Cabrillo was becoming one with the machine.
Twenty minutes earlier, Cabrillo had first steered onto the massive ice cap that covered most of Greenland. Now, by using Campbell’s maps and detailed notes, he was guiding the Thiokol through a series of ice-covered valleys. If all continued according to plan, he would reach Mount Forel at about breakfast time in Iceland. Then he’d snatch the meteorite, load it aboard the snowcat, then cruise back to Kulusuk and have the Oregon’s helicopter pick him and the orb up. In a few days they’d have their fee and it would all be over and done with.
At least that was the plan—in and out and home.
CABRILLO FELT THE front end lighten and jammed the levers in reverse just in time. The Thiokol stopped dead in her tracks then quickly roared backward. Since leaving Kulusuk, the trip had gone smoothly. Still, the unforgiving wilderness rarely allowed such easy passage and, had Cabrillo not stopped and backed up, in a few more seconds he and the Thiokol would have been at the bottom of a wide crevasse in the ice.
Once he had reversed a safe distance away, Cabrillo slipped on his parka and climbed from the cab. Reaching up and adjusting the lights, he walked forward and stared into the abyss. The thick wall of the glacier glowed blue and green in the lights.
Staring across the rift, he estimated the gap at twelve feet. There was no way to estimate how far down the crack went before it narrowed and closed. He tightened the hood of his parka against the howling wind. A few feet more and the snowcat would have tipped into the crevasse and downward until the crack narrowed and it was pinned facedown. Even if Cabrillo had survived the fall, there was a good chance he would have been trapped in the cab with no way out. He would have frozen to death before anyone could have found him, much less mount a rescue.
Shuddering from the realization, Cabrillo walked back and climbed into the cab of the Thiokol and stared at the clock. The time was now 5 A.M., but it was still as dark as it had been all evening. He glanced at the map, then took his divider and measured the distance to Mount Forel. Thirty miles and three hours of travel time left. Reaching for the satellite phone, he dialed Campbell. Surprisingly the phone rang only once.
“Yep,” Campbell said in a clear voice.
“I just about ran into a crevasse.”
“Give me your GPS numbers,” Campbell said.
Cabrillo read them off and waited while Campbell consulted his map in Kulusuk.
“Looks like you took a wrong turn about a mile back,” Campbell told him, “and went left instead of right. You’re up against Nunuk Glacier. Backtrack and skirt the edge of the glacier. That will take you over a small rise and down into the lowland. From there you could see Forel if it was clear and not pitch-black outside.”
“You sure?” Cabrillo asked.
“Positive. I’ve been up the canyon you’re in before—it’s a dead end.”
“Back about a mile and turn left,” Cabrillo reiterated.
“That would be a right turn to you,” Campbell said quickly, “you’ve changed directions.”
“Then I follow the edge of the glacier?”
“Yes, but right now, while you’re stopped, I want you to climb out and adjust the light on the driver’s side sideways. That way, once you reach the edge of the glacier, the light will illuminate the edge. The reflection will look like jade or sapphires—just glance occasionally to the side to check your progress. Once the edge of the glacier recedes you’ll crest a ridge and start down again. That will signal that you’re free of Nunuk Glacier. Then you’ll have a straight shot up the side of Mount Forel. It’s steep but the old Thiokol can make it—I’ve done it before.”
“Thanks,” Cabrillo said. “Are you going to be able to make it a few hours more if I need you? Keeping it on the straight and narrow?”
“I’m just sipping enough to get by,” Campbell said. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
“Good,” Cabrillo said as he shut the telephone off.
Climbing from the cab again, he reached up to the roof of the Thiokol and adjusted the light to the side. Then he climbed back in, shifted into first, and spun the snowcat 180 degrees on her tracks. Driving slowly, he found the edge of the glacier a few yards away and started following along.
Mount Forel was not far away, but in the snow and darkness it was still hidden.
