The Secret Cardinal (38 page)

“We did not see what happened,” Norbu replied calmly. “We do not know the cause of the accident.”

“Thick-headed fools!” Liu shouted. “The foreigner shot it down!”

Liu pulled out his pistol and shot Norbu in the head. Norbu's brothers tried to flee but were shot before they could scramble to their feet.

“Why did you do that?” Peng asked, stunned by Liu's brutality.

“They were criminals,” Liu replied as he replaced the spent rounds in his pistol.

“These men had done nothing.”

“They abetted foreign invaders and a fugitive enemy of the state. Their inaction was both criminal and unpatriotic.”

“But that's a matter for the courts to decide.”

“And I have just saved the Ministry of Justice a considerable amount of time and money in reaching the same conclusion,” Liu replied confidently. “Come, there's still hope we can catch Yin.”

Liu and Peng climbed back into the helicopter and plugged their helmets back into the communications system.

“Sir,” the pilot said, “there's been a report of an unusual aircraft flying low over the outskirts of Rutog about twenty-five minutes ago.”

“How far is Rutog?”

“Under five minutes.”

“Get us there.”

60

“Not much of a beach,” Gates said as they walked along the rocky shore of the lake following Norbu's sons, Rinzen and Tashi.

Han dipped his fingers into the cold water, tasted it, and winced. “Fishing can't be much either. Too salty.”

A helicopter roared overhead, though with the fog they could neither see it nor be seen by it.

“I hope Nolan has a good head start,” Tao said.

“My prayers are with him as well,” Yin added.

Rinzen and Tashi raced forward excitedly, urging the others to follow. Through the mist, they saw a number of large and small shapes on the shore. As they drew close, the shapes took form as boats.

“This must be the marina here in Lake Woebegone,” Gates opined.

Gates walked up to one of the boats. It had a flat wooden top and several large inflated bladders as pontoons underneath. On closer inspection, he noticed stubs sticking out of the bladders and tightly woven seams.

“What is this?”

“Goat, of course,” Yin replied. “When sealed properly, it makes a good vessel for air.”

“And I thought I'd seen everything.”

“The hide on those boats is yak stretched over a wooden frame,” Yin pointed out. “Flexible and watertight.”

“Is this what we're taking all the way to India?” Han said skeptically.

“Naw,” Gates replied. “To carry the four of us, we'd need something bigger, maybe made out of a yeti.”

Norbu's Tibetan sons passed the traditional Tibetan boats and finally stopped at the one they were looking for. Unlike the other boats,
this one was slender with a hard finish; to Gates's eyes, it was recognizable. He ran his hand over the smooth granite-gray hulls and found the name molded into the polyethylene:
Windrider Rave
.

“What is it?” Han asked.

“A trimiran,” Gates answered, amazed to find such a craft in the remotest region of Tibet. “How did
this
get here?”

Yin asked Norbu's sons, and the two alternated in telling the tale.

“Many tourists come to see the lake in the summer,” Yin translated. “This past summer, a foreigner, a wealthy Japanese man, came with a group of friends. The man brought a boat to sail on the lake. When the time came to leave, the Chinese told him he must pay for a license to take the boat out. The fee was very expensive. The man refused to pay and left the boat instead.”

“Quite a coincidence finding such a boat out here,” Gates mused.

“There is an old saying among the native people of the western provinces,” Yin offered. “Allah provides.”

“It has only two seats,” Han noticed.

“Yeah,” Gates replied. “And two of us will be riding on the trampolines, assuming they're stowed in here somewhere.”

Gates peeled the cover off the cockpit and found a bag containing the boat's accessories. With help from Norbu's sons, he stretched the fabric trampolines between the center hull and the outriggers, set the lines, and unfurled the sails. A steady breeze rolled through the valley, fluttering the teal-trimmed translucent sails and promising a good wind for the voyage west.

“Now for the seating arrangements,” Gates announced. “Roxanne, can you swim?”

“Yes.”

“Good, take a seat on the starboard trampoline. Terry, you're on the port side. Padre, you sit in front of me, and I'll be the even hand, or in this case feet, on the rudder.”

