cc.goldenbuddha-第10部分

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owever；　Gunderson　was　wishing　he　could　have　a　bottle　of　beer　with　his　lunch。　Instead；　he　finished　a　warm　bottle　of　Blenheim's　ginger　ale　to　wash　it　all　down。　Checking　the　gauges　every　few　minutes；　he　found　them　all　in　the　green。　
　〃Mr。　Citation　is　happy；〃　he　said　as　he　patted　the　automatic　control　switch　and　checked　his　course。　
　Spenser　made　his　way　forward　to　the　cockpit；　knocked　on　the　door　and　opened　it。　〃Has　your　pany　made　arrangements　with　the　armored　car　to　meet　us　at　the　airport　in　Macau？〃　
　〃Don't　worry；〃　Gunderson　said。　〃They've　taken　care　of　everything。〃
　
　AT　THE　SAME　instant；　Juan　Cabrillo　was　enjoying　an　espresso　after　a　meal　of　chateaubriand；　mixed　vegetables；　a　cheese　plate　and　baked　Alaska　for　dessert。　He　held　a　napkin　to　his　mouth　as　he　talked　from　the　head　table　in　the　ship's　dining　salon。　
　〃We　have　a　man　on　the　ground　in　Macau；〃　he　said。　〃He'll　arrange　transportation　once　we　have　acquired　the　Buddha。〃　
　〃What's　his　plan？〃　Hanley　asked。　
　〃He's　not　sure　yet；〃　Cabrillo　admitted；　〃but　he　always　es　up　with　something。〃　
　Seng　was　next　to　speak。　
　〃I've　retrieved　detailed　maps　of　the　port；　streets　and　entire　city；〃　Seng　said。　〃Both　the　port　and　the　airport　are　less　than　a　mile　from　where　we　believe　the　Golden　Buddha　will　be　taken。〃　
　〃That's　a　good　twist　of　luck；〃　Linda　Ross　said。　
　〃The　entire　country's　only　seven　square　miles；〃　Seng　said。　
　〃Are　we　planning　to　anchor　offshore？〃　Mark　Murphy　asked。　Cabrillo　simply　nodded。　
　〃Then　I　need　GPS　numbers　for　the　entire　country；〃　Murphy　noted；　〃just　in　case。〃　
　Another　hour　would　pass　as　the　corporate　officers　hashed　out　de　tails。　
　〃I'll　；〃　THE　MAN　said　quietly；　〃from。〃　
　The　man　who　would　benefit　the　most　from　the　return　of　the　Golden　Buddha　had　no　idea　of　the　maelstrom　of　activity　surrounding　him。　He　was　meditating　in　a　tranquil　rock　garden　outside　a　home　in　Beverly　Hills；　California。　Now　nearing　seventy　years　old；　he　seemed　not　to　age　as　did　ordinary　men。　Instead；　the　passage　of　time　had　simply　molded　him　into　a　more　plete　human　being。　
　In　1959；　the　Chinese　forced　him　to　flee　his　own　country　for　India。　In　1989；　he'd　received　the　Nobel　Peace　Prize　for　his　continued　work　toward　the　nonviolent　freeing　of　his　homeland。　In　a　world　where　a　hundred…year…old　house　was　considered　historic；　this　man　was　believed　to　be　the　fourteenth　incarnation　of　an　ancient　spiritual　leader。　
　At　this　instant；　the　Dalai　Lama　was　traveling　on　the　winds　of　his　mind　back　to　home。　
　
　WINSTON　SPENSER　WAS　tired　and　irritable。　He　had　not　had　any　rest　since　leaving　London；　and　the　dreariness　of　travel　and　his　age　were　catching　up　to　him。　Once　the　Citation　X　had　rolled　to　a　stop　on　the　far　end　of　the　field；　he　waited　while　the　pilot　made　his　way　to　the　door　and　extended　the　stairs。　Then　he　climbed　out。　The　armored　car　was　only　feet　away；　with　the　rear　doors　open。　To　each　side　of　the　vehicle　was　a　guard　in　black　uniform　with　a　bolstered　weapon。　They　looked　about　as　friendly　as　a　lynch　mob。　One　of　the　men　approached。　〃Where's　the　object？〃　he　asked　directly。　
　〃In　a　crate　inside　the　main　cabin；〃　Spenser　said。　
　The　man　motioned　to　his　partner；　who　walked　over。　
　At　just　that　instant；　Gunderson　climbed　down　the　stairs。　
　〃Who　are　you？〃　one　of　the　guards　asked。　
　〃I'm　the　pilot。〃　
　〃Back　in　the　cockpit　until　we're　finished。〃　
