p he was supposed to intercept was an aging cargo s.h.i.+p named the Oregon. From the description given by the pilot, the vessel was little more than a bucket of rust. Somehow, Ching was beginning to doubt that--Gale Force was steaming at fifty knots, and if the radar on the computer screen was correct, the cargo s.h.i.+p was doing forty-five.

At the current speeds, the Oregon would be safely in international waters in less than five minutes. Then there would be the risk of a major incident if the sailors on Gale Force attempted a boarding.

"Give me full speed," Ching ordered the engine room.

THE HYDROFOIL IS accelerating," Hanley noted. "At the increased speed, they will intercept us a minute or two before we reach the demarcation line."

Cabrillo glanced at the screen showing the water in front of the Oregon. The clouds were finally clearing and soon they would be free of the fog bank.

"Let's raise them on the radio," Cabrillo said, "and explain the situation."

Stone started tuning the radio while Cabrillo reached for a different microphone.

"Engine room," he said.

"Sir," a voice said, "this is Reinholt."

Cabrillo didn't bother to ask why the ailing engineer was not in sick bay as he had been ordered. The man had obviously felt well enough to help.

L.

272.

273.

"Reinholt," Cabrillo said quickly, "is there any way to coax out a few more knots?"

"We're on it, sir," Reinholt answered.

DOWN BELOWDECKS, THE weapons pods had already been attached to both sides of the R-44. While the elevator lifted the helicopter up to launch height, Adams slid a pair of Nomex flight gloves over his hands, then slid a pair of yellow-tinted sungla.s.ses over his eyes.

He stepped from foot to foot in antic.i.p.ation, and as soon as the elevator stopped and locked in place, he raced over, did a quick preflight and checked the underneath harness, then stepped to the pilot's door of the Robinson and cracked it open. He was sliding into the seat as a deckhand raced over.

"Do you want me to pull the pins?" the deckhand asked.

"Arm me," Adams said quickly, "then clear the deck. I'm out of here as soon as I have operating temps."

The man bent down, removed the pins from the missiles and checked the power to the mini-gun. Once he was finished, he popped his head inside the door again.

"Check your weapons console."

Adams stared at the small screen attached to the side of the dashboard.

"I'm green."

The deckhand shut the door and raced away. Adams waited until he was clear, then engaged the starter. Four minutes and twenty-eight seconds later, using the surface wind from the accelerating Oregon as a crutch, Adams lifted from the deck, then pivoted the R-44 in midair, turned and headed back toward Macau.

THE ZODIACS WERE skimming across the water at thirty knots According to their crude radars, they were keeping ahead of the pursuing boats, but just barely. Seng's boat, with the added weight of ]

the Golden Buddha, was straining to maintain speed. He had the throttle all the way to the stops, but there was no more speed to be coaxed from his engine. The fog and rain were still thick and they s.h.i.+elded the inflatable boats from the pursuers, but Seng could sense they were just out of visual and auditory range. If one thing went wrong--an engine miss or overheating, a leak in the inflatable pontoons that slowed them down--they would be toast.

At the same instant Seng was having his dark thoughts, Huxley heard the Oregon calling over the radio. She cupped her hand over her ear so she could hear. Because of the potential for interception, the message was brief and to the point.

"Help is on the way," Stone said.

"Understand," Huxley answered.

She turned to Seng and Hornsby. "The Oregon's sending the cavalry,"

she said.

"Not a moment too soon," Seng said as he stared at the temperature gauge for his engine, now beginning to creep into the red.

Not too far distant, the Zodiac carrying Kasim, Murphy Meadows, and Jones heard the message as well. Kasim was steering, Meadows standing alongside, with Jones lying p.r.o.ne on the deck to the stern.

Once Meadows heard the news, he turned, crouched down, then yelled the news over the sound of the wind and waves to Jones.

"I wish I'd have known," Jones quipped. "I would have asked them to bring some aspirin."

"You want another bottle of water?" Meadows asked.

"Not unless there's a bathroom on board," Jones said, grimacing.

"Hang in there, buddy," Meadows said. "We'll be home soon."

LIKE THE DISTANT view of a shoplifter across a crowded store, the outline of the Oregon started to form through Ching's binoculars as the fog began to clear. Concentrating on the hull, Ching could see the large white-capped wake being created by the racing cargo s.h.i.+p. The 274 275.

wake and the cargo s.h.i.+p's track were like nothing he had ever witnessed before. Most cargo s.h.i.+ps, and Ching had tracked and intercepted more than a few, moved through the water like lumbering manatees--this Iranian-flagged vessel he was chasing moved like a thoroughbred in heat.