Sacred Stone

ADAMS CAUGHT Aglimpse of the Cessna, motioned to Cabrillo, and pointed at the moving map on the navigation system.

“He’ll be crossing over land in the next few minutes,” Adams said through the headset.

“Hopefully,” Cabrillo said, “the RAF will be there to greet him. Then we can wind this up and be done with it. How’s our fuel?”

Adams pointed to the gauge. The headwinds had taken their toll, and the needle was just above empty. “We are pretty far into the reserve, boss, but we have enough to reach land. After that there’s no telling, however.”

“We’ll touch down and refuel,” Cabrillo said confidently, “as soon as Hanley informs us that the jets have made the intercept.”

But at that moment Hanley was fighting through layers of red tape on two continents.

“WHAT THE HELL do you mean there’s no planes?” he said to Overholt.

“The quickest the British can scramble a jet is ten minutes from now,” Overholt said, “from Mindenhall, which is down south. They have nothing currently based in Scotland. To make matters worse, their assets in the south are stretched like we are—most of their fighter wings are deployed to help us in Iraq and Africa.”

“Does the U.S. have a carrier in the area?” Hanley asked.

“Nope,” Overholt said, “the only vessel we have in the sea close by is a guided-missile frigate that has been ordered to intercept the yacht steaming from the Faeroe Islands.”

“Mr. Overholt,” Hanley said, “we have a problem. Your friend Juan is probably on fumes by now—if we don’t get him some help soon we’re going to lose the meteorite once again. We’re doing our job here, but we need some backup.”

“I understand,” Overholt said, “let me see what I can do and I’ll call you back.”

The telephone went dead and Hanley stared at the map on the monitor in the control room. The blip from the radar image of the Cessna was just crossing over the shoreline. He began to dial.

“YES, SIR,” THE pilot of the Challenger 604 sitting in Aberdeen said. “We have been ru

“The target has just reached land at Cape Wrath,” Hanley said, “so fly east first, then turn north. It appears his present course is toward Glasgow.”

“What do we do when we reach him?”

“Just follow him,” Hanley said, “until the British jets arrive.”

While Hanley and the pilot had been talking, the copilot had received clearance for takeoff. He motioned to the pilot.

“We just got clearance,” the pilot told Hanley, “is there anything else?”

“Keep an eye out for our chairman. He’s aboard the Robinson helicopter and he’s low on fuel.”

“We’ll do it, sir,” the pilot said as he advanced the throttles and began to taxi toward the runway.

A light mist wet the windshield of the Challenger as the pilot steered down the access road toward the main runway. From the looks of the clouds to the north, it was only going to get worse. Lining up on the runway, the pilot ran through his checks.

Then he advanced the throttles to the stops and raced down the runway.

JAMES BENNETT STARED at his fuel gauge with concern. He wouldn’t make Glasgow with the fuel onboard, so he adjusted his course slightly to port. Be

Just then his telephone rang.

“We have a problem,” the voice said. “We just intercepted a British communication stating they are scrambling a pair of fighter jets to intercept you. We have perhaps fifteen minutes until they reach you.”

Be

“Even if you had the chance to refuel in the Faeroes,” the voice said, “it now turns out that Glasgow would have been out because of the British fighters heading your way. What about the helicopter? Do you think he’s still following?”

“I haven’t seen him since I left,” Be

“Good,” the voice said, “then my plan should work. Get out your chart.”

Be

“Do you see Inverness?”

Be

“Right south of there, do you see the large lake?”

“You’re kidding,” Be

“Nope,” the voice said, “Loch Ness. Fly along the east side—we have a team on the ground in a truck. They are going to pop smoke so you can see them.”

Popping smokewas a military term for igniting smoke grenades to mark a position.

“Then what?” Be

“Come in low and drop the cargo out the door,” the voice said. “They will retrieve it and bring it the rest of the way.”

“What about me?” Be

“You let the fighter jets force you down at an airport,” the voice said. “Then once the Cessna is searched and found to be empty, they will think this was all just a mistake.”

“Brilliant,” Be

“That’s what I thought too,” the voice said before disco

THE ROBINSON HELICOPTER carrying Cabrillo and Adams passed over the rocky shoreline. Adams made a thumbs-up sign to Cabrillo, then turned on the microphone.

“Looks like we’ll live,” Adams said. “If we run out of fuel now, I can do an autorotation to the ground.”

“I hope that if it comes to that, you’ve been practicing.”

“I do a few every week,” Adams said, “just in case.”

The cloud cover was thickening the farther inland they flew. Every now and then the men could catch a glimpse of the snow-covered hills of Scotland below. Thirty seconds earlier, Cabrillo had caught a quick glimpse of the flashing taillight of the Cessna above.

“The jets should be out there now,” Cabrillo said as he reached for the satellite telephone and called Hanley.

THE OREGONWAS steaming south from the Faeroe Islands at full speed. Soon a decision would have to be made about whether to steam west along Scotland and Ireland or east between the Shetland Islands and the Orkneys into the North Sea. Hanley was watching the projections flash across the monitors when his telephone rang.

“What’s the status?” Cabrillo asked without preamble.

“Overholt had trouble getting the British jets scrambled,” Hanley said. “Last word was they just left Mindenhall. If they travel at Mach one-plus, they should reach you in a half hour, give or take.”

“We don’t have a half hour of fuel left,” Cabrillo said.

“I’m sorry, Juan,” Hanley said. “I dispatched the Challenger from Aberdeen to take up the pursuit until the fighters arrive. They can track the Cessna and call me with the information. We’re going to get this guy—don’t worry about that.”

“What about the yacht?”

“It steamed from the port in the Faeroe Islands ten minutes ago,” Hanley reported. “A U.S. guided-missile frigate is on a course to intercept her out in the Atlantic.”

“Finally,” Cabrillo said, “some good news.”

Hanley was staring at the monitor that showed the position of the Cessna and the Robinson. At the same time, he was listening to the copilot of the Challenger giving an update over the radio speaker in the control room. The Challenger was picking up the two aircraft on their radar scope and closing quickly.

“The Cessna is just now flying over Inverness,” Hanley said. “The Challenger has him on their scope. How much fuel do you have left?”