　〃Hey；〃　Gunderson　started　to　say　as　the　larger　of　the　two　men　grabbed　his　arm　and　shoved　him　into　the　cockpit　and　slammed　the　door。　Then　the　two　men　eased　the　crate　onto　a　roller　ramp　to　the　ground。　They　pushed　the　crate　on　the　ramp　right　into　the　truck。　Two　men　couldn't　lift　it。　Once　it　was　inside；　the　truck　was　pulled　forward　so　they　could　shut　the　doors。　One　of　the　guards　was　locking　the　doors　when　Gunderson　reappeared。　
　〃You　can　be　sure　this　will　be　reported；〃　he　said　to　the　guard。　
　But　the　guard　just　smiled　slightly　and　walked　forward　to　climb　into　the　passenger　seat。　
　〃A…Ma　Temple？〃　the　driver　said　out　the　window。　
　〃Yes；〃　Spenser　said。　
　The　guard　pointed　to　a　dark　green　Mercedes…Benz　limousine　parked　nearby。　
　〃You're　supposed　to　follow　us　in　that。〃　
　Rolling　up　the　window；　the　driver　placed　the　armored　car　in　gear　and　started　driving。　
　Spenser　climbed　into　the　limousine　and　set　off　in　pursuit。　
　
　THE　ARMORED　CAR　and　the　limousine　carrying　Spenser　crossed　the　Macau…Taipa　Bridge；　went　around　the　cloverleaf；　passed　the　Hotel　Lisboa　and　headed　up　Infante　D。　Henrique　until　the　name　changed　and　the　road　became　San　Mo　La；　or　the　New　Road。　On　the　west　end　of　the　island；　they　reached　the　intersection　of　Rua　das　Lorchas　and　headed　south　along　the　waterfront。　
　The　waterfront　was　like　a　scene　from　an　adventure　movie。　Junks　and　sampans　floated　on　the　water；　while　the　street　along　the　water　was　crammed　with　shops　displaying　everything　from　plucked　chickens　to　silver　opium　pipes。　Tourists　stood　snapping　pictures　while　buyers　and　sellers　negotiated　prices　in　the　singsong　staccato　of　Cantonese。　
　At　the　fork　with　Rua　do　Almirante　Sergio；　the　caravan　veered　slightly　left；　drove　past　the　bus　terminal；　then　entered　the　grounds　of　the　A…Ma　Temple。　The　temple　was　the　oldest　in　Macau；　dating　from　the　fourteenth　century；　and　it　sat　on　a　densely　wooded　hill　with　a　view　of　the　water。　The　plex　held　a　total　of　five　shrines　linked　by　winding　pebbled　paths。　The　smell　of　incense　was　in　the　air　as　Spenser　climbed　from　the　limousine　and　walked　to　the　armored　car。　At　just　that　instant；　someone　lit　a　coil　firecracker　to　chase　away　the　evil　spirits。　He　instinctively　ducked；　staring　up　at　the　driver's　open　window。　
　〃You　okay；　sir？〃　the　driver　asked。　
　〃Yes；〃　Spenser　said　sheepishly；　rising　again　to　his　full　height。　〃I　need　to　step　inside　for　a　moment。　If　you　will　just　wait　here。〃　
　The　driver　nodded　and　Spenser　walked　up　the　path。　
　Entering　the　A…Ma　Temple；　Spenser　walked　to　a　rear　room　he　knew　the　leader　of　the　monks　used　as　an　office；　and　knocked　on　the　door。　The　door　opened；　and　a　shaven…headed　man　dressed　in　a　yellow　robe　stood　smiling。　
　〃Mr。　Spenser；〃　he　said；　〃you've　e　for　your　crate。〃　
　〃Yes；〃　Spenser　said。　
　The　monk　rang　a　bell　and　two　more　monks　appeared　from　another　room。　
　〃Mr。　Spenser　is　here　for　the　crate　I　spoke　about；〃　the　head　monk　told　them。　〃He'll　explain　what　to　do。〃　
　A　large　donation　to　the　temple　had　ensured　that　his　decoy　would　remain　here　until　needed。　A　well…placed　lie　would　solve　the　rest。　
　〃I　have　a　gilded　Buddha　outside　I'd　like　to　display　for　a　time；〃　Spenser　said；　smiling　at　the　monk。　〃Do　you　have　a　space　to　put　it？〃　
　〃Certainly；〃　the　monk　said。　〃Bring　it　inside。〃　
　Twenty　minutes　later　the　switch　had　taken　place。　The　Golden　Bud　dha　was　now　hiding　in　plain　sight。　Thirty　minutes　and　less　than　a　mile　away；　the　armored　car　made　its　final　delivery　of　the　day。　After　the　guards　were　dispatched；　Spenser　stood　with　the　Macau　billionaire；　staring　at　the　object。　
