Sacred Stone

by Clive Cussler

  HICKMAN STARED OUT the side window and timed the release. As soon as he saw the wall around the mosque he tossed out Abraham's Stone. Then he ran back toward the cockpit to start his climb for the suicide run while the heavy stone dropped through the air, end over end, toward the Dome.

  IF THIS HAD been a movie, Cabrillo, clutching the ladder, would have batted the stone away from the Dome and saved the day. Or Abraham's Stone would have landed in the net and been saved. As it was, Cabrillo's presence atop his perch would prove unnecessary.

  Hickman's toss fell short.

  Had the foam not been applied to the courtyard, the stone would have shattered as it struck the marble flooring. Instead, it tumbled down and stuck in the foam a good ten feet from the edge of the Dome. Penetrating the surface of the foam almost a foot, it lay cradled and protected like a fine firearm in a custom-built case.

  Seng raced over and stared down at the stone. "Nobody touches it," he shouted. "We have a Muslim CIA agent outside that will handle it."

  SENG REACHED FOR his radio and called out to Hanley on the Oregon.

  "I'll explain later, but the stone is secured," Seng said. "Could you radio Adams to pick the chairman back up?"

  Hanley turned to Stone. "Make the call, please."

  While Stone was on the radio, Hanley stood alongside Murphy and Lincoln at the firing station. One deck above off the rear of the Oregon, a computer-guided missile battery was slowly tracking the DC-3.

  The DC-3 was traveling at three miles per minute. By the time Hickman had made his way back to the cockpit and gotten back into the pilot's seat to start the climb, he was ten miles past Jerusalem and about an equal distance from the Dead Sea.

  Pulling back on the yoke, Hickman climbed higher.

  "Thirty more seconds and any wreckage will be away from any Palestinian settlements," Lincoln said.

  Hickman was far from an innocent; still, the Corporation were not murderers. If Hickman continued on toward Jordan, they'd try to catch him on the ground there. If he started a turn, they would have no choice. The only reason Hickman would turn back toward Jerusalem was to make a suicide run.

  The DC-3 was seconds from crossing above the Dead Sea.

  "Sir," Murphy said, "the computer detects the turn starting."

  "You have sanction," Hanley said quietly.

  "Time note," Lincoln said, reading off the date and time.

  "Missiles away," Murphy said a split second later.

  "Tracking," Lincoln said.

  * * *

  TWO MISSILES LEFT the firing platform, two packages of four from each side of a small glass dome that housed a radar tracking unit. The time interval between the two packages was but milliseconds, and they streaked from the ship across Israel and directly toward the DC-3. Like arrows shot from a warrior's bow they ran straight and true toward the target.

  Adams was plucking Cabrillo off the Dome as the missiles streaked overhead. Quickly removing the rope and dropping it down to those on the ground, Adams pulled up on the collective and climbed above the mosque then edged the Robinson forward.

  Hickman was almost sideways when for the briefest of seconds he saw two pinpoints of light coming from the distance. Before his mind could register what they were, they slammed into the fuselage of the DC-3.

  Death came instantaneously as the shattered aircraft fell into the Dead Sea.

  THE GLASS NOSE cone of the Robinson was facing the DC-3 far in the distance when the missiles found their mark.

  "Secure the stone," Cabrillo radioed to Hanley on the Oregon. "I'm going out to the crash site."

  Chapter 52

  IT'S A MIXTURE of starches taken from rice powder along with the addition of a naturally occurring accelerant that makes it plump up," Nixon said.

  Seng was staring at the courtyard surrounding the Dome of the Rock. A Muslim CIA agent who was assigned to Israel was carefully removing Abraham's Stone from the crust. The heavy object had penetrated the surface over a foot but was still cushioned by inches of the white blanket.

  The CIA agent looked up at Seng and nodded that the stone was secure.

  "How do we get this stuff off the courtyard?" Seng asked.

  "I didn't have much time to test that," Nixon said, "but vinegar should do the trick."

