Sacred Stone

Cabrillo nodded and brushed some snow from his eyebrows. “I’ll move the snowcat,” he said, “you fire this up and get everything to operating temperatures.”

“Got it.”

Four minutes later, Cabrillo climbed into the passenger seat of the idling helicopter. A few seconds more and Adams engaged the clutch and set the rotor blades spinning, and a minute after that he lifted the helicopter from the snow.

ABOARD THE OREGON, Hanley was working on the plan for the assault on the Akbar. Off to one side of the control room, Eddie Seng was sketching out notes on a yellow pad. Eric Stone walked over to where Hanley was seated and pointed at the large monitor on the wall. The image showed Greenland’s coastline, the location of the Akbar, and the course the Oregon was steaming.

“Sir,” he said, pointing, “the Akbar has not moved in fifteen minutes. The same, however, cannot be said for the meteorite. If the signal from the sand is correct, it’s moving farther away.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Hanley noted. “Could we be receiving a false reading?”

Stone nodded affirmatively. “With the Northern Lights acting up and the curvature of the earth this far north, we could be getting a skip in signals off the ionosphere.”

“How long until we reach the Akbar?” Hanley asked.

“We were about an hour away,” Stone said. “Now that she’s stopped, it shaves ten minutes or so off that estimate.”

“Eddie,” Hanley asked, “can you have your men ready earlier?”

“Sure,” Seng said, “the first man aboard does most of the work. Once he sprays the paralytic agent into the air duct and the bad guys go to sleep, the rest is just mopping up and securing the ship.”

Stone had walked back to his chair. He was studying a radio frequency graph that showed signal strengths on the various bands. “We’re picking up something down low,” he said.

“See if you can tune it in,” Hanley ordered.

Stone fiddled with a dial then pushed a button on the console to boost the receiving strength. Then he flicked on the speaker.

“Portland, Salem, Bend,” a voice said, “okay to transmit.”

ON THE AKBAR

, the prisoner had managed to free his hands again and his legs. Listening at the door of his cabin he’d heard nothing, so he’d cracked the door and peered out. There was no one in the hall. He’d slowly searched the ship from stem to stern and found it empty.

Then he had tugged off his latex mask.

He’d made his way to the pilothouse and had reached for the radio.

“Portland, Salem, Bend,” he repeated, “okay to transmit.”

ON THE OREGON, Hanley reached for the microphone to answer. “This is Oregon, identify.”

“Six, eleven, fifty-nine.”

“Murph,” Hanley asked, “what are you doing on the radio?”

“THAT WAS A bold plan,” Adams said as he flew the helicopter through the black sky, “using a double for the emir of Qatar.”

“We’ve known Al-Khalifa was planning a move on the emir for some time,” Cabrillo said, “and the emir went along with our little operation. He wants Al-Khalifa out of the picture as much as we do.”

“You eaten lately?” Adams asked. “I brought some sandwiches and cookies plus some milk. They’re in a bag on the rear seat.”

Cabrillo nodded and reached back onto the seat next to Ackerman. He opened a padded cooler bag and removed a sandwich. “Do you have any coffee?”

“A pilot without coffee?” Adams said lightly. “That’s like a fisherman without worms. There’s a thermos on the floor back there. It’s my special Italian roast blend.”

Cabrillo retrieved the thermos and poured a cup. He took a couple sips then placed the cup on the floor by his feet and took a bite of the sandwich.

“So it was planned all along to have the fake emir kidnapped?” Adams asked.

“Nope,” Cabrillo said, “we figured we could grab Al-Khalifa before he made his move. The one bright spot is that we’re certain Al-Khalifa has no plans to kill the emir—he just wants him to abdicate the throne in favor of the Al-Khalifa clan. Our man should be as safe as a cow at a vegetarian’s conference as long as he’s not found out as a fake.”

Cabrillo ate another third of the sandwich.

“Sir,” Adams said, “can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Cabrillo said, taking the last bite of sandwich and reaching for the coffee.

“What the hell were you doing in Greenland, and who exactly is that guy that’s near death in the back of my helicopter?”

“AL-KHALIFA AND HIS men took off,” Murphy said. “I’m the only one left on board as far as I can tell.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Hanley said. “Is the helicopter still on board?”

“I saw it sitting on the rear deck,” Murphy said.

“And you walked the entire yacht?”

“Yep. It’s as if they never existed.”

“Hold on,” Hanley said, turning to Stone.

“Thirty-eight minutes, sir,” Stone said to the unasked question.

“Murph,” Hanley said, “we’ll be there in a half hour. See what you can dig up before we arrive.”

“Will do,” Murphy said.

“We’ll be there soon,” Hanley said, “and then we can figure this all out.”