　〃It's　more　than　I　could　have　hoped　for；〃　the　billionaire　said。　
　But　less　than　you　think；　Spenser　thought。　〃I'm　glad　you　like　it。〃　
　〃Now　we　celebrate；〃　the　billionaire　said；　smiling。　
　Silver　platters　of　delicacies　littered　the　long　cherrywood　table　in　the　palatial　dining　room　of　the　man's　estate。　Spenser　had　passed　on　the　monkey　meat；　as　well　as　the　sea　urchin；　and　settled　on　poultry　in　a　peanut　sauce。　Still；　the　spicy　side　dishes　were　wreaking　havoc　with　his　travel…weary　stomach；　and　he　just　wished　the　night　would　end。　
　Spenser　sat　at　the　far　end　of　the　table；　the　owner　at　the　head。　A　total　of　six　concubines　were　seated；　three　to　a　side；　in　the　middle。　After　a　dessert　of　wild　berry　mousse；　cigars　and　cognac；　the　man　rose　from　his　seat。　
　〃Shall　we　take　a　soak；　Winston？〃　he　said；　〃and　allow　the　ladies　to　do　their　job？〃　
　The　man　had　no　idea　he　would　possess　the　faux　Golden　Buddha　for　less　than　a　week。　
　And　Winston　Spenser　had　no　way　to　know　he　had　less　than　a　fortnight　to　live。　
　
　Overholt　was　a　runner。　
　He'd　started　the　practice　as　a　senior　in　high　school；　when　the　craze　had　swept　the　country；　fueled　by　the　Jim　Fixx　book　The　plete　Runner。　Throughout　college　and　graduate　school　he'd　kept　up　the　practice。　Marriage；　joining　the　CIA；　divorce　and　remarriage　had　not　slowed　down　his　obsession。　Running　was　one　of　the　few　things　that　relieved　the　stress　of　his　job。　
　Stress　was　Overholt's　other　constant。　
　Since　joining　the　CIA　in　1981　fresh　out　of　graduate　school；　he'd　served　under　six　different　directors。　Now；　for　the　first　time　in　decades；　Langston　Overholt　IV　had　a　chance　to　make　his　father's　promise　to　the　Dalai　Lama　a　reality；　while　at　the　same　time　repaying　his　old　friend　Juan　Cabrillo。　He　was　wasting　no　time　in　moving　his　plans　forward。　Just　then；　his　telephone　buzzed。　
　〃Sir；〃　his　assistant　said；　〃it's　the　DDO；　he'd　like　to　meet　with　you　as　soon　as　possible。〃　
　Overholt　reached　for　the　phone。　
　　
　LANGSTON　OVERHOLT　IV　sat　in　his　office　in　Langley；　Virginia。　His　hips　rested　in　a　tall　leather　chair　sideways　to　the　desk。　In　his　hand　was　a　black　racquetball　paddle；　its　handle　wrapped　with　white　cloth　tape　stained　by　sweat。　Slowly　and　methodically；　he　hit　a　black　rubber　ball　two　feet　in　the　air　and　then　back　down　to　the　racquet。　Every　fourth　hit；　he　flipped　the　racquet　over　to　change　sides。　The　rhythmic　action　helped　him　think。　
　Overholt　was　thin　without　being　scrawny；　more　lean　and　sinewy　than　bony。　One　hundred　and　sixty…five　pounds　graced　his　six…foot…one…inch　frame；　with　skin　stretched　tight　over　muscles　that　were　long　and　squared　rather　than　rounded　and　plump。　His　face　was　handsome　in　a　rugged　way；　rectangular　in　shape；　with　hard　edges　abounding。　His　hair　was　blond；　with　just　a　touch　of　gray　starting　to　appear　at　the　temples；　and　he　had　it　trimmed　every　two　weeks　at　the　CIA　barbershop　inside　the　pound。　
　
　THE　WEATHER　IN　Washington；　D。C。；　was　as　hot　as　Texas　asphalt　and　as　steamy　as　a　bowl　of　green　chili。　Inside　the　White　House；　the　air　conditioners　were　set　as　high　as　they　would　go；　but　they　just　couldn't　drop　the　temperature　below　seventy…five　degrees。　The　president's　home　was　aging；　and　there　was　just　so　much　adaptation　you　could　make　to　an　old　building　and　still　retain　the　historical　structure。　
　〃Has　there　ever　been　an　official　photograph　of　the　president　sitting　in　the　Oval　Of