Tao studied the taut triangular trampoline suspended just inches above the water skeptically. “What would you have done if I said no?”

“I'd have asked if you could sail. And if I got another no, I'd have told you to hang on real tight out there 'cause there's no way I'm putting Yin out on a trampoline. Nolan would kick my ass all the way
back to Coronado if he found out. That said, helmets on. Let's get this boat in the water.”

The six easily lifted the sleek craft and set it in knee-deep water. The Tibetans, on the shallow end of the boat, quickly moved back to shore before the icy lake water found a way into their felt boots. Tao and Han held the boat steady as Gates and Yin boarded. Gates gingerly pulled himself into the cockpit, adjusted the seat, and found the pedals. With a shove, Tao and Han leaped onto the trampolines. The
Windrider
responded quickly, catching the wind perfectly. The jib and mainsail billowed, and the craft began to accelerate. Gates threw a wave at the Tibetans as the boat disappeared into the fog.

“Display GPS,” Gates commanded.

A map view of the area appeared in his heads-up display. In the center was a dot indicating their current position. Readouts in the corners of his display indicated his speed, direction, and altitude.

“Display topography.”

Thin lines traced out the forms of mountains, valleys, and ridges in the surrounding terrain.

“Identify lake perimeter and display.”

The view panned out as a bright blue line highlighted the shoreline of the entire lake.

“Identify centerline of lake through long axis, west to east.”

A line appeared running down the middle of the lake from Tibet to Ladakh.

“Centerline defines course and waypoints. Audible alarm if position deviates point five kilometers from course.”

“Do you know where you're going?” Han sounded concerned.

“Yeah, for at least as long as the batteries in my helmet last.”

61

Kilkenny buzzed the outskirts of Rutog fifty feet off the ground. The whine of the turbine engine frightened livestock unfamiliar with the high-pitched sound and drew the curious from their modest dwellings. He waved to the grinning children who raced after the BAT, excitedly trying to keep pace; for many, this was the first aircraft they had ever seen at close range. Kilkenny noticed some adults running toward the center of the village, doubtless to report the sighting. His visit to Rutog was brief but sufficiently sensational to attract attention.

From Rutog, he flew northwest toward the village of Bar, careful to stay above the slowly dissipating blanket of fog. The view as he cruised through the valley was absolutely breathtaking. On either side stood softly rolling mountains, chocolate brown in color and ground into fantastic shapes by eons of glacial weathering. In the distance stood the giants—the sharp-edged peaks of the Himalayas. The granite blues and pure whites of the world's tallest mountains were dazzling in the morning sun.

Near Bar, Kilkenny turned due west following a line down the center of a narrow canyon that snaked its way toward the Sino-Indian border. He heard the thump of rotors as he approached the first waypoint on his path west. Glancing over his left shoulder, he saw the Harbin, tail high and bearing down on him at three times the BAT's top speed. He checked the seat beside him to confirm that the large bundle of camouflage tarp was securely strapped in place. Then he began flying with evasive maneuvers, trying to make the BAT a harder target for the helicopter's bristling arsenal of weapons to find.

 

 

“BLAST IT OUT OF THE SKY!” Liu ordered.

The weapons operator selected the Harbin's fixed cannons, opened
fire, and twelve-point-seven-millimeter rounds spat from the nose-mounted muzzles—the line of the shell's flight described by bright orange streaks of the tracer rounds. The pilot slowed to avoid overflying the enemy aircraft and adjusted his line of attack, trying to keep pace with his prey's erratic maneuvers.

 

 

KILKENNY IMAGINED the smell of cordite as the tracers flew past, his mind recalling from memory the distinct scent of combat. He pitched the BAT's nose down while simultaneously executing a half roll to the right. The BAT's pilot-friendly flight characteristics compensated for Kilkenny's rudimentary skill at the stick, resulting in a passable split-S maneuver. As the BAT dropped into the fog, the roll changed direction 180 degrees. Kilkenny saw the shadow of the Harbin race past overhead, slowing as it reached the spot where he disappeared into the fog. He reached over to the seat beside him and unlatched the five-point restraint. With his right hand firmly holding the tarp in place, Kilkenny pulled back on the stick and put the BAT into a loop.

