Sacred Stone

by Clive Cussler

Cabrillo started to explain.

  Chapter 47

  THE THREE SHIPPING containers filled with poisoned prayer rugs sat off to the side of the cargo terminal at Riyadh Airport behind a chain-link fence that covered the space of several football fields. If the time had not been so close to the hajj, the rugs would have already been moved and unloaded. As it was, arriving late as they had, they had moved down the list in priority. As long as they were in place on the ground around the Kaaba the day before the start of the hajj, Al-Sheik would consider it a success.

  Right now, the planner was concerned with more pressing matters.

  Along with the prayer rugs, there were nearly one million plastic bottles of water that needed to be placed, ten thousand portable toilets to supplement those already at the site, six complete tented first-aid stations that would ring the perimeter, and ten thousand portable trash cans.

  Boxes of printed flyers and memorabilia, complimentary Korans and postcards, and boxes containing tubes of sunscreen sat on pallets. Food for the pilgrims, six thousand brooms for the workers to use to sweep up the daily mess, portable umbrellas in case of rain. Twelve large crates of fans to be placed inside the massive structure around the Great Mosque for ventilation.

  But Al-Sheik had nothing to do with the security arrangements.

  That was handled by the Saudi Arabia secret police.

  At a separate area of the air cargo terminal, trucks were already moving the security supplies to Mecca—complete command-and-control facility with radios and live video capabilities; one hundred thousand rounds of ammunition and tear gas in case of disturbances; one thousand portable plastic handcuffs; forty trained dogs with pens, food, and extra leashes and collars; and a dozen armored personnel carriers, four tanks and thousands of troops.

  The yearly hajj was a massive undertaking and the Saudi royal family footed the bill.

  Al-Sheik stared at his clipboard then marked off a truck leaving the compound.

  THE EMIR HAD been sipping his hot tea and listening to Cabrillo speak for nearly twenty minutes without interrupting. Finally there was silence.

  "Will you allow me to indulge you with a short history of Islam?"

  "By all means," Cabrillo said.

  "There are three important sites to the Islamic religion, two in Saudi Arabia, the third in Israel. The first and most sacred is the mosque of al-Haram in Mecca, where the Kaaba is located; the second is Masjid al-Nabawi, the Prophet's Mosque in Medina, which has the tomb of Muhammad. The third is Masjid al-Aqsa, in Jerusalem, the Dome of the Rock, the site where Muhammad ascended on a horse to speak to Allah." The emir paused and sipped his tea, then continued.

  "The Kaaba is of critical importance to Muslims; it is the spot they pray toward five times daily. It is the very beacon of our faith. Behind the sheets that hang down over the sacred site of the Kaaba, inside the building itself, is a black stone that Abraham recovered and placed there many centuries past."

  Cabrillo and Jones nodded.

  "As you mentioned, the stone is widely believed to be a meteorite sent from Allah to the faithful," the emir added.

  "Could you describe the stone?" Jones asked.

  The emir nodded. "I have touched it myself many times. The stone is round, approximately one foot in diameter, and black in color. If I was to guess the weight I would say about one hundred pounds, give or take."

  "Those are the approximate dimensions of the meteorite recovered in Greenland," Cabrillo said.

  The emir's face showed alarm.

  "There's something I failed to mention, Your Excellency," Cabrillo said. "Our scientists have reason to believe that there might be a virus contained in the Greenland meteorite that could be released if the orb is split."

  "What type of virus?" the emir asked.

  "One that consumes oxygen at an alarming rate," Cabrillo said, "creating a vacuum that sucks everything nearby into the center."

  "Armageddon," the emir said.

  "I have to get into Saudi Arabia," Cabrillo said quickly, "to stop him."

  "That, my friend, is harder than it appears," the emir said. "Since the Gulf War of 2003, King Abdullah and I have had a touchy relationship. My close and continued support of the United States, allowing troops and the large airfield here to be constructed, has placed a rift in our friendship—at least publicly. To appease the hard-liners in his country and to keep himself in power, he has found it necessary to publicly condemn my actions."

