Golden Buddha by Clive Cussler Page A

off the light rain and the wet surface as it lowered onto the runway with a chirp from the tires. A truck with a flashing light bar mounted on the roof raced down an access road in hot pursuit. The truck would lead the jet to the spot for refueling.
    Then Overholt could board and ask the Dalai Lama if he was ready for the journey.

9
    M ACAU is a tiny country consisting of three small islands connected by causeways. The farthest north is Macau, which houses the government buildings; the middle island, Taipa, has a man-made extension for the airport and runways, and is connected to the main body of the island with a pair of roads; and the farthest south island is Coloane. To the north and east of the country is the Chinese mainland, and to the west, across the body of water known as Zhujiang Kou, is Hong Kong.
    Formerly a Portuguese colony, the country had reverted to China in 1999 and was administered as a special region similar to Hong Kong. The landmass of Macau is a mere 9.1 square miles, or just under a sixth of the size of Washington, D.C. The population is estimated at around 430,000 people.
    The Oregon was moored off Coloane, and nearest to international waters.
    â€œDick,” Cabrillo said as he reached the top of the ladder leading from the shore boat to the pier, “how goes it?”
    â€œMr. Chairman,” Truitt said, “I think all is in order.”
    Bob Meadows and Pete Jones, former Navy SEALs and operational specialists, along with security and surveillance expert Linda Ross, followed. Once they were all on the pier, Truitt motioned to the van.
    â€œLet me show you the layout,” Truitt said quietly as they all entered the van.
    Truitt steered the van onto the 1.3-mile-long bridge that would take them to Taipa. It was quiet inside the van, the only sound coming from the tires as they periodically crossed over the expansion joints.
    â€œThis is Taipa,” Truitt said as the van reached the island. “Two bridges lead to Macau. We’ll take the shorter, which is about a mile and a half long.”
    As Truitt steered the van onto the second bridge, Cabrillo stared to the west across the water toward the other bridge and Hong Kong. The road was crowded with trucks carrying cargo from the seaports and air terminal, but the traffic was moving fast.
    â€œCan the authorities seal off the bridges?” he asked.
    â€œThere are no gates per se,” Truitt said, “but they could easily station large trucks on the approaches and we’d be in trouble.”
    The high-rises on Macau were becoming more visible through the windshield.
    â€œWe’re not going to luck out and have the building located along the waterfront?” Linda Ross asked.
    â€œSorry, Linda,” Truitt said, glancing in the rearview mirror, “his home is on the hillside.”
    Cabrillo was staring ahead at the mass of humanity and buildings as the van covered the final hundred yards over the bridge. “So if we’re caught making a run for it…” His voice trailed off.
    Truitt slowed the van and turned onto a crowded side street. “That’s the score, boss,” he said quietly.
    â€œHow come we never steal things that are hidden in the middle of nowhere?” Meadows asked.
    â€œBecause the stuff we’re paid to do never happens in an isolated area,” Jones said, smiling.
    Â 
    L ANGSTON Overholt had needed more time with the Dalai Lama to explain his proposal, so he’d made a quick call to Washington, then boarded the Falcon. Flying against the sun had made the night last a long time—it was still dark when they stopped in Manila to refuel. Lifting from the tarmac at Manila International Airport, the pilot set a course skirting Vietnam then over the southernmost strip of Thailand above Hat Yai. Once he passed over Thailand, he’d make a sweeping turn north over the Andaman Sea, stop at Rangoon for more fuel, and then he could make it to Punjab, where