“Hah! And Mom thought all those hours playing Chuck Yeager's
Air Combat
were wasted time.”

 

 

“DID YOU HIT IT?” LIU SHOUTED.

“I don't think so, sir,” the weapons operator replied.

“He may be trying to double back on us,” the pilot said. “Everyone keep your eyes open.”

The pilot slowed the Harbin and began a cautious turn to the right. Seated behind the pilot on the right side of the aircraft, Peng searched the fathomless haze for any sign of the enemy lurking beneath. He hadn't noticed, but his helmet cropped off the outer edges of his peripheral vision, serving not quite as blinders but reducing his field of view by ten percent. Whether that missing percentage would have made the difference, Peng didn't know, but when he finally saw the BAT, it was shooting straight up out of the fog like a missile.

“He's behind us!” Peng shouted.

The pilot pulled the stick hard to the right, bringing his guns
around, but the BAT was now above them. Inverted over the Harbin, Kilkenny pulled the tarp out of the seat and dumped it out behind his wings. The Harbin's main rotors sucked in and devoured the lightweight bundle of fabric. The tarp flapped furiously against the blades like a flag in a gale, creating a camouflage green halo.

“Something's on the rotor!” Peng shouted.

“I feel it,” the pilot cried out. “It's affecting the controls.”

The pilot's hard right turn continued past the point where the BAT emerged from the fog and raced toward a full revolution. The weapons operator spied the black form overhead and squeezed the trigger on the forward guns. At close range, the Harbin raked the fragile BAT with a punishing fusillade. Heavy rounds pierced the articulating wings and tore the nacelle from its mounts.

The BAT shuddered under the barrage. Kilkenny felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as shells whizzed past, some just inches behind him as he dived through the line of fire. Once hit, the nacelle above Kilkenny's head consumed itself and disgorged a cloud of ceramic fragments. Like the men of BAT-2, Kilkenny felt a stinging rain of shards piercing his skin. He fought to control the BAT as it plunged back into the mist.

 

 

ABOVE THE HARBIN, the main rotor shredded Kilkenny's only weapon, transforming the large tarp into hundreds of ragged strips.

“It's breaking up,” Peng noted.

“
Wa cao!
” the pilot cursed. “It's going to destroy the engines.”

The Harbin's twin turboshaft engines inhaled the free-flying debris, and layers of camouflage fabric choked the flow of air into the compressors. Destabilized by an unbalanced airflow, the compressor began to disintegrate. As the pilot raced to secure the engines from damage, the cabin filled with a popping sound like that from a rapid-fire gun. The two compressors were self-destructing.

“Brace for impact!” the pilot shouted. “I'm going to try a power-off landing.”

The pilot declutched the rotor from the now-failed engines, allowing the blades to autorotate. He fully lowered the collective to maintain
rotor RPM and pressed down hard on the right pedal to keep the fuselage from spinning beneath the rotor. The Harbin's nose pitched forward with the loss of power, and it slipped into the fog. The pilot pulled back on the cyclic stick to correct his angle of descent and keep air moving steadily through the main rotor. Above the cabin, the main rotor continued to spin like a maple seed corkscrewing through the air to slow the aircraft's fall to earth. The pilot was performing the helicopter equivalent of gliding.

“I'll keep us up as long as I can, but we need to land fast,” the pilot warned. “Find someplace flat!”

 

 

THE BAT FELL like a wounded goose, wings fluttering impotently as it tumbled from the sky. The RITEG had shut down, and the controls were dead. Kilkenny wondered if he soon would be as well. His body tensing, he tried to stay loose—the blow that was coming would be hard.

The BAT struck the lake inverted, its widespread wings slapping the water flat like a brake, jarring Kilkenny in his seat. Almost immediately, the BAT began to sink. With his legs braced against the frame to hold himself in place, Kilkenny popped the quick-release button on his five-point restraint. He grabbed the frame where the tubular segments joined at the top, rolled his legs forward out of the seat, and dropped into the lake.