  Seng nodded, then reached onto his belt and removed a folding knife. He reached down and cut a square into the white blanket. Prying with the knife, he pulled up the chunk and held it in his hand.

  "It's like a rice cake," he said, tossing the feather-light square in the air and catching it again.

  "If we have someone cut it up with shovels," Nixon said, "then remove the biggest pieces, followed by wetting the area with vinegar and brushing it with brooms, I think all it will need then is a good hosing off."

  THE SOUND OF the Robinson grew louder. The helicopter passed over the mosque then landed on a nearby street. Seng was giving the Israelis instructions on the cleanup when Cabrillo walked through the arched gate and into the courtyard.

  "The wreckage of the DC-3 landed in the Dead Sea," Cabrillo said to Seng. "The largest piece we could see on the surface was about the size of a loaf of bread."

  "And Mr. Hickman?" Seng asked.

  "Whatever remains exist," Cabrillo said, "sleep with the fishes."

  Seng nodded and the men stood quietly for a moment.

  "Sir," Seng said a moment later, "the stone is secured and the cleanup of the mosque has been initiated. The teams are ready for extraction."

  Cabrillo nodded. "You're cleared for extraction," he said, turning to the CIA agent. "Bring the stone and come with me."

  Placing the carefully wrapped stone into a wheelbarrow used by the gardeners at the mosque, the CIA agent grabbed the handles and followed Cabrillo toward the gate.

  AT THE SAME time Cabrillo was walking toward the Robinson, Hanley was conferring with Overholt over the telephone.

  "We've secured the stone and are withdrawing from Israel," Hanley said. "How are your contacts in Egypt?"

  "Excellent," Overholt said.

  "And the Sudan?"

  "Our man there is top-notch."

  "Here's what we need," Hanley said.

  Overholt made notes as Hanley explained. "Okay," he said when Hanley finished, "Al Ghardaqah, Aswan, and Ras Abu Shagara, Sudan. I'll arrange the clearances and have one-hundred-octane fuel at each stop."

  HANLEY WAS JUST disconnecting as Halpert walked into the control room holding a file folder stuffed with papers. "I think I have Medina figured out," he said. "I lifted the blueprints from the contractor's computer base and studied them for the last hour."

  "Blueprints?" Hanley asked. "It was built hundreds of years ago." "But enlarged and modernized 1985 through 1992," Halpert said. "At that time they bored underground tunnels to run water lines for an air-conditioning system. You told me to think like Hickman—if I was him, that's where I'd place charges."

  Hanley stared at the diagrams for a moment. "Michael," he said a second later, "I think you nailed it."

  "Remember that," Halpert said, smiling, "at bonus time." Halpert walked out of the control room and Hanley reached for a telephone. While the number was ringing, he turned to Stone. "Pull up a satellite shot of Medina for me."

  Stone began to enter commands into the computer just as the phone was answered.

  "YES, SIR," KASIM said.

  "What's the progress?"

  Kasim was standing just off to the side of a crowd of people at the Jeddah bus terminal.

  "Both teams made it safely here," Kasim said. "We stashed the motorcycles in a dry wash outside of Jeddah and made our way into the city. Skutter, who's heading the Medina operation, and his team have already boarded a bus for the city. My team are I are waiting for ours now."

  "And Skutter has a satellite phone with him?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "How long until his bus arrives?" Hanley asked.

  "Four to five hours," Kasim said.

  "I'll wait until he arrives
to call him, but we think we know where the charges were placed at the Prophet's Mosque."

  The bus was just pulling up.

  "My bus is here," Kasim said. "What do you want us to do?"

  "You'll be met by a CIA contact in Mecca and taken to a safe house," Hanley said. "I'll call you there."

  "Got it."

  PETE JONES LOOKED over to the emir of Qatar. "Your Excellency," he said, "how are your relations with the Bahrainis?"

  "Great," the emir said, "they are dear friends."

  "Can you have trucks waved through customs without any problems?"

  "I'm sure I can."

  "Do you have a cargo ship available that can pick them up at the port in Bahrain?"

