Sacred Stone

by Clive Cussler

  "THEY HAVE TURNED onto the main motorway, the M4, that leads into London," Hanley reported to Cabrillo.

  "Mr. Jones," Cabrillo said, "can you find us the quickest route to the M4?"

  "With everyone in central London for the New Year celebrations," Jones said, "I'd say quick might be a stretch."

  Sliding the Range Rover into gear, he backed up and then headed down the road leading out of Battersea Park. His plan was to cross the Battersea Bridge and take Old Brompton Road over to West Cromwell to the A4, which led to the M4. Even at this late hour the going would be slow.

  HICKMAN AND THE trio of trucks had it easier. They drove through Maidenhead on the Castle Hill Road, which was also the A4, then turned onto A308, which led directly to the M4. Fourteen minutes after leaving Maidenhead Mill they were approaching exit number 4 to Heathrow Airport.

  AT THE SAME instant the trucks were slowing to exit the M4, Truitt and Adams touched down on the rear deck of the Oregon. Nixon was waiting with a wooden crate containing the chemical suits and he raced out, opened the rear door, and stowed them across the rear seats while Adams kept the rotor turning. After closing the rear door, Nixon opened the front door and handed Truitt a printed sheet with directions to make sure the suits were airtight, then secured the front door and backed away.

  Once clear, he gave Adams a thumbs-up sign and the Robinson lifted from the pad.

  Within minutes the helicopter was back over London racing in the direction of Maidenhead. The distance was twenty-six miles and their arrival time was twelve minutes away.

  THE PAIR OF pilots were still in the lounge at Global Air Cargo when the trucks pulled in front of the facility and slid to a stop. The 747 was sitting out front with the nose cone lifted in the air, awaiting loading. The rear ramp was also down to allow easy access. Hickman walked in a side door and found the pilots still watching the television.

  "I'm Hal Hickman," he said, "we brought the priority cargo."

  The head pilot rose and walked toward Hickman. "I'm honored to meet you, sir," he said, extending his hand. "I've worked for you for years—it's great to finally meet you."

  "The pleasure is all mine," Hickman said, smiling. "Now, like I said over the phone, I have a priority cargo that needs to be on its way immediately. Are you ready?"

  "We don't have any loaders," he said. "They won't arrive for another hour—holidays and all have thrown a wrench in the works."

  "No problem," Hickman said. "My men and I will drive the containers on board and secure them into place. Have you received clearances yet?"

  "I can call and have them in a few minutes," the pilot said.

  "Do that," Hickman said. "We'll get the cargo aboard."

  Hickman walked back through the door and the pilot turned to the copilot. "Call for weather and plot the course. I think London over France across the Mediterranean and into Riyadh. That's if the weather cooperates—if not, divert us as necessary."

  ONCE OUT OF the hangar again, Hickman picked up the gas mask he had left on the ground and placed it over his mouth and nose. The drivers had been briefed on the loading procedures, and as soon as Hickman motioned to them to start, the first drove his truck carrying the container from the front to the back of the 747. Stopping with his truck going down the rear ramp, the man unhooked the cable holding the container to the flatbed then slightly tilted the bed so the container rolled backward on the steel rollers built into the bed. He was pulling away from the rear of the 747 as the next driver backed under the nose cone and placed his container's end to the one already at the rear of the plane. Sliding the container off the truck, he pulled out again. Turning away from the third truck, which was backed up waiting to enter, he pulled ahead and stopped.

  The third truck backed in and started to unload as Hickman entered the 747 with the first driver. As they had practiced, the two men began to secure the containers to the floor with long canvas straps. One would attach the strap and pulley into slots built into railings on the floor, then toss the strap over the container to the other man, who attached it to the railing in the floor then winched the strap tight. One by one they attached three straps to each container.

  The last driver was unhooked and pulling out of the 747 as they reached the container.

  One, two, three and they were done.

  Hickman walked out of the 747, motioned for the trucks to line up a distance away from the plane, then walked back toward the hangar.

  * * *

  "HERE ARE THE documents," he said, handing a clipboard of declarations over to the pilot. "The containers are in and fastened down. We're taking off."

  "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 normal—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, Ho
rnsby 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.

  Just then Hornsby radioed in and Stone took the call. After he explained what they had found, Stone wrote it down and handed it to Hanley, who read the notes.

  "Mr. Chairman," Hanley said, "I'm calling up the Challenger 604. I think you're going to want to travel to Saudi Arabia at once."

  Chapter 45

  AT ROUGHLY THE same time the Global Air Cargo 747 was lifting off the runway at Heathrow, the truck carrying Hickman was stopping at another section of the airport.

  "Meet up with the others, ditch the trucks, and disappear," Hickman said to the driver who was dropping him in front of the private jet terminal. "I'll reach you if I need you."

  "Good luck, sir," the driver said as Hickman climbed out.

  Hickman waved at the driver, then walked through the front door.

  The driver steered the truck out of the parking lot, then reached for his radio. "The big man is clear," he said. "I'll meet you at the rendezvous."

  Twelve minutes later, the three trucks met up at an abandoned factory on the west side of London where they had stashed their getaway car. Climbing from the trucks, they quickly wiped down any surfaces they had touched with ungloved fingers then climbed into a nondescript British sedan.

  Their plan was to drive through the city toward the English Channel, leave the rental car in a lot and board the ferry for Belgium. The plan would go off without a hitch.

  "PREPARE THE OREGON to sail," Cabrillo ordered Hanley as Jones steered into the executive air terminal at Heathrow. "Set a course for the Mediterranean and then through the Suez Canal into the Red Sea. I want the ship as close to Saudi Arabia as possible."

