Sacred Stone

by Clive Cussler

  Kasim studied the plans he had, seeking out the small stone building inside the mosque that the guards used to change from their street clothes into their uniforms. Locating it on the hand-drawn diagram, he motioned for the men with him to stay in place, and then he walked back to where the rest of his group was hiding.

  "You stand guard," he said to one of the men, "and whistle if you need to attract our attention."

  "What am I looking for?" the man asked.

  "Anything that doesn't look right."

  The man nodded.

  "I want the rest of you to follow me. We are going to sneak over to that structure," he said quietly, "and wait for the first incoming guard to arrive. I'll take him down as soon as he unlocks the door to the building."

  The men nodded their assent.

  Then they fanned out across the mosque, slowly sneaking toward the small stone building. A few minutes later they were all in place.

  ABDUL RALMEIN WAS tired. His schedule as a guard rotated throughout each month. Sometimes his four-hour shift took place in the heat of day, sometimes at sunrise—the time he liked best—and sometimes at 2 a.m., like tonight. It was the late-night shifts he had never learned to adjust to—his personal clock stayed the same, and when his time came to work through the night, it took everything he had to fight off sleep.

  Finishing a steaming cup of coffee flavored with cardamom seed, he slid his bicycle into a rack on the street near the Great Mosque and locked it with a chain and padlock.

  Then he walked toward the entrance and through the gate.

  He was partway across the courtyard when the shrill whistle from a bird sounded.

  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he slid the keys from his pocket as he neared the building. He grasped the padlock and slid the key in the slot. He was just twisting the lock open when he felt a hand across his mouth and a tiny prick on his arm.

  Ralmein grew even more sleepy.

  KASIM OPENED THE door to the room and dragged Ralmein inside. Flipping the light switch on the wall, a single bulb lit up and illuminated the crowded space. The inside of the building wasn't much—a rack against the wall holding uniforms in plastic sleeves to keep them clean, a large laundry-type sink, and a toilet behind a curtain.

  On the wall, attached with tacks to a corkboard, was the schedule for the coming week. On the wall next to it was a framed photograph of King Abdullah and another of the Great Mosque during the hajj, taken from the air, showing crowds of people. The only other thing was a round black-edged clock. It read 1:51 a.m.

  * * *

  KASIM HEARD WHAT sounded like the hoot of an owl. He turned off the light and waited.

  The second guard walked through the open door and reached for the light switch. He flicked in on, and for the briefest of seconds saw Kasim standing there. The image was so shocking to his mind that it didn't register for a second. By the time it did, Kasim had wrapped his arms around him and pricked him with the needle.

  The guard was placed alongside Ralmein.

  Right at that instant, Kasim heard the voices of two men approaching. He had no time to reach the light switch to turn it off, no time to hide. The two men walked through the open door and stared at him.

  "What the—" one started to say just before two of Kasim's team hiding outside blocked the exit.

  The fight was almost over before it began.

  "You," Kasim said to one of the men, "go back to the gate and bring the others here."

  The man raced off.

  "You six fan out and start searching for bombs," Kasim said. "When the sniffers arrive, we'll send them over to you. For now, just look. If you find anything, leave it alone."

  The six men crept away into the night.

  "The rest of you stay here with me. After we dress the replacement guards and they take their stations, we'll need to deal with those going off shift."

  Three minutes later the replacement guards were dressed.

  "Now," Kasim said, "you watched what the others did, right?"

  The men nodded vigorously.

  "Just do the exact same thing."

  "Do we all go out together?" one of the men asked.

  "No," Kasim said, "the plan says the switch takes place one at a time. Starting at the northeast corner and moving counterclockwise."

  The clock read 1:57.

  "You're the first," Kasim said, motioning to one of the men. "We'll all follow and watch from a distance."

  The first faux guard walked through the courtyard. Kasim and his men hid at the edge of the building closest to the Kaaba and watched. He approached the northeast corner.