Cabrillo needed to reach the mountain and retrieve her secret. But there was someone else with the same plan—and he didn’t follow the same rules for fair play as the Corporation. The two of them were bound to collide.
THE EMIR FELT the helicopter slow as Al-Khalifa lined the Kawasaki up over the fantail of the Akbar, and then carefully set her down on the landing pad. Once deckhands had chained down the skids and the rotor blade was secured, Al-Khalifa walked around, unlocked the door and dragged him into the main salon. The emir’s eyes were still taped but he could hear what sounded like a half dozen Arab voices. The air in the salon smelled of gunpowder, oil, and a strange, sweet almond odor.
Hustled down a set of steps to a lower deck, the emir was unceremoniously tossed on a bed and had his hands and feet bound together with thick tape. He lay on his back like a trussed chicken. The emir heard Al-Khalifa order a guard posted outside. Then he was left alone to ponder an unknown fate.
Other than the fact that the skin on his face had started sweating from the heat in the cabin, the man was not overly concerned. If Al-Khalifa was going to kill him he would have done it already. That, and he knew his friends at the Corporation would seek him out soon. If only he could scratch his nose under the plastic—then he’d feel better.
“ATTACH THE WEAPONS pod,” Al-Khalifa said as he walked back into the main salon. “I need to fly to the mountain as soon as possible.”
Four of the men walked outside and started the process. The installation went slow—wind, rain and snow were raking the Akbar’s deck, but the men were trained and unrelenting. Twenty-seven minutes later their leader walked back in, wiping snow off his gloves.
“The pod is installed,” he said to Al-Khalifa.
“Have the men come inside and gather around the table.”
The teams of terrorists slid into chairs at the long ornate table. The gathering was a confederacy of killers, a party of thugs. They stared up at Al-Khalifa and waited.
“Allah has blessed us again,” Al-Khalifa began. “As you witnessed, I captured the pro-Western emir that rules my country and have taken him prisoner. Soon I will ascend to the throne. On the second matter, a Western traitor has alerted me to the location of an orb of iridium we can use in conjunction with the bomb that is destined for London. If I can retrieve this iridium, it will magnify the destruction in London at least a hundredfold.”
“Praise be to Allah,” the group shouted spontaneously.
“Right now the Akbar is heading for the east coast of Greenland,” Al-Khalifa said grandly. “In a few hours, when we arrive, I’ll fly the helicopter over and recover the iridium. As soon as I return, we’ll set a course for England and the conclusion of the mission.”
“There is but one, and that one is Allah,” the group shouted.
“For those of you that have your duties finished, I want you to rest up,” Al-Khalifa said. “We will need everyone on their toes once we reach England. Soon those that oppose Allah will feel our wrath.”
“Allah is great,” the group shouted.
The meeting broke up and Al-Khalifa walked from the room and down to his cabin. He would grab a few hours’ sleep. He had no way of knowing that this sleep would be his last until the big one.
15
AT HOTEL KANGERLUSSUAQ, thirteen hundred miles away, Clay Hughes was finishing a breakfast of bacon, eggs, hash browns and toast washed down with a pot of steaming coffee. Michael Neilsen approached his table.
“You ready to go?” Hughes asked, standing up.
“The weather has not improved much,” Neilsen said, “but I’m willing to try if you want. What’s your verdict?”
“We go,” H
ughes said.
“If I were you,” Neilsen said, “I’d have the hotel pack some food for the trip—if we go down out there, it’ll be some time before help can arrive.”
“I’ll order a platter of sandwiches and a couple thermoses of coffee,” Hughes said. “Anything else you can think of we might need?”
“Just some luck,” Neilsen said, glancing outside.
“I’ll get the food and meet you at the helicopter.”
“I’ll be ready,” Neilsen said, walking away.
Fifteen minutes later the EC-130B4 lifted from the snow-packed runway and started flying east. A slight tinge of yellow infused the clouds as the scant sunlight tried to penetrate the gloom. Mostly it was dark and dreary, like an omen carried on an evil wind.
