Read Online Golden Buddha by Clive Cussler - Free Book Online

dollars,” the auctioneer said.
    A low starting point, Spenser thought. The gold alone was worth twice that. It was the history, not the beauty, that made it a priceless piece of art. Must be the weak world economic climate, Spenser concluded.
    â€œWe have fifty million,” the auctioneer said, “now sixty.”
    Talbot raised his paddle as the bid hit eighty.
    â€œEighty, now ninety,” the auctioneer said in a monotone.
    Spenser glanced across the room at Talbot. Typical American, ear on a satellite telephone, paddle in his hand, as if he were worried the auctioneer would miss his signal.
    â€œNinety, now a hundred,” the auctioneer droned.
    The hundred bid was from a South African dealer Spenser knew. The dealer’s patron had made his fortune in diamonds. Spenser admired the woman—they’d shared a glass of sherry more than once—but he also knew her patron’s habits. When the value exceeded what he felt he could sell it for later, he’d drop out. The man loved art, but he only bought at his price and if he could someday make a profit.
    One hundred ten million came from the rear of the room. Spenser turned to stare at the bidder. The man’s age was hard to determine, but if Spenser had to hazard a guess, he’d pick the low side of sixty, based primarily on the bidder’s flowing gray hair and beard. Two things were odd, though. Spenser knew practically everyone in the room at least by sight or reputation, but this man was an unknown. And he seemed totally unconcerned, as if he were bidding on a weekend trip to a spa at a local charity auction instead of tendering a bid in the amount of a small country’s yearly budget. The man was obviously qualified—the auction company would have made sure of that—but who was he?
    One hundred twenty from a German pharmaceutical magnate.
    â€œOne twenty, now one thirty.”
    Talbot again, waving his paddle like a landing semaphore.
    The bidding began to stall at $140 million, bid again by the gray-haired man. Spenser turned again and felt a touch of apprehension. The man was staring directly into his eyes. Then the man winked. A chill ran down Spenser’s spine.
    He turned to the side, where he could see Talbot talking animatedly into his telephone. He could sense then that the Silicon Valley billionaire was flagging.
    â€œTell him,” Spenser whispered in his phone, “it’s slowed at one fifty, with maybe one more bid still forthcoming.”
    â€œHe wants to know if you’ve bid yet.”
    â€œNo,” Spenser said, “but they know I’m here.”
    Spenser had bought from the auctioneer many times; the man had been watching him like a hawk. Any smile, flinch or gesture of his would be taken as a bid.
    â€œHe asks that you bid two hundred,” the aide relayed, “and blow them out.”
    â€œAcknowledged,” Spenser said.
    Then in almost slow motion, he placed two spread apart fingers to his lips.
    â€œThe bid is two hundred million,” the auctioneer said emotionlessly.
    A raise of fifty million when the auctioneer was begging for ten.
    â€œI have two hundred million in the room,” the auctioneer said quietly, “anyone in for two hundred ten?”
    The room was as silent as a tomb. Spenser turned to the rear of the room. The gray-haired man had vanished.
    â€œTwo hundred going once,” the auctioneer said. “Going twice, fair warning.” He paused again. “Sold! Two hundred million, plus buyer’s premium, a stunning buy it is.”
    The room, which had been silent, now rippled with contained applause.
    Spenser stayed another half hour to arrange the crating and security to the airport, and by five that night he was flying east for delivery. For security purposes, Spenser had chartered a plane that could not be traced to the Macau billionaire who was his client. The company was full service—it would both transport him to