  "Surely if you explain the threat he will come around," Jones said.

  "I will try," the emir said, "but at this point we only speak through intermediaries. The process is slow and tedious."

  "Will you try?" Cabrillo asked.

  "Of course. But even if he did allow you to help," the emir said, "we have another problem. And this is quite serious."

  "What is that?" Cabrillo asked.

  "Only Muslims are allowed in the city of Mecca itself."

  * * *

  SCOTT THOMPSON WAS drenched in a cold sweat.

  Dr. Berg had just strapped what looked like a video-game headset over his eyes and adjusted the strap to fit firmly. So far, Thompson had held firm. He'd been injected with truth serum, which had not worked; grilled endlessly over the past few days; and subjected to telephone calls from family in the United States explaining what they'd been told would happen to them if he did not cooperate.

  Nothing had made him talk.

  Thompson had been trained for such instances and a doctrine had been drilled into his head.

  He'd learned how to fight off the truth serum, been endlessly briefed on how to handle questioning, and internalized the fact that, whatever he was told, the United States would not harm innocent people to make him talk.

  But no one had briefed him about this.

  Thompson felt Berg's breath near his ear. "Scott," Berg said, "you are going to see some colored lights in a minute in front of your eyes. In time these will induce epileptic-like seizures and a fierce burning that feels like nails are being driven into your brain. If you need to vomit, and you will, you probably won't be able to move your head, so try and be careful not to inhale your own vomit. I have a nurse standing by who will vacuum out any residue. Do you understand?"

  Thompson moved his head slightly.

  "Now I want to give you one last chance to come clean before this starts. I want you to know we rarely use this technique because we've had a fair amount of patient failure with this therapy. By that I mean inducing vegetative or catatonic states and even a percentage of outright expirations. Do you understand what that means?"

  Commander Gant was off to one side of the hospital suite. He could not stand to watch what was happening and motioned that he was going to leave. Berg waved as he walked out. Then he walked over to a computer terminal and entered the commands.

  Thompson began to twitch and then arched his back up against the straps.

  He began to flop around on the table like a fish out of water.

  * * *

  IT WAS 2 p.m. in Qatar, 9 a.m. in Washington, D.C., when Overholt answered his telephone. Cabrillo wasted no time.

  "I'm in Qatar," he said. "We now think that Hickman might try to strike at one of the three most important sites to Islam."

  "The Kaaba, Muhammad's Tomb, or the Dome of the Rock," Overholt said. "I've been studying."

  Overholt had spent hours yesterday with the Agency's Islamic scholar and read pages of documents prepared by the research department.

  "Well done," Cabrillo said.

  "I've also had the National Security Agency tracing all communication to and from Hickman for the last few weeks and finally got the results," Overholt said. "He's been in communication with Pieter Vanderwald—in fact, an overnight package was just sent to Saudi Arabia from one of Vanderwald's front companies."

  "Pieter the Poisoner?" Cabrillo said.

  "The same," Overholt said.

  "Somebody should take care of him," Cabrillo said.

  "I issued a dire
ctive," Overholt replied. "A 'wet team' is seeking him now."

  "Have you spoken to Hanley recently?" Cabrillo asked.

  "Yes," Overholt said, "he explained what your men found at the mill in Maidenhead. We're sure it's some toxin Vanderwald supplied."

  "And they sprayed it on the prayer rugs," Cabrillo said.

  "I'm sure he sealed the containers, or the pilots would have been sickened on the flight from England and crashed the plane. Hickman's crazy, but he's not stupid. It's once the containers are opened that we have a problem."

  "Which could be any hour now," Cabrillo said.

  Just then the fax machine in Overholt's office started printing. He wheeled his chair over to it, lifted off the papers, rolled back to his desk and scanned them.

  "I'd say he'll strike at the Dome of the Rock and blame the Israelis for the entire affair," Overholt said.

  "How'd you come up with that?" Cabrillo asked.

  "Remember the yacht that transported the meteorite to the Faeroe Islands and was boarded by our navy guided-missile frigate?"