The hours passed as the Eurocopter flew high above the snowy terrain.
THE THIOKOL STOPPED and Cabrillo stared at the map. He estimated that he was within an hour of reaching the cave on Mount Forel. Once he had started away from the glacier, he noticed his satellite telephone was receiving signals again. He hit the speed dial and called the Oregon.
“We’ve been trying to reach you,” Hanley said as soon as he answered. “The emir was kidnapped last night.”
“Kidnapped,” Cabrillo said quickly. “I thought we were on top of that situation.”
“They grabbed our guy,” Hanley said, “and we have had no communication with either party since.”
“Do you have an idea where they’ve taken him?”
“We’re working on it.”
“You get our man back,” Cabrillo said.
“Will do.”
“I’m almost at the site,” Cabrillo said. “I’ll wrap this up and get out of here. Meanwhile, you locate me some faster mode of transportation home.”
“Yes, sir,” Hanley said.
Cabrillo disconnected and tossed the telephone on the passenger seat.
AT THE SAME time Cabrillo started up Mount Forel, an attendant at Reykjavik International Airport was sweeping snow from the bottom of a ramp leading up to a privately owned 737. Auxiliary power units were supplying the plane with heat and electricity from both sides. The inside of the jet was lit up like a billboard and it spilled out of the windows into the dim light outside.
Peering from the cockpit window, the pilot watched as a black limousine wheeled onto the runway and pulled up alongside the ramp. He watched as four people filed out from the rear. Two of them quickly climbed the steps as the other two scanned the airport grounds to see if anyone was watching. Finding it clear, they quickly climbed up the ramp and closed the door to the jet.
The attendant unhooked the APUs, then backed the ramp away and stood quietly while the pilot started the engines. After calling the tower for clearance, he taxied out to the runway and lined up for takeoff. With a refueling stop in Spain, they’d reach their destination fourteen hours from now.
As soon as the 737 left the runway, the attendant bent down and spoke into a microphone clipped onto his parka near the hood.
“They’re away,” was all he said.
“Acknowledged,” Hanley answered.
SINCE HIS CONVERSATION with Hanley, Cabrillo had been steering the Thiokol uphill for nearly an hour. He stopped, fastened his parka tight, and climbed out. Adjusting the lights so he could scan the mountain, he walked around to the front to knock ice from the grille. He was just about ready to climb back inside when he heard a thumping sound in the distance. Reaching into the cab, he twisted the key and shut the Thiokol’s engine off. Then he listened again.
The noise floated on the wind, ebbing and flowing like the tide. Finally, Cabrillo identified the sound, and he climbed back inside the snowcat and reached for the telephone.
“Max,” he said quickly, “I hear a helicopter approaching. Did you send someone out?”
“No, boss,” Hanley said. “We’re still working on that.”
“Can you find out what’s going on?”
“I’ll try to link onto a DOD satellite and figure out who it is, but it might take fifteen to twenty minutes.”
“I’d like to know who’s crashing my party,” Cabrillo said.
“One thing we found out is that there’s an unmanned U.S. Air Force radar site nearby,” Hanley said. “Maybe the antennas are still being used and the Air Force is flying someone there for repairs or whatever.”
“You find out for me,” Cabrillo said as he twisted the key and started the engine. “I think I’m almost at the cave.”
“Will do,” Hanley said.
USING A SLED to pack down the snow and a dozen packets of Kool-Aid, Ackerman had managed to create a nice landing spot marked with an X on a small mesa only seventy yards from the lower opening of the cave. He stared at the spot with pride. The helicopter should be able to land without the rotor blade striking the mountain. It was precarious, but it was the best he could do on the side of a mountain.
He retreated back into the mouth of the cave and waited as the helicopter approached the landing pad then hovered and set down. The rotor blade slowed, then stopped, and a man climbed from the passenger side.