  SOMETIMES EVEN THE best-thought-out plans are just that—plans. This one, cobbled together in a rush and lacking the Corporation's usual finesse, was about to unravel like a cheap sweater. The guard Ralmein was due to relieve happened to also be his best friend. When someone else showed up instead, it raised more than concern. The real guard knew something was wrong.

  "Who are you?" the guard said loudly in Arabic.

  Kasim heard it and knew the problems were starting. The guard reached for a whistle on a chain around his neck. But before he could blow it the fake guard wrestled him to the ground.

  "It's a free-for-all," Kasim yelled to his men. "Just don't let anyone escape."

  KASIM, THE REMAINING three fake guards, and the four other men raced from their hiding spot and ran across to the Kaaba. They quickly subdued two more of the real guards but one managed to escape and ran toward the gate.

  Kasim raced after him but the guard was fast. He had cleared the courtyard and was almost under the arch leading outside when one of the men looking for explosives stepped out of the shadows and clothes-lined him with his arm.

  The guard hit the stone flooring and was knocked out. A thin trickle of blood ran from the back of his head.

  "Drag him over to the guard shack," Kasim said as he raced over, "and wrap his head."

  The men grabbed the guard under his armpits and started dragging him away.

  KASIM RACED BACK toward the Kaaba, made sure the fake guards were in place, then began to help remove the real ones to the guards' building. When that was finished he stared at his wristwatch. The time was 2:08 a.m. Kasim raced for the gate to meet the CIA agent. A minute later the agent pulled up in the Suburban. He climbed out and took a box containing the sniffers out and set it down, then removed Abraham's Stone—still in the box—off the rear seat.

  "I'm Kasim, give me the stone."

  The agent hesitated. "I'm a Muslim," Kasim said quickly. "Give me the stone."

  The agent handed the box to Kasim.

  "Take the sniffers inside and hand them to the first man you see," Kasim said. "Then get the hell out of here. This is not going as smoothly as we'd planned."

  "Okay," the agent said.

  Kasim, clutching the box to his waist, ran toward the entrance with the CIA agent right behind. Once inside the gate, the agent handed the box of sniffers to a man who raced over, then he stood for a second and watched as Kasim ran across the courtyard toward the curtain that hung over the Kaaba. Kasim was just slipping under the curtain when the agent turned and raced back to the Suburban.

  A FEELING OF peace, tranquility and history flooded over Kasim as soon as he was under the curtain. For the briefest of moments he was filled with hope. A single spotlight cast a beam toward the silver frame where the Greenland meteorite was now displayed.

  Kasim stepped closer, then set the box down and cut the tape on the seam with his knife. He reached up, wrested the Greenland meteorite from the frame and set it on the ground. Then he carefully lifted Abraham's Stone from the box.

  Slowly and reverently he put it back in its rightful place.

  Then Kasim stood back, made a quick prayer, and gathered up the Greenland meteorite, which he placed back in the box. Slipping back under the curtain, he carried the box over to the guard's building. The rest of the men were already searching the mosque with the sniffers when he reached for h
is phone.

  SKUTTER SAT IN the passenger seat of the truck. The rest of his team sat in the rear. Just then the telephone rang.

  "We're watching you from above," Hanley said. "There has been a slight change in plans—we don't want you to go to Jeddah. We're going to pull you out before that."

  "Where do you want us to go?" Skutter asked.

  On the Oregon, Hanley was watching the infrared satellite image of the truck racing south. "Go six point two miles farther south," Hanley said, "then pull over to the side of the road. There is a ship just offshore there now. They are sending in a shore boat to extract you from the cove there. Just get all your men aboard, Captain Skutter, and we'll take it from there."

  "HOW MANY CHARGES had Kasim and his team found when he called?" Stone asked.

  "Five," Hanley said.

  "Well, sir, I'd order him to leave the rest to the Saudis. I just intercepted a call from one of the guard's wife. She was calling the local police to inquire why her husband was not home yet."