  "Sure," Cabrillo said.

  "I sent a specialist on board from the Agency," Overholt said. "He finally got their ringleader to talk."

  "And?"

  "A couple of weeks ago, Hickman sent a separate team to Israel to wire the Dome of the Rock with video cameras and explosives. If he is able to recover the stone of Abraham, it looks like he plans to take it to Jerusalem and destroy it in the explosion, then display the video worldwide."

  "What about the operations in Saudi Arabia?" Cabrillo asked. "Did he disclose anything about that?"

  "Apparently he knew nothing. Hickman must have compartmentalized that and used a different group."

  "I need you to do me a favor," Cabrillo said.

  "What is it?"

  "Pull up the service records of all the United States military personnel in Qatar."

  "What for?"

  "I need every Muslim we have," Cabrillo said.

  "Who will lead them in Mecca?"

  "Don't worry," Cabrillo said, "I have just the man."

  THE OREGON WAS just entering the Strait of Gibraltar when Hanley hung up the telephone after talking to Cabrillo. He reached for the intercom button and pressed it down.

  "Kasim and Adams to the control room, immediately," he said. "Kasim and Adams to the control room, immediately."

  As he waited for the men to arrive, he turned to Stone. "Change the course to Israel, the nearest spot offshore of Jerusalem you can find."

  Stone pulled a map up on the monitor. The port of Ashdod was nearest. He entered the commands and the ship control program reset itself. Just then Adams walked into the control room.

  "Yes, sir," he said.

  "I need you to prepare the helicopter to drop off Kasim in Tangier, Morocco."

  "Then where do you want me to go?" Adams asked.

  "Refuel and fly back out to the Oregon."

  "I'll get on it right now," Adams said and walked out.

  A few minutes later Kasim walked into the room.

  "Are you up for leading an operation?" Hanley asked.

  "Yes, sir," Kasim said, smiling.

  "Only Cabrillo has access to the personnel files," Hanley said, "but he told me you're a Muslim. Is that correct?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good," Hanley said. "We have the Challenger on the way from Qatar to Morocco. We need you to lead a team into Mecca."

  "What's the purpose, sir?" Kasim asked.

  "You," Hanley said slowly, "are going to save Islam's holiest sites."

  "It would be an honor, sir," Kasim said.

  Chapter 48

  HICKMAN HAD NO trepidations about being a non-Muslim inside Mecca.

  He hated the Islamic religion and all it stood for. After meeting with the dozen Indian nationals in the house in Riyadh at 4 p.m. and briefing them, they set out on the ten-hour drive to Mecca and the Kaaba in a stolen panel van marked with Islamic writing that read "Kingdom Cleaning" on the side. They were dressed in long white flowing garments and each had a broom, bucket, putty knife and brushes.

  Hickman had paid a forger to write a letter in Arabic explaining that they were here to remove any chewing gum found on the grounds. Inside a bright yellow plastic janitor's cart, behind a white canvas curtain, Hickman had placed both the meteorite and some aerosol cans that Vanderwald had sent in his latest shipment. Each of the Hindus had a molded hunk of C-6 explosive with a tiny timer duct-taped to the small of his back. On each of their legs, hidden under the robes they wore, was a handgun just in case things went bad.

  The van pulled up to a gate leading into the vast mosque.

  Hickman and the others climbed out, pulled out the cart, buckets, and brooms and then walked toward the guard. Hickman had trained for this tirelessly, learning both Arabic and how to read body language. He handed over the sheet of paper and then spoke.

  "In the name of merciful Allah, we come to clean the holy site," he said.

  The time was late, the guard was tired, and the mosque was closed.

  There was little reason for him to believe the men were anything other than what they said they were—he waved them through without comment. Wheeling the cart in front of him, Hickman pushed it under an arched passageway that led to the interior of the shrine.

  Once inside the passageway, Hickman slipped a small mask and filter over his mouth and nose, then wrapped his headdress over that so only his eyes showed. Motioning to the Hindus to spread out and place the charges around the perimeter, he headed directly toward the Kaaba.

