Sacred Stone

“How bad do you want to push this through, sir?” the copilot asked. “We have some weather over the Mediterranean that looks bad. It would be a lot safer if we could wait until morning to start out.”

“I need it there yesterday,” Hickman said.

“Okay,” the copilot said, “it’ll be a bumpy ride.”

Hickman turned and walked away. The copilot watched him heading for the door. There was something odd about the man, but it was not a bizarre personal appearance, as some of the pulp magazines claimed the elusive billionaire fostered. In all respects Hickman appeared quite nomal—ordinary, in fact. It was that tonight Hickman had a slight red ring shaped like a triangle with rounded sides around the area of his mouth.

The copilot brushed it off; he had a lot to get done and a short time to do it.

“PULL UP A detailed map,” Hanley ordered Stone.

The locators on the containers had stopped moving a few minutes ago. Hanley wanted to know where. Stone punched commands into the computer and waited as the screens loaded. Slowly homing in on the area that showed the beeping lights, he gradually reduced the maps down to smaller scale.

“Heathrow air cargo annex,” Stone said.

Hanley reached for the file Halpert had left and flipped through the sheets of paper. He remembered Hickman had a freight company. There it was. Global Air Cargo. Finding the telephone number of the hangar at Heathrow, he handed it to Stone.

“Call and see what you can find out,” he said quickly. “I’ll call Cabrillo.”

“THAT’S IT,” THE pilot said, “we’re cleared.”

The copilot gathered up his weather reports and the log book and started to follow the pilot to the door. They had opened the door and were headed out when the telephone started to ring.

“Leave it,” the pilot said as the copilot started to turn back, “I’ve got a flat to pay for.”

“WE’RE MOVING THAT way, but slowly,” Cabrillo said.

“No answer,” Stone shouted across the control room of the Oregon.

“We’re trying to reach the hangar by telephone,” Hanley told Cabrillo, “but no one is answering.”

“Alert Gunderson in the Gulfstream to be ready to lift off,” Cabrillo said. “I’ll try to reach Fleming.”

Cabrillo hit the speed dial on his telephone just as the pilot secured the nose cone of the 747 and started the engines. Fleming came on the line and Cabrillo explained.

“And you think the cargo may be radioactive?” Fleming said after Cabrillo explained.

“Somehow poisoned,” Cabrillo said. “One of my teams witnessed the people in control wearing gas masks. We need you to shut down Heathrow.”

Fleming was silent for a second. “I think it better they left England,” he said.

ADAMS TOUCHED DOWN on the parking lot in front of Maidenhead Mills and shut the Robinson down. Once the rotor had stopped spinning and the rotor brake was locked, he climbed out, walked around to the other side and began to help Truitt unload the crate. Halpert and the others walked over. Prying the top off with a screwdriver from his tool pouch, Adams set it on the ground.

“Here’s your space suits, boys,” Adams said, smiling. “Looks like Kevin packed four.”

“We’ll dress,” Truitt said. “You tape our wrists and ankles.”

Adams nodded.

“Barrett,” Truitt said, “you sit this one out. The rest of you suit up.”

Eight minutes later, Truitt, Halpert, Hornsby and Reyes were ready. Walking around to the back of the building, they entered from the rear door. Truitt held a chemical detection device in his gloved hand. Almost immediately he got a positive reading.

“Spread out,” Truitt said, “and search everything.”

Hornsby raced for the front door, unlocked the deadbolts and walked out.

THE TRAFFIC HAD loosened as Cabrillo and Jones got farther from central London, and once they reached the M4, Jones accelerated to just over ninety miles an hour. Cabrillo hung up after talking to Fleming and dialed the Oregon again.

“Fleming won’t shut down Heathrow,” Cabrillo said over the speaker phone as soon as Hanley answered. “What’s the closest exit to Global Air Cargo?”

Stone read off the exit number and Cabrillo repeated it to Jones.

“We’re right there, boss,” Jones said as he started to slow and pull off the M4.

“Follow the signs to Global Air Cargo,” Cabrillo said to Jones.

Jones stepped on the gas and raced down the side streets. In a few seconds he could see a large hangar with the name painted on the side in ten-foot-tall letters. A 747 was taxiing away from the building.

“Can you take us any closer?” Cabrillo asked.

Jones looked around but a chain-link fence secured the entire area. “No way, boss,” he said. “They have it secured.”

The 747 was turning to enter the taxiway.

“Drive up there to that spot between the buildings,” Cabrillo said.

Jones accelerated and then pulled to a stop. Cabrillo reached for a pair of binoculars in the side pouch and stared at the cargo plane. Then he read the tail numbers off to Hanley, who quickly wrote them down.

“Have Gunderson follow them in the Gulfstream,” Cabrillo said dejectedly. “That’s all we can do right now.”

“I’ll do it,” Hanley said.