Sacred Stone

“Will do,” Murphy said.

“We’ll be there soon,” Hanley said, “and then we can figure this all out.”

“I RECEIVED A call from our contact at the CIA,” Cabrillo said. “When we were in Reykjavik, Echelon intercepted an e-mail pertaining to a meteorite comprised of iridium. The CIA was concerned about it falling into the wrong hands, so they asked me to fly over and secure it. That gentleman,” he said, motioning to the rear, “is the man that discovered it.”

“He dug it out of the cave?”

“Not exactly,” Cabrillo said. “You didn’t have a chance to take the tour. There’s a large shrine that was built on a shaft above the one you were in—very elaborate. Someone long ago must have unearthed the meteorite and fancied it as a religious or spiritual artifact. The guy in back is an archaeologist who somehow found a clue and tracked down the site.”

Adams adjusted his flight controls then spoke into his headset. “ Oregon,this is air one. We’re twenty minutes out.”

After receiving a reply from Stone in the control room, he continued. “The whole thing seems odd. Even if the meteorite has historical value, I don’t see rival archaeologists killing each other over a find. They probably dream about doing that, but I’ve never heard about an instance.”

“Right now,” Cabrillo said, “it looks like Al-Khalifa and the Hammadi Group intercepted the e-mail and recovered the meteorite for the iridium. They must want to construct a dirty bomb with the material.”

“If that’s the case,” Adams said, “then they must already have a working bomb of some sort to use as the catalyst. Otherwise they have a fuel and no fire.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Then after our team recovers the meteorite, we still need to locate the mother bomb.”

“Once we have Al-Khalifa,” Cabrillo said, “we’ll make him give up the location of the weapon. Then a crew can be sent to disable it and we’ll be through.”

Cabrillo didn’t know it yet, but Al-Khalifa was on the bottom of the ocean.

Right next to a series of geothermal vents.

19

THOMAS DWYER WASa name that sounded serious and staid. Even Dwyer’s title, scientist of theoretical physics, made one imagine a pipe-smoking academic. An egghead, or a man who lived a carefully controlled existence. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

Dwyer was the captain of his darts team at the neighborhood pub, raced rally cars on the weekends, and chased single women with a purpose his forty years of age had not diminished. Dwyer bore a passing resemblance to the actor Jeff Goldblum, dressed more like a movie producer than a scientist, and read nearly twenty newspapers and magazines a day. He was smart, imaginative and bold, and was as up-to-date on current events and trends as a fashion maven.

His job title, however, could bring back the notion of a more serious side. His business cards read Central Intelligence Agency, Thomas W. Dwyer (TD)—Senior Scientist Theoretical Applications. Dwyer was a spook-scientist.

At the moment, Dwyer was hanging upside down in a pair of gravity inversion boots that were attached to a bar that was secured to the doorjamb leading into his i

“Mr. Dwyer,” a junior scientist said meekly.

Dwyer glanced toward the voice. He could see a pair of scuffed brown leather shoes over white athletic socks leading to a pair of pants with the hem a touch too high. Arching his back, Dwyer raised his head enough to see who was speaking.

“Yes, Tim?”

“I was assigned something I think is above my level,” the scientist said quietly.

Dwyer reached up with his arms and grabbed the bar across the door. Then he twisted himself around like a gymnast, removed the ankle boots from the bar and dropped to the floor in one smooth motion.

“Saw that move in the last Olympics,” Dwyer said, smiling. “What do you think?”

“Great, sir,” the younger man said softly.

Walking into his office, Dwyer sat down behind his desk then bent over and started removing the boots from his ankles. The younger scientist followed meekly, holding in his hands a file stamped with the words “Echelon A-1.” Dwyer finished removing the boots, tossed them in a corner of his office and reached out so Tim could hand him the file. He removed a sticker from the front, initialed it quickly and handed it back to the junior scientist.

“It’s my problem now,” he said, smiling. “I’ll analyze it and write the report.”

“Thanks, Mr. Dwyer,” Tim said.

“Call me TD,” Dwyer said, “everyone else does.”

THOMAS “TD” DWYER was sitting in his office with his feet up on the desk.

In his hand was a thesis on the natural formation of buckminsterfullerenes, more commonly called buckyballs, on meteorites. The spherical orbs—named for famed American architect R. Buckminster Fuller, who was most noted for designing the geodesic dome—are the roundest and most symmetrical large molecules known to man. Discovered in 1985 during a space experiment with carbon molecules, buckyballs have continued to astound scientists.

When the hollow area inside the sphere is filled with cesium, it produces the finest organic semiconductor that has ever been tested. Experiments with pure carbon buckyballs have created a lubricant with almost no drag. Possible applications included the development of nonpolluting engines, the timed introduction of medicines, and more advanced nanotechnology devices. The field of development was wide open and growing.

Though the future uses were interesting, Dwyer was not concerned with that. He was more concerned with the present. Naturally occurring buckyballs had been found in the location of meteorite craters. When these samples had been examined, both argon and helium gases had been found in the hollow area of the spheres.

Dwyer pondered this for a moment.

First he imagined two geodesic domes placed together to form an orb the size of a kick ball, or about the same size as the meteorite in the photograph. Then he imagined the void inside filled with gases. Next he imagined piercing the orb with a skewer or lopping off the top with a sword. Whatever gas inside would leak out. Then what? Helium and argon were harmless and existed in abundance in nature. But what if these gases contained something else? Something not of this world?

Opening the telephone directory inside his computer, he located a number and entered the command for the computer to dial. Once the computer signaled the line was ringing, Dwyer reached over and picked up his phone.

Across the country, three time zones distant, a man walked toward his ringing phone.

“Nasuki,” a voice answered.

“Mike, you old hack, this is TD.”

“TD, you Mensa reject you, how’s the spy game?” Nasuki asked.

“I’d tell you, but it’s so secret I’d have to kill myself.”

“That’s secret,” Nasuki agreed.

“I have a favor to ask,” Dwyer said.

Miko “Mike” Nasuki was an astronomer with the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration. NOAA is a division of the Commerce Department. The agency had a broad base to conduct scientific research, though they usually worked with hydrography.

“Is this a no one should know we had this conversationfavor?”

“That’s right,” Dwyer said, “all hypothetical and off the record.”

“All right,” Nasuki said, “let me have it.”

“I’m looking into meteorites and particularly the formation of buckyballs.”

“That’s right up my alley,” Nasuki said, “cutting-edge stuff.”

“Have you ever heard any theories about the makeup of the gases inside the spheres themselves?” Dwyer said carefully. “Perhaps why helium and argon are prevalent?”

“Mainly, those are the most common gases that would occur on another planet.”