Sacred Stone

“Evening, Judy,” he said as he began to take supplies that were being passed down to him, “how’s the weather up high?”

“Snow and sleet,” Michaels said as she too grabbed several of the bags and crates.

Rick Barrett climbed over the side clutching a bag. Once on the deck he turned to Michaels. “There’s some dinner and coffee in there,” he said. “I made it myself.”

“Thanks,” Michaels said, taking the last package.

Halpert and Reyes crossed over.

“Any of you men have any piloting experience?” Michaels asked before going forward to the cockpit.

“I’m taking classes,” Barrett said.

“Chef and a pilot,” Michaels said, “hell of a combination. Come forward then—you can help with radios and navigation.”

“What do you need us to do?” Halpert asked.

“Once the deckhand throws off the rope, use that boat hook to push us away. Then close and latch the door and take seats. I’ll fire her up when you tell me we’re clear.”

Sliding into the pilot’s seat, she waited until Barrett was seated next to her, then turned back to the cargo area. “Ready when you are,” she said.

Hornsby grabbed the rope that was tossed, Halpert pushed them away, and Reyes fastened the door closed. “Fire her up,” Halpert said a moment later.

Michaels turned the key and the engines roared to life. Idling away from the Oregon, she waited until they were fifty yards away and advanced the throttles. The seaplane raced along the water then lifted into the air.

Michaels gained altitude, then made a sweeping left-hand turn.

She was still climbing when they reached the outskirts of London.

HANLEY WATCHED THE amphibian taxi away on the remote cameras, then turned to Stone.

“How are you coming?” he asked.

Halpert had left his notes in the control room. Stone was following up on leads.

“I’m running through Hickman’s companies now,” Stone said.

“I’ll check to see if Hickman’s pilot has filed any other flight plans,” Hanley said.

AT THE HEATHROW Airport air cargo annex, a pair of pilots were sipping tea and watching the television in the lounge at the spacious Global Air Cargo hangar.

“Have you pulled the latest weather?” the pilot asked the copilot.

“Fifteen minutes ago,” the copilot replied. “The storm breaks up over France. The Mediterranean is clear, and it stays that way into Riyadh.”

“Clearances and papers in order?” the pilot asked.

“We’re good to go,” the copilot said.

“I have the distance at thirty-one hundred miles,” the pilot said.

“Just over five and a half hours flight time,” the copilot offered.

“Now, if we just had our cargo.”

“If the owner tells you to wait,” the copilot said, “you wait.”

The pilot nodded. “What’s on the telly tonight?”

“The replay of the Hyde Park Concert with Elton John,” the copilot said. “The opening acts are starting soon.”

The pilot rose and walked over to the kitchen area. “I’ll microwave us some popcorn.”

“Extra butter on mine,” the copilot said.

MICHAELS LINED UP over the river and landed. After steering over to the shore, the men secured the plane with ropes to some nearby trees, then off-loaded the cargo and stood on the shore.

MI5 had all their assets tied up in London, so there was no one to meet them.

“Anyone know how to hot-wire a car?” Halpert asked.

“I do,” Reyes said.

“Cliff,” Halpert said, “go with Tom and find something big enough to transport us and the gear.”

“Will do,” Hornsby said, climbing the bank with Reyes and walking toward town.

Halpert studied the map as he waited. He’d had Michaels fly over Maidenhead Mills on the way here—now all he had to do was find the route on the map. Once he had that done, he turned to Michaels, who was still on the plane.

“Can you spare a cup of that coffee?” he asked.

Michaels slipped inside the cockpit and poured a cup, then handed it to Halpert on shore. “What’s the plan?” she asked.

“First we watch,” Halpert said, “then we pounce.”

At that moment, Reyes pulled alongside the bank in an old British Ford flatbed truck. Several chicken coops were on the bed near the cab, along with some rusty tools and a length of chain.

“Sorry about the ride,” Reyes said, climbing out, “but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Let’s load it up,” Halpert said, handing Reyes the marked map.

“I’ll be monitoring the radio,” Michaels said as the men transported the cargo to the flatbed. “Good luck.”

Halpert smiled but didn’t say a word. Once everyone was aboard, he pounded on the bed. “Let’s roll.”

With a swirl of snow the truck lurched away from the bank in the direction of the mill.

43

IT WAS PAST1A.M. on January 1, 2006, when Cabrillo finally called the Oregon to report.

“We recovered the weapon,” Cabrillo said.

“How’s MI5?” Hanley asked.

“Ecstatic,” Cabrillo answered, “there’s talk of making me a Knight of the British Empire.”

“You made the final grab?” Hanley asked incredulously.

“I’ll fill you in when we return to the ship. What else is happening?”