  Hanley sounded an alarm throughout the ship. Cabrillo could hear the whooping sound over the telephone link. "Gunderson and the others are in the air," he said. "The cargo plane is headed toward Paris."

  "Jones and I are going to board the Challenger 604 in a few minutes," Cabrillo said quickly. "Have the team at Maidenhead withdraw and board the amphibian. Then have Michaels fly out and meet the Oregon in the English Channel."

  "What about the mill?" Hanley asked.

  "Tell Fleming what we found," Cabrillo said, "and turn it over to him."

  "Sounds like we're swapping playing fields," Hanley noted.

  "The action," Cabrillo said, "has switched to Saudi Arabia."

  THE COPILOT OF Hickman's Hawker 800XP was waiting in the terminal.

  "The pilot has fueled, finished the preflight and received the necessary clearances," the copilot said as he steered Hickman through the terminal and toward the runway. "We can leave now."

  The two men walked out to the Hawker and boarded. Three minutes later they were taxiing toward the north-south runway. Three more minutes and they were airborne. Once they were over the English Channel, the pilot opened the cabin door.

  "Sir," he said, "at the speed you want to fly, we're going to burn up a ton of fuel."

  Hickman smiled. "Don't spare the engines," he said, "time is critical."

  "As you wish, sir," the pilot said as he closed the door again.

  Hickman felt the engines throttle up and the plane gain speed. The flight plan called for the Hawker to travel across France along the border with Belgium, then over Switzerland above Zurich. Continuing on across the Alps, they would race down the eastern coast of Italy, then Greece, Crete, and over Egypt. Crossing the Red Sea, they would be in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, by early morning.

  AS SOON AS Hanley called, Truitt and the others started preparing to leave. After making sure they had carefully photographed everything, they strung tape across the doors and windows of the mill and left handwritten signs warning people not to enter.

  Once that was done, they climbed back in the beaten-down truck and headed back to the river and the amphibious plane.

  FROM THE EDGE of the trees a young red fox made tentative steps from his cover in the brush. Sniffing at the air, he started across the cargo loading area at the rear of the mill. Warm air was blowing out of the mill through the open cargo doors and he raised his snout and felt the heat. Carefully moving forward, he stopped near the open middle door.

  Then, feeling no threat, the fox wandered inside.

  Raised near people, he knew that their presence equaled food.

  Smelling human scents, he started to forage for scraps of food. He stepped in a strange black substance on the floor that coated his paws. Then he continued on across the floor, the sticky black coating picking up traces of the virus.

  Just then the overhead heaters clicked on and the noise scared him. He raced back to the cargo door. When nothing happened, he decided to lie on the floor and wait. Lifting his paw up to his mouth to clean it, he began to lick the blackness away.

  Within minutes his body began to convulse. His eyes grew bloodshot and liquid ran from his snout. Twitching as if he were being electrocuted, he tried to rise on his legs and run away.

  But his legs would not work, and white foam was running from his mouth.

  The fox lay down to die.

  THE SOUND OF the whooping horn was filtering throughout the Oregon.

  The team members raced to their stations and the ship was a blur of activity. "Lines are away, Mr. Hanley," Stone said.

  "Take her away from the dock," Hanley said over the intercom to the wheelhouse.

  The Oregon started to move away from the dock and gradually gained speed.

  "Have you plotted the course?" Hanley asked Stone.

  "Just finishing it, sir," Stone said, pointing to the large monitor on the wall.

  A large map of Europe and Africa was displayed with a thick red line showing the route. Time intervals were displayed alongside the line.

  "What's the quickest we can reach the Red Sea?" Hanley asked.

  "January fourth, at eleven a.m.," Stone said.

  "Coordinate the pickup with Michaels on the amphibian and get Adams back on board," Hanley said, "then arrange the schedule of watches for the journey."

  "Yes, sir," Stone said.

  Then Hanley reached for the telephone.

  THE INSISTENCE THAT the cargo of prayer rugs be documented as coming from France would help one side and hurt the other. The Global Air Cargo 7
47 was quickly cleared to land. After less than an hour on the ground, the cargo was retagged and the plane was off the ground again.

  * * *

  GUNDERSON AND THE team on the Gulfstream would not be as lucky. They were boarded by French customs officials as soon as they landed. Hickman had retrieved a list of all the private planes that had been at McCarran Airport in Las Vegas at the time of the break-in of his pent­house. From there it had been a simple matter of searching flight plans to locate any that had traveled to England thereafter.

  The Gulfstream had been the only one.

  Hickman then made an anonymous call to Interpol claiming that the plane was carrying drugs. It would take two full days and multiple calls from Hanley and others before his people were released. The French could be difficult to deal with.

  CABRILLO WAS LUCKIER. The Challenger 604 with him and Jones aboard left Heathrow within thirty minutes of Hickman's departure. The pilot immediately set a course for Riyadh, the capital city, at her maximum speed of 548 miles per hour. They streaked through the sky at an altitude of 37,000 feet.

  A half hour ahead and now over France, Hickman's Hawker 800XP was at her maximum speed of 514 miles per hour. The Challenger carrying Cabrillo and Jones at a faster speed should have arrived first, but that would not be the case. Hickman had known his destination for some time—Cabrillo had become aware of it only recently.

  On a good day, getting a visa to visit Saudi Arabia is difficult. The process is slow and arbitrary, and tourism is not only discouraged but outlawed. Several of Hickman's companies did business with the kingdom, and he was a known entity. His application for visiting took mere hours to approve.