  Four tall men in ceremonial uniforms were walking guard on each corner. Every five minutes they walked from the corner outside the black shroud with exaggerated steps that raised their feet in the air like Beefeaters at Buckingham Palace. Each guard moved from the corner where he was standing to the next in a clockwise direction, then stopped and waited. They were just finishing a repositioning when Hickman wheeled close with the cart.

  Reaching into the cart, he popped one of the aerosol cans to open, then pushed it near the guard. The guard remained motionless for a second, then dropped to his knees, onto his chest, and finally facedown on the marble floor. Hickman quickly slipped under the curtain with the cart and pushed it inside.

  Then he ran over to Abraham's Stone and pried it from the silver frame with a short iron rod he had hidden in the cart. Quickly switching it with the meteorite from Greenland, he placed Abraham's Stone under the white canvas curtain around the janitor's cart. He then hid explosive charges around the perimeter and slipped back under the shroud.

  Vanderwald had explained that the knockout gas he had supplied only had effects for between three and four minutes. After that time anyone who had breathed the gas would start to come around. Hickman pushed the cart toward the arched passageway.

  The Hindus worked quickly; the six assigned pillars closest to the passageway were already waiting in the tunnel. Two more arrived a few minutes later, then two more.

  Hickman watched as the last pair hurried across the large expanse of marble.

  Followed by the Hindus, Hickman pushed the cart past the guard at the entrance.

  "What are you doing?" the guard asked.

  "A thousand apologies," Hickman said in Arabic, still pushing the cart toward the van, "they told us inside we are supposed to clean tomorrow night."

  HICKMAN AND THE others piled into the van and were just pulling away when the guard awoke. Shifting around until he was sitting on the marble, the guard glanced about to see if anyone had noticed. Apparently no one had. The guard on the other corner was facing away, as ceremony dictated. He rose to his feet and stared at his watch. One minute thirty seconds until the change. The guard decided to keep the fact he had passed out a secret. He knew if he told anyone they would replace him before the hajj.

  The guard had dreamed his entire life of being a ceremonial guard. A slight case of heat stroke or food poisoning would not end his dream.

  HICKMAN DIRECTED
THE driver to the road that led to the town of Rabigh on the Red Sea.

  Once there, the Hindus would hide out in a house he had rented. Tomorrow night they would drive to Medina. Hickman would not spend the night in Rabigh; a boat was waiting for him at the port. By first light he would be on board and steaming north.

  * * *

  OVERHOLT WAS SITTING in the Oval Office. He finished his briefing and sat back in his chair.

  "This is one hell of a mess, Langston," the president said.

  Overholt nodded slowly.

  "Our relationship with Saudi Arabia is at an all-time low," the president continued. "Ever since Senator Grant passed the bill condemning the kingdom for being home to the September eleventh hijackers, and Congress passed the special tax on Saudi crude oil, our diplomats have hardly been able to even arrange meetings. The latest polls show a majority of the U.S. citizens think we should have attacked Saudi Arabia and not Iraq, and now you tell me that a crazy American billionaire is planning to strike at the country's holiest sites."

  "I know it's a powder keg, Mr. President."

  "Powder keg!" the president exploded. "It's much worse than that. If Hickman has poisoned prayer rugs and switched Abraham's Stone and something like you theorize happens to it, I see three major things that could happen. The first is a given—the Saudi's cut off oil shipments to the U.S. That will plunge us into another recession and we're barely out of the last one—that would be a shock that our economy just could not stand. Second, the fact that Hickman is an American will fan the flames with the terrorist elements. They will be swimming to the U.S. to wreak havoc. Let's face it, the U.S.-Canadian and U.S.-Mexican borders are sieves. Short of us erecting walls, there's not much we can do if someone is determined to enter our country. The third is possibly the worst. If the Greenland meteorite is shattered and releases a virus similar to the one that was in the Arizona sample, then the other two might be mute points. The oxygen could be sucked out of the atmosphere like water down a drain, then we'll all be breathing dust."