Read Online Golden Buddha by Clive Cussler - Free Book Online Page B

of a clotheshorse.
    In college he’d majored in political science, and had been an active member of his university’s ROTC program. So it was not a surprise when the CIA had offered him a job at graduation. Juan Cabrillo was just what they were seeking in new agents. He was bright without being bookish, stable without being boring, and flexible without being outlandish.
    Trained in Spanish, Russian, and Arabic, he’d proved a master at disguise and stealth. Inserted into a country, he could read the pulse of the people instinctively. Fearless but controlled, within a few short years he’d become a valuable asset.
    Then came Nicaragua.
    Teamed with another agent, he and his partner had been ordered to stem the growth of the pro-communist Sandinistas, and at first Cabrillo had made inroads. But within a year the situation had spun out of control. It was the oldest story in the world—too many chiefs and not enough Indians. Chiefs in Washington calling the shots, native Indians in Nicaragua paying the price. And when bombs had burst, the fallout had blown back in their faces.
    Cabrillo had been one of the fall guys, and he’d taken the hit for his partner.
    Now the partner, high up the ladder at the CIA, was repaying the favor. The man had been funneling jobs to the Corporation almost since their inception, but he’d yet to offer one with a potential payday this large.
    And all Cabrillo and his team needed to do was to accomplish the impossible.
    Â 
    W HILE Cabrillo finished his bath and got dressed, Kasim and Lincoln continued their watch. By the time they were relieved at midnight, Kasim would log one more whale, Lincoln would have played thirty-two games of Klondike, and both men would have read three of the magazines that had been loaded aboard in San Juan. Lincoln tended to aviation periodicals, Kasim automobile digests.
    Quite frankly, there was little work for the two men—the Oregon ran herself.
    Â 
    T HIRTY minutes later—clean and dressed in tan slacks, a starched white shirt and a Bill Blass blazer—Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo was sitting at the large mahogany conference table in the corporate meeting room. Linda Ross was across the table, sipping a Diet Coke. Eddie Seng sat next to Ross, flipping through a stack of papers. Mark Murphy was farther down the table, stroking a throwing knife against a leather strap. Murphy found the action relaxing and he tested the edge against a piece of paper.
    â€œHow did the auction go?” Max Hanley asked.
    â€œThe target brought two hundred million,” Cabrillo said easily.
    â€œWow,” Ross said, “that’s a hefty price.”
    At the end of the table, in front of a bank of floor-to-ceiling monitors that were currently blank, Michael Halpert turned on a laser pointer, then pressed the remote for the monitors. He waited for Cabrillo, who nodded for him to start.
    â€œThe job came from Washington to our lawyer in Vaduz, Liechtenstein: a standard performance contract, half now, half on delivery. Five million of the ten-million-dollar fee has already been received. It was washed through our bank in Vanuatu, then transferred to South Africa and used to purchase gold bullion, as we all agreed.”
    â€œIt seems,” Murphy said, shaving off a sliver of paper with the knife, “that after all those machinations, we should just steal the Golden Buddha for ourselves. It would save us a hell of a lot of time and effort. Either way, we end up with the gold.”
    â€œWhere’s your corporate pride?” Cabrillo said, smiling, knowing Murphy was joking, but making the point anyway. “We have our reputation to consider. The first time we screw a client, the word would get out. Then what? I haven’t seen any want ads for mercenary sailors lately.”
    â€œYou haven’t been looking in the right newspapers,” Seng said, grinning. “Try the Manila Times or the Bulgarian Bugle.