  "It's two twenty-one!" Hanley thundered.

  "Women," Stone said, "are impossible to live with sometimes."

  Hanley reached for the phone.

  Kasim was crouched down disabling a C-6 packet when his phone beeped.

  "Get out now!" Hanley said.

  "We haven't covered the—" Kasim started to say.

  "I'm ordering an immediate evac," Hanley said. "This thing is blown. I have a truck in front to take you to your second escape hatch. Do you understand?"

  "Got it, boss."

  "Now, go."

  JUST AS KASIM was placing the telephone back in his pocket, a CIA agent pulled up in front of the Great Mosque in a Ford extended-cab four-wheel-drive pickup truck. He nervously clutched the wheel as the seconds passed.

  "That's it," Kasim shouted across the courtyard, "everyone to the gate."

  The four fake guards started to sprint across the courtyard as the others that were searching the grounds began to appear from behind buildings and pillars. Kasim raced through the gate and approached the truck.

  "We're coming out now," he said to the driver.

  "Load them in back," the driver said, "and pull the tarp over them."

  Kasim lowered the rear tailgate and the men started climbing inside. Kasim counted them off, ten, eleven, twelve, and thirteen. With him there were fourteen—one man was still inside. He raced for the gate and stared across the courtyard. The last man was sprinting across the distance.

  "Sorry," the man said as he ran over, "I was in the middle of a disarm when you shouted."

  Kasim grabbed him by the arm and pushed him along. "Get in the back," he yelled when they reached the truck.

  Then Kasim pulled the tarp over his team and climbed in front with the driver.

  "You know where we're going?" he asked as the driver slid the Ford into gear and hit the gas.

  "Oh yeah," the driver said.

  U.S. AIR FORCE Major Hamilton Reeves understood both the need for military decorum as well as having a loose hand with his crew. Hanging the radio microphone back in the holder, he turned to his copilot and flight engineer.

  "You boys up for penetrating the airspace of a sovereign nation this evening?"

  "I've got nothing going on," the copilot offered.

  "All pays the same," the flight engineer noted.

  "All right then," Reeves said, "let's go visit Saudi Arabia."

  SKUTTER AND HIS team climbed out of the truck as Cabrillo ran across the beach.

  "Leave the truck and come with us," Cabrillo said to the driver. "If your cover isn't blown, it soon will be."

  The driver turned off the truck and climbed down.

  Then the sixteen men and Cabrillo made their way to the shore boat. James was waiting and started to help the men aboard. Once they were all crowded into the boat, Cabrillo climbed in as James took his place behind the wheel.

  "Mr. C," he said, "this is very unsafe—I don't have enough life vests for all these men."

  "I'll take full responsibility for this," Cabrillo said.

  James started the engine and backed away from the beach. "Say it," he said to Cabrillo.

  "Home, James," Cabrillo said loudly.

  "WE HAD TO use the air force," Hanley said. "It got hairy at the Kaaba."

  "Is Abraham's Stone back in place?" Overholt asked.

  "That's done," Hanley said, "but they couldn't complete the explosives sweep."

  "I'll call the president," Overholt said, "he has a State Department dinner at seven, but I can catch him now."

  "If he calls the Saudi king and keeps him from firing on the C-17," Hanley said, "we're out of this clean."

  * * *

  TWO SAUDI POLICE cars, sirens blaring and lights flashing, passed next to the Ford pickup traveling in the opposite direction. They were two miles from the mosque, but Kasim and the driver had no doubt where they were headed.

  The driver of the Ford was doing ninety miles an hour, and he stared at the GPS navigation system built into the dashboard. "It says less than a mile," he said. "Watch for a dirt road heading north."

  Kasim stared through the gloom. He just caught sight of a road angling off as the driver slowed. "I got it," the driver said.

