Free Golden Buddha by Clive Cussler

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    â€œThat’s the problem with stealing objects out of history books,” Ross noted. “They’re tough to resell.”
    â€œI know a guy in Greece,” Murphy said, “who would buy the Mona Lisa .”
    Cabrillo waved his hands. “All right, back to business.”
    A map of the world filled the main monitor, and Halpert pointed to their destination.
    â€œAs a crow flies, it’s over ten thousand miles from Puerto Rico to this location,” he noted. “By sea, it’s a lot farther.”
    â€œWe’re going to run up the costs just getting there,” Cabrillo said. “Do we have any other jobs lined up in that part of the world after we finish with this?”
    â€œNothing yet,” Halpert admitted, “but I’m working on it. I did, however, require the lawyer to include a bonus if we deliver the object by a certain date.”
    â€œHow much and when?” Cabrillo asked.
    â€œThe bonus is another million,” Halpert said. “The date is March thirty-first.”
    â€œWhy March thirty-first?” Cabrillo asked.
    â€œBecause that’s when they plan to have the leader return to his people.”
    â€œAh. Good. All right, so we have a total of seven days, three of which will be spent traveling. That gives us four days to break into a secure building, steal a gold artifact that weighs six hundred pounds, then transport it nearly twenty-five hundred miles to a mountain country that most people have only heard about in school.”
    Halpert nodded.
    â€œSounds like fun,” Cabrillo said.

4
    C HUCK “Tiny” Gunderson was dining on sausage and slabs of cheddar cheese as he steered the Citation X and watched the mountains that lay below. Gunderson carried nearly 280 pounds on his six-feet-four frame and had played tackle at the University of Wisconsin before graduating and getting recruited by the Defense Intelligence Agency. Gunderson’s experience with the DIA had enhanced his love of flying, which he’d transferred into his job later in the private sector. Right now, however, 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.
    â€œMr. 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 company made arrangements with the armored car to meet us at the airport in Macau?”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Gunderson said. “They’ve taken care of everything.”
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    T HE Port of Aomen was bustling. Sampans and trading barges shared the sea-lanes with modern cargo ships and a few high-performance pleasure crafts. The wind was blowing from land to sea, and the smell of wood cooking fires on mainland China mixed with the scent of spices being off-loaded. Twelve miles out in the South China Sea, and only minutes from landing, Gunderson received clearance for final approach.
    Spenser stared at the Golden Buddha strapped down on the floor across the aisle.
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    A T 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.
    â€œWe have a man on the ground in Macau,” he said. “He’ll arrange transportation once we have acquired the Buddha.”
    â€œWhat’s his plan?” Hanley asked.
    â€œHe’s not sure yet,” Cabrillo admitted, “but he always comes up with something.”
    Seng was next to speak.
    â€œI’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