Golden Buddha by Clive Cussler Page B

slowly the disruption passed and the earth stilled. The yak resumed his journey.
    Within minutes, the fur on his legs and lower body was covered with a haze from a mineral that over countless generations had made some men rich and others go mad.
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    V ICE President of Operations Richard Truitt was still awake. His body clock had yet to adjust and his night was still Macau’s day. Logging on to his computer, he checked for messages. One had been sent by Cabrillo a few hours before. Like every e-mail he received from the chairman, this one was short.
    Confirmation received from the home of George. All systems go. ETA 33 hours.
    The CIA was still in and the Oregon would arrive in less than two days’ time. Truitt had a lot of work to complete in a short span. Calling down to the hotel’s twenty four-hour room service, he ordered a meal of bacon and eggs. Then he walked into the bathroom to shave, shower and pick his disguise.

7
    J UAN Cabrillo finished the last bite of an omelet filled with apple-smoked bacon and Gorgonzola cheese, then pushed the plate away.
    â€œIt’s a wonder we all don’t weigh three hundred pounds,” he said.
    â€œThe jalapeño cheese grits alone were worth waking up for,” Hanley noted. “I just wish the chef would have consulted with my ex-wife. I might still be married.”
    â€œHow’s the divorce going?” Cabrillo asked.
    â€œPretty good,” Hanley admitted, “considering my reported income last year was only thirty thousand dollars.”
    â€œJust be fair,” Cabrillo cautioned. “I don’t want any lawyers snooping around.”
    â€œYou know I will,” Hanley said as he refilled their coffee cups from a silver thermal carafe on the table. “I’m just waiting for Jeanie to calm down.”
    Cabrillo lifted his cup of coffee and then stood up. “We’re less than twenty-four hours from port. How are things going in the Magic Shop?”
    â€œMost of the props are constructed and I’m starting on the disguises.”
    â€œExcellent,” Cabrillo said.
    â€œDo you have any preferences for your look?” Hanley asked.
    â€œTry to keep the facial hair to a minimum,” Cabrillo said. “It can be muggy in Macau.”
    Hanley rose from the table. “Sahib, your wish is my command.”
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    W HEN the Oregon had been refitted by the Corporation in the shipyard in Odessa, two decks had been installed inside the hull, giving the interior a total of three levels, not including the raised pilothouse. The lowest level housed the engines and physical plants, along with the moon pool, machine shops, armory and storage rooms. One level above, reached by metal stairs or the single heavy-lift elevator amidships, was the deck containing communications, weapon systems, a variety of shops and offices, a large library, a computer room and a map room. The third level housed the dining room, recreation rooms, a full gym, plus crew cabins and meeting and boardrooms. Level three was surrounded by a two lane running track for exercise. The Oregon was a city unto itself.
    Hanley walked from the dining room and across the running track, then eschewed the elevators for the stairs. Opening the door, he started down. The stairway was paneled with mahogany and lit by sconces. At the bottom Hanley stepped onto a thick carpet in a room with insets in the walls that held plaques and medals awarded by grateful customers and nations to the men and women of the Oregon .
    He made his way forward toward the bow until the walls in the hallway turned to glass on the port side. Behind the glass was what could have passed for a Hollywood costume and set shop. Kevin Nixon raised his head and waved.
    Hanley opened the door to the shop and entered. It was cool inside and the air was scented with the smells of grease, vinyl and wax. A Willie Nelson CD was seeping from hidden speakers.
    â€œHow long have you been here?”