Sacred Stone

“They tried to clean it off,” Ross said, “but it was a fast and dirty job.”

Just at that instant Stone’s voice came out of a radio clipped to Cabrillo’s belt.

“Mr. Cabrillo, Mr. Hanley,” he said, “there’s something you need to see.”

The two men walked down the hallway out through the main salon, then onto the rear deck and across to the Oregon. They quickly walked down the hall to the control room.

Cabrillo opened the door. Stone pointed to a monitor on the wall.

“I thought it was a dead baby whale,” he said, “until it flipped over and I saw a face.”

Just then another body surfaced.

“Have Reyes and Kasim fish them out,” Cabrillo said to Hanley, “I’m going back across.”

Cabrillo left the control room and stepped across to the Akbar. Seng was in the main salon when Cabrillo entered. “Meadows thinks that the object was only in here,” Seng said. “He’s looking through the rest of the ship, but so far it’s clean of radiation.”

Cabrillo nodded.

“Ross has found blood in the pilothouse and staterooms as well as in and around the main salon and passageways. The captain was on duty, the posted guards and the rest were sleeping. That would be my guess.”

Cabrillo nodded again.

“Whoever hit them, boss,” Seng said, “came in hard and fast.”

“I’m going to the pilothouse,” Cabrillo said, walking away.

Once there he examined the ship’s log. The last entry was only two hours old and it stated nothing out of the ordinary. Whoever the visitors were, they’d come unannounced.

After leaving the pilothouse, Cabrillo was walking down the hall when his radio was called.

“Mr. Cabrillo,” Huxley’s voice said, “come to the sick bay at once.”

Cabrillo made his way through the Akbar and back across to the Oregon once again.

Reyes and Kasim were out on the deck with boat hooks in their hands. They were pushing a body toward a lowered net hung from a cable attached to a derrick. Cabrillo made his way inside and headed down the passageway to the sick bay and opened the door.

Ackerman was lying on an exam table covered by electric warming blankets.

“He’s been trying to talk,” Huxley said. “I wrote it all down, but it was mostly gibberish until a few minutes ago.”

“What then?” Cabrillo asked, staring down at Ackerman, whose eyes had started to flutter. One eye cracked open just a touch.

“He started talking about the ghost,” she said, “not a ghost, the Ghost, as if it were a nickname.”

Just then Ackerman spoke again. “I should have never trusted the Ghost,” he said in a voice growing weaker by the word. “He bought and paid for the un…ivers…ity.”

Ackerman started convulsing. His body began to shake like a dog exiting the water.

“Mom,” he said weakly.

And then he died.

No matter how much Huxley shocked him, his heart would not start again. It was just after midnight when she pronounced him dead. Cabrillo carefully reached up and closed Ackerman’s eyes, then covered him with a blanket.

“You did the best you could,” he said to Huxley.

Then he left the sick bay and walked down the Oregon’s passageway.

Ackerman’s words were still ringing in his head.

Walking onto the stern of the ship, he found Hanley staring over a trio of bodies. Hanley was holding an eight-and-a-half-by-eleven-inch computer picture in his hand.

“I enhanced the photograph with a computer to distort the face in order to account for the swelling,” he said as soon as Cabrillo walked closer.

Cabrillo took the photograph from Hanley, bent down next to the body, and held it to the face. He stared at the face of the corpse and then the photograph.

“Al-Khalifa,” he said slowly.

“He must have been weighed down and tossed overboard,” Hanley noted. “The only thing was that the killers didn’t know that the bottom of the ocean around here is littered with geothermal vents. The hot water caused the bodies to quickly bloat and overcome the weight. If it weren’t for that, we’d have never found them.”

“Have you ID’d the others?” Cabrillo asked.

“I haven’t found any records yet,” Hanley said, “plus there are more surfacing as we speak. Probably just Al-Khalifa’s minions.”

“Not minions,” Cabrillo said, “madmen.”

“Now the question is…” Hanley said.

“Who is crazy enough,” Cabrillo said, “to steal from other crazies.”

22

LANGSTON OVERHOLT IV was sitting in his office, bouncing a red rubber ball off a wooden paddle. The telephone receiver was cradled to his ear. The time was barely 8 A.M. but he’d already been at work for more than two hours.

“I left a pair of my engineers on board,” Cabrillo said to Overholt. “We’re claiming salvage rights.”

“Nice prize,” Overholt said.

“I’m sure we can use it somehow,” Cabrillo agreed.

“What’s your current location?” Overholt asked.

“We are north of Iceland heading east. We’re trying to track the bugs on the meteorite. Whoever killed Al-Khalifa and stole the meteorite must be aboard another ship.”

“You’re sure the body you recovered is Al-Khalifa?” Overholt asked.