CABRILLO HEARD THE helicopter land through his open window, but through the snow and darkness he had not been able to see it touch down. He was close—he could sense that. He attached nylon gaiters around his down-filled pants and removed a pair of snowshoes from the rear bed. Sliding his boots into the bindings, he fastened them tight. Then he reached in back and removed the cardboard box holding the decoy that Nixon had made.
Now all he had to do was slip into the cave undetected and make the switch.
“THE BOSS SENT me,” Hughes said to Ackerman after climbing up the hill to the mouth of the cave, “to check out your find.”
Ackerman smiled proudly. “She’s a peach,” he said, “possibly the most important archaeological find of this century.”
“So I hear,” Hughes said, edging farther into the cave. “And he sent me to make sure you get what you deserve.”
Ackerman grabbed an already lit lantern and started to lead Hughes down the passage.
“So you’re in public relations?”
“That and other duties,” Hughes said, stopping at the opening in the ceiling. A few days ago Ackerman had brought a wooden ladder from inside the upper cave and dropped it down the hole. It made going between the two shafts a lot easier.
“We’ll climb up and I’ll give you the grand tour,” Ackerman said.
The two men climbed the ladder into the upper cave.
Hughes played along as Ackerman rattled off what he had found, but truly there was only one thing he’d come for. And as soon as he had that, he was leaving.
CABRILLO TRAIPSED AROUND the side of the mountain until he came upon a spot of melted snow. Bending over, he could see that there was a small opening in the mountainside marked by rocks lying in the snow, as if they had been tossed out from inside the mountain. Warm air from inside the mountain was filtering out, melting the snow around the opening. Clearing away enough of the debris so that he could climb inside, he slid through the opening into the upper cave, then dragged the cardboard box inside.
Once he was through the opening, he found he could stand.
He walked down the shaft to see where it went.
EVEN WITH A heart of stone, Hughes was finding the cave and its inner sanctum impressive. Ackerman was standing alongside the meteorite on its altar with his arm outstretched like a prize lady on a game show.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ackerman gushed.
Hughes nodded then removed a portable Geiger counter from his pocket. Flicking it on, he scanned the meteorite. The readings were off the scale. A couple of hours of exposure and he’d quickly start to suffer from radiation poisoning. He realized he’d need to shield it carefully for the trip back to Kangerlussuaq.
“You spent much time close to this?” Hughes asked Ackerman.
“I’ve examined it from every angle,” Ackerman told him.
“Have you bee
n feeling poorly? Noticed any physical changes in yourself lately?”
“I’ve been having nosebleeds,” Ackerman said. “I figured it was just the dry air.”
“I think you have radiation sickness,” Hughes said. “I’m going to need to go back to the helicopter and get something to shield this.”
CABRILLO HURRIED DOWN the shaft toward the sound of the voices. Hiding behind a rock, he listened to the two men.
“I’m going to need to go back to the helicopter and get something to shield this,” one said. He listened as the two men walked off and the cavern grew dark. He waited to see what would happen next.
“WAIT HERE,” HUGHES said when they reached the mouth of the lower cave.
Ackerman watched as Hughes walked down the hill, approached the helicopter, and opened the rear door.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said to Neilsen as he removed a box from the rear, “then we can go.”
“Sounds good,” Neilsen said, staring out at the weather.
Hughes started back up the hill with the box. When he entered the cave he looked at Ackerman. “I brought something that will ease your suffering,” he said. “I’ll give it to you in a few minutes.”
CABRILLO WAITED A minute until he was sure he was alone, then reached into his pocket and removed a plastic bag and ripped off the top. Removing the chemical light bar inside, he bent it in half like he was trying to break a bread stick and the tube started glowing green. Using the light to illuminate his way, he started to walk toward the meteorite. He was just approaching the altar when he heard a shot ring out.
Quickly reaching into his pocket, he removed a foil packet, tore off the top with his teeth and sprinkled the contents onto the meteorite. Then, with the sounds of footsteps quickly approaching, he slid off to the side behind some rocks and placed the green light in his pocket.
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