  The emir stared over at his aide, al-Thani.

  "I'll arrange one here or in Bahrain immediately," al-Thani said.

  "We have about six hours before everything needs to be in place," Jones said.

  "It shall be done, Mr. Jones," the emir said. "It shall be done."

  INSIDE THE FENCED cargo area alongside Riyadh Airport, U.S. Army Warrant Officer Patrick Colgan and his team were still awaiting instructions. They had spent three nights hiding under the containers, eating from their food supplies and drinking their bottled water. Now supplies were running low on both, and the containers around them that gave them cover were growing thinner and thinner.

  Something needed to happen—and happen quickly.

  JONES STUDIED THE file taken from Al-Sheik's PDA, then reached for the telephone. "Sir," he said when the phone was answered, "have you received any changes to the shipping time for the cargo containers?"

  "No changes," Hanley said.

  "Okay, then," Jones said, "I've got the out."

  Hanley listened while Jones explained. "I like it," Hanley said, "simple and sweet."

  "I'm cleared?" "Do it," Hanley said.

  THE AREA AROUND the three shipping containers where the men were hiding was gradually being cleared. There was still a scattering of containers to the left, but to the right was only bare sand and gravel.

  Colgan's telephone rang quietly, and he pushed the button to answer. "Colgan," he said.

  "This is Jones in Qatar."

  "What have you got for us, Mr. Jones? We are nearly out in the open here. We need to do something quick."

  "In ten minutes three trucks are due to arrive to pick up the containers," Jones said. "The trucks all have GPS locators attached to the rear of the cabs. The locators are about the size of a pack of cigarettes and are secured by a magnet. Have three of your men act as lot workers helping the trucks hook up. Have the men remove the locators as the trucks back in, otherwise you'll be tracked."

  "Okay," Colgan said.

  "Tell the three men with the locators to attach them to an uncontaminated container, then have them jump into another truck and catch a ride to Mecca. The people tracking the shipment should just think that the trucks are following close behind each other."

  "What should my men do when they reach Mecca?"

  "Jump out of the trucks before they reach the unloading terminal and discard the locators in the first trash cans they see. Then they need to catch a bus down to Jeddah and make their way to the port area. Once there, they will find a shore launch marked Akbar II. Have them board the boat and they will be transported offshore."

  "Akbar II," Colgan repeated.

  "Now the five of you that remain will have to overpower the drivers and take the trucks yourselves. Bind and gag the drivers and place them on the passenger side on the floor. Then simply drive through the gate, and when you reach the main road, go east instead of west. Your ultimate destination is Bahrain."

  "Okay," Colgan said.

  "Now," Jones said, "since after the three leave for Mecca you still have five men, you'll be crowded in two of the trucks—your driver and passenger, plus the bound-and-gagged one you've overpowered. Make sure your extra man ducks under the blanket when you pull from the gate so they don't notice."

  "Won't they stop and check us?" Colgan asked.

  "We've had someone watching the gate today," Jones said. "They check for the correct truck on the way in, then they just mark down the container number as it passes loaded through the gate."

  "But what happens when the cargo is missing and they find the locators?" Colgan asked. "Won't they start looking for us then?"

  "The trip from Riyadh to Mecca takes six hours," Jones said. "It's only four to Bahrain. Once they figure out the containers are missing, you'll be on a cargo ship bound for Qatar."

  "And you're sure we can make it through the border checkpoint into Bahrain?"

  "It's all been taken care of."

  "Sweet plan," Colgan said.

  "Good luck."

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Colgan and the four other men bound for Bahrain made it safely out of the cargo terminal and started down the road. Seven minutes after that, a Coast Guard petty officer named Perkins, along with two others, attached the locators to three trucks in a six-truck convoy, then climbed inside the last truck.

  The truck was filled with bottles of water, so at least they would not be thirsty on the six-hour haul to Mecca. If only the truck had had a pallet of M&M's aboard, the ride would have been more enjoyable.

