Sacred Stone

“You’d better head inside and purchase your ticket,” the porter said. “The train leaves in less than five minutes. Where are you headed?”

“London,” the passenger said, walking to the door.

“I’ll meet you at the train,” the porter said.

AS THE METEORITE was being pushed through the station on the cart, the driver of the van was turning left out of Inverkeithing Station. He had traveled only a few miles in the direction of Edinburgh when the traffic began to slow. There was a tie-up ahead. Looking down the road, he tried to see the problem. It looked like a checkpoint.

He idled forward.

“GO NOW,” HANLEY said over the radio to the pilot of the amphibious plane.

The pilot finished duct-taping a note to his heavy coffee thermos, then advanced the throttles. The plane started bumping and jolting as it taxied across the choppy water.

With a lurch the plane lifted off.

The pilot flew as low as he dared. He stared at the ground for some sign of the strange-looking car Hanley had described. He was only feet above the power lines when he found the road he was looking for.

THE SIGNAL HAD stopped. The problem was that Cabrillo had no map of the area, so his only hope was driving in circles looking for the strongest reading.

“LAST CALL FOR the number twenty-seven train to London,” the loudspeaker blared, “all passengers should board now.”

“All I have is American money,” the passenger said. “Is twenty enough?”

“That’s fine, sir,” the porter said. “Let me place the package in your cabin.”

Walking onto the train, the porter located the cabin and opened the door. Then he set the box containing the meteorite on the floor. Once he had backed out, the passenger, still clutching his ticket, entered.

“WHAT’S THE SCHEDULE?” Hanley shouted to Stone.

“There’s a train leaving for London right about now,” Stone said, staring at his computer.

“Pull up the route,” Hanley ordered.

“I’m nearing Edinburgh,” Adams radioed in. “No sign of Mr. Cabrillo yet.”

“Watch for the seaplane,” Hanley radioed back.

“Roger,” Adams answered.

SHEA SPOKE OVER the headset to Adams. “My car better not be damaged.”

“Don’t worry,” Adams said, “if anything has happened, my people will make it right.”

“You’d better,” Shea said.

“Just keep an eye out for it on the ground.”

ON BOARD THE Oregon,Hanley reached for the radio and called the amphibian.

“I think I see him,” the pilot said.

“Add train to Londonon the note,” Hanley said, “and Adams is closing in,then buzz him so he can see you and make the drop.”

“Got it, boss,” the pilot said.

Scribbling the extra line on the note with a felt-tip pen, he angled down between the power lines and passed directly over Cabrillo in the MG at a height of ten feet.

“WHAT THE…” CABRILLO said as the rear of the amphibious plane appeared in his windshield.

The pilot wagged the wings then accelerated ahead and made a sweeping turn to make another pass. As soon as Cabrillo saw the side of the plane in the turn he recognized it as the Corporation’s and pulled to the side of the road.

Lowering the convertible top, Cabrillo craned his neck around and stared up at the sky. The amphibian was back down the road and coming in low and slow. Once it had almost reached him, Cabrillo saw a tube fly out of the window and bounce on the pavement.

The thermos cartwheeled along until it came to a stop ten feet in front of the MG.

Cabrillo jumped out and raced forward.

“SEAPLANE 8746,” EDINBURGH air control reported, “be alert for a helicopter in your immediate area.”

The pilot of the Corporation’s amphibian was pulling out of his steep climbing turn and took a second to answer.

“Tower, seaplane 8746, helicopter in area,” the pilot said, “please report make.”

“Seaplane 8746, make is a Robinson R-44.”

“Seaplane 8746, I have a visual.”

“THE BRITS HAVE the van surrounded,” Overholt said to Hanley.

“I think they switched the meteorite onto the train to London,” Hanley reported.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Overholt said in exasperation. “I’ll need to call the head of MI5 and report. What train?”

“We’re not positive yet, but the next train leaving is for London,” Hanley said.

“I’ll call you back,” Overholt said, slamming down the phone.

But a few seconds later another call reached Overholt—and this one was from the president.

THE PILOT OF the amphibian raised Adams on the radio. “Follow me and I’ll lead you right to him.”

“Fly on,” Adams said.

Angling around in a turn, the amphibian lined up over the road and started another pass. The Robinson came in on his tail.

“There,” Shea shouted as his MG came into view.

Adams glanced down. Cabrillo was in front of the old car, walking back.

Adams set the Robinson down in a field across the street, leaving the engine idling. Cabrillo raced over with a thermos and his satellite telephone tucked under his arms. Opening the passenger door, he placed the two items in the back. Shea was fumbling with the seat belt. Cabrillo unfastened it and helped him out.

“The keys are in your car,” he shouted over the noise from the engine and rotor blade, “we’ll be in contact soon to pay you for the rental.”

Then he slid into the passenger seat of the Robinson and closed the door. Shea ducked down and walked out from under the helicopter blade. Once he was clear he crossed the road and approached his treasured MG. He started inspecting the vehicle as Adams lifted off. Other than a nearly empty tank the car appeared fine.

Adams was 150 feet in the air before Cabrillo spoke.

“My phone is dead,” he said over the headset.

“So we gathered,” Adams said. “We think they moved the meteorite onto the train.”

“So this message is u

“Is there any coffee in there?” Adams asked. “I could use a cup.”

“Me too,” Cabrillo said as he cracked the top and steam came out.

34

“I UNDERSTAND, MR.Prime Minister,” the president said. “I’ll have them notified immediately.”

He hung up the phone and buzzed his secretary. “Get me Langston Overholt over at the CIA.”

Then he sat back in his chair and waited for the call to be co

“Yes, Mr. President,” Overholt said when he came on the line.

“I just spoke to the prime minister,” the president said. “They were none too happy. It seems you and the Corporation have had them ru

“Sir,” Overholt said, “I believe that would be a grave mistake at this point. Cabrillo and his men have faced a tough situation. In the first place, they’ve stuck to the stolen meteorite like paste on paper. They have not recovered it yet, but they haven’t lost it either. In the second place, they have traced the movement to a London-bound train—Cabrillo is back in the air and preparing to intercept.”

“Turn your information over to MI5,” the president ordered, “and let them handle it.”

Overholt paused for a minute before speaking. “We still have the Ukrainian bomb loose. The Corporation has a team near London searching for it now—can they proceed with that?”