  He stood on the brakes and the Ford slid on the sand atop the pavement. At the last instant, the driver spun the wheel and turned sideways. Then he pushed down on the gas again and raced up the sandy road. Reaching over to the dash, he pushed the button for four-wheel drive. On the left and right of the truck, hills started to grow taller as they raced down the wash. The driver stared down at the navigation system.

  "Okay, we're going to do a right up here and tuck behind that hill."

  A few minutes later the truck slid to a stop. The driver reached into the compartment between the seats and removed a spotlight and plugged it into the power outlet.

  Then he flashed it across the land behind the hill.

  There was a large expanse of flat packed sand one mile long and a half mile wide.

  "Let me turn this around," the driver said, backing up and twisting the wheel until the cab was pointed to the west.

  "You want me to have the men climb out?" Kasim asked.

  "Nope," the driver said, "I'm driving right up into the back."

  REEVES AND HIS crew flew the C-17A as low as safety would allow. Even so, the plane was picked up by the advanced Saudi radar they had purchased from the United States. Within ten minutes of entering Saudi airspace and just before they were due to land, the Saudi Royal Air Force had a pair of fighter jets off the ground from their base in Dhahran. They headed across the expanse of desert at Mach speed.

  Hearing the approaching C-17A, the driver began to flash his lights. Reeves saw the lights, made one pass over, then turned and lined up to land.

  "IT'S THE MIDDLE of the night," the aide to King Abdullah said.

  "Listen," the president said, "I'm sending the secretary of state over there now—he'll be there by late morning tomorrow to explain what has happened. Right now, I have a United States Air Force plane inside your airspace. If this plane is fired upon, we will have no choice but to retaliate."

  "I just don't—"

  "Wake the king," the president said, "or there are going to be serious consequences."

  A few minutes later a sleepy King Abdullah came on the line. Once the president explained, he reached for another telephone and called the head of his air force.

  "Have them escort them out of the country but do not take hostile actions," he said in Arabic.

  Returning to the open line with the president, he said, "Mr. President, if your secretary of state does not supply a proper answer to what is happening, your citizens will have a very cold winter."

  "Once you hear what happened, I think we'll be good."

  "I look forward to the meeting," King Abdullah said and disconnected.

  REEVES LANDED THE C-17A, then turned around and faced the opposite direction.

  "Drop the door,"
he said to the flight engineer.

  The Ford pickup was already making its way across the sand as the door slowly lowered. When the truck pulled up, the door was fully extended down, making a ramp. Edging forward through the sand, the driver reached the end of the ramp. Then he gave it some gas and drove inside the cargo bay.

  Opening the door, the driver ran forward to the cockpit. "We're in, sir," he said.

  "Door up," Reeves said.

  As the door was rising, Reeves ran the engines up to check the operation. Everything looked good, so as soon as the light on the control panel went green, indicating that the door was locked in place, he pushed the throttles forward and raced down the patch of sand.

  Two minutes later they were airborne again.

  "Ninety miles to the Red Sea," he shouted back to the rear, "five minutes or so."

  "I have two fighter jets inbound," the copilot said.

  "Prepare countermeasures," Reeves said.

  But the jets never turned on their firing computers. They just stayed off the wingtips until the C-17A passed over to water. Then they peeled away to head back to their base.

  "WE'RE OUT OF Saudi airspace," Reeves yelled to the rear, "two hours to Cutter."

  Kasim walked to the rear of the pickup and pulled back the tarp. "Okay, men," he said, "we did it—we're going back to Qatar."

  The cheers filled the cargo area of the C-17A.

  "Take over," Reeves said to the copilot.

  Reeves walked back into the cargo area. "I would have brought you a cooler of beer but I understand you men don't drink. So I had the mess hall prepare a cooler of iced soda and some food in case we did have to come get you. There are some hamburgers, hot dogs, potato salad and such. It's been a few hours, but they packed it in those silver insulated bags so it should still be warm. Enjoy."