  IT WAS ALMOST noon when Adams, Cabrillo and the CIA agent handling Abraham's Stone landed at the first fuel stop at Al Ghardaqah, Egypt, at the mouth of Khalij as-Suways on the entrance to the Red Sea.

  Overholt not only had the promised fuel, but food, water, coffee and a U.S. Army helicopter mechanic to check the R-44. The mechanic added half a can of oil to the piston engine and did a quick check of the craft, then pronounced the Robinson fit as a fiddle. The three men made a quick bathroom stop then took off again.

  The next leg of the flight, some two hundred miles to Aswan, was made in less than two hours at a speed of 125 miles per hour. The helicopter was fueled and checked again and the trio set off.

  Aswan to Ras Abu Shagara, the dangling peninsula of land that jutted into the Red Sea across from Jeddah in Saudi Arabia, was the longest leg of the flight. Some 350 miles in length, the flight would take nearly three hours.

  The Robinson was thirty minutes out of Aswan high above the desert when Adams spoke. "Sirs," he said, "it will be a couple of hours until the next stop. If you want to get some sleep it's okay by me."

  The CIA agent in the rear seat nodded, crouched down and pulled his hat down over his eyes.

  "You okay, George?" Cabrillo asked. "You've been flying a lot lately—how are you holding up?"

  "I'm ten by ten, boss," Adams said, smiling. "I'll take us down to the Sudan, then across the Red Sea and drop you—once I'm back in Sudan I'll get some shut-eye."

  Cabrillo nodded. Slowly, as the helicopter droned south, he fell into a sleep.

  * * *

  THE TIME WAS just after 4 p.m. when Hanley on the Oregon made the satellite call to Skutter. With no clear direction yet on how to proceed, Skutter and his team had been milling around the bus terminal waiting for a contact.

  "My name is Max Hanley, I'm Mr. Kasim's superior."

  "What do you want us to do?" Skutter asked quickly.

  Several people had approached his team already and only one of the men with him could speak even a smattering of Arabic. If they stayed here any longer they might be detected.

  "To your left," Hanley said, "is a beggar with an old tin plate who looks like he's sleeping. Do you see him?"

  "Yes," Skutter said.

  In between bouts of what looked like napping, the man had been staring at his team for the last twenty minutes.

  "Go over to him and place a coin in his plate," Hanley said.

  "We don't have any coins," Skutter whispered. "We were only issued bills."

  "Then use the smallest bill you have," Hanley said. "He will hand you what looks like a religious pamphlet. Take the pamphlet, walk a safe distance away from the terminal to a side street, then find somewhere you can read it without being observed."<
br />
  "Then what?"

  "Your instructions are inside."

  "Is that all?" Skutter asked.

  "For now," Hanley said, "and good luck."

  SKUTTER DISCONNECTED THEN whispered to one of his men. Then he walked over to the beggar, removed a bill from a stack in his pocket, bent over, and slipped it on the plate.

  "Allah will reward you," the beggar said in Arabic, handing him the pamphlet.

  Skutter was bending back to an upright position when the briefest of winks flickered across the beggar's left eye. Suddenly Skutter was feeling a renewed hope. Making his way away from the bus station followed by the other men, he found a deserted area and read the instructions. It was only a few blocks to his destination and he ate the entire pamphlet as he walked.

  "DO NOT GO outside," the CIA contact said to Kasim and his team at the safe house in Mecca, "do not do anything to draw attention to yourself. There is food, water, and soft drinks in the kitchen."

  "How do we reach you if we need to?" Kasim asked.

  "You don't," the contact said. "You wait for your people to give you any further instructions. I was told to stock the house, meet you at the terminal and bring you here. That ends my involvement. I wish you luck and Godspeed."

  The CIA man made his way to the door and exited.

  "THAT SEEMS ODD," an army private in Kasim's team offered.

  "Everything is compartmentalized," Kasim said. "Each piece of this operation will remain separate until it is time to bring it together. Now we all need to get some rest and take turns getting cleaned up. I want everyone to eat a good meal and try to relax. Soon we will be called, and when we are, it'll be go time."