Sacred Stone

“It’ll work,” Nixon said. “It’s the cleanup that will be a problem.”

HICKMAN DIDN’T NOTICE that no Israeli jets had been scrambled to intercept him. He simply thought that his coming in low had brought the DC-3 under the radar. Setting the autopilot, he walked back to the cargo bay and opened the door.

Abraham’s Stone was still wrapped in the blanket. Hickman removed it and clutched it in his hands.

“Good riddance,” he said quietly, “to you and all you stand for.”

Through the side window he could see the mosque complex approaching. He had calculated that at the speed the DC-3 traveled, to hit the Dome itself he would need to toss out the meteorite just as the nose of the plane reached the edge of the first wall.

Hickman would never see the stone strike the Dome, but that’s why he had cameras.

“NOW, NOW, NOW,” Seng shouted as he heard the noise of the approaching DC-3.

The teams at the hoses opened the nozzles and sprayed the powder on the ground. The water was the catalyst. As soon as it hit the dust, the tiny grains of powder began to expand and interlock into a dense foam material. The dust grew to nearly two feet in height. Ga

HICKMAN STARED OUT the side window and timed the release. As soon as he saw the wall around the mosque he tossed out Abraham’s Stone. Then he ran back toward the cockpit to start his climb for the suicide run while the heavy stone dropped through the air, end over end, toward the Dome.

IF THIS HAD been a movie, Cabrillo, clutching the ladder, would have batted the stone away from the Dome and saved the day. Or Abraham’s Stone would have landed in the net and been saved. As it was, Cabrillo’s presence atop his perch would prove u

Hickman’s toss fell short.

Had the foam not been applied to the courtyard, the stone would have shattered as it struck the marble flooring. Instead, it tumbled down and stuck in the foam a good ten feet from the edge of the Dome. Penetrating the surface of the foam almost a foot, it lay cradled and protected like a fine firearm in a custom-built case.

Seng raced over and stared down at the stone. “Nobody touches it,” he shouted. “We have a Muslim CIA agent outside that will handle it.”

SENG REACHED FOR his radio and called out to Hanley on the Oregon.

“I’ll explain later, but the stone is secured,” Seng said. “Could you radio Adams to pick the chairman back up?”

Hanley turned to Stone. “Make the call, please.”

While Stone was on the radio, Hanley stood alongside Murphy and Lincoln at the firing station. One deck above off the rear of the Oregon,a computer-guided missile battery was slowly tracking the DC-3.

The DC-3 was traveling at three miles per minute. By the time Hickman had made his way back to the cockpit and gotten back into the pilot’s seat to start the climb, he was ten miles past Jerusalem and about an equal distance from the Dead Sea.

Pulling back on the yoke, Hickman climbed higher.

“Thirty more seconds and any wreckage will be away from any Palestinian settlements,” Lincoln said.

Hickman was far from an i

The DC-3 was seconds from crossing above the Dead Sea.

“Sir,” Murphy said, “the computer detects the turn starting.”

“You have sanction,” Hanley said quietly.

“Time note,” Lincoln said, reading off the date and time.

“Missiles away,” Murphy said a split second later.

“Tracking,” Lincoln said.

TWO MISSILES LEFT the firing platform, two packages of four from each side of a small glass dome that housed a radar tracking unit. The time interval between the two packages was but milliseconds, and they streaked from the ship across Israel and directly toward the DC-3. Like arrows shot from a warrior’s bow they ran straight and true toward the target.

Adams was plucking Cabrillo off the Dome as the missiles streaked overhead. Quickly removing the rope and dropping it down to those on the ground, Adams pulled up on the collective and climbed above the mosque then edged the Robinson forward.

Hickman was almost sideways when for the briefest of seconds he saw two pinpoints of light coming from the distance. Before his mind could register what they were, they slammed into the fuselage of the DC-3.

Death came instantaneously as the shattered aircraft fell into the Dead Sea.

THE GLASS NOSE cone of the Robinson was facing the DC-3 far in the distance when the missiles found their mark.

“Secure the stone,” Cabrillo radioed to Hanley on the Oregon.“I’m going out to the crash site.”

52

“IT’S A MIXTUREof starches taken from rice powder along with the addition of a naturally occurring accelerant that makes it plump up,” Nixon said.

Seng was staring at the courtyard surrounding the Dome of the Rock. A Muslim CIA agent who was assigned to Israel was carefully removing Abraham’s Stone from the crust. The heavy object had penetrated the surface over a foot but was still cushioned by inches of the white blanket.

The CIA agent looked up at Seng and nodded that the stone was secure.

“How do we get this stuff off the courtyard?” Seng asked.

“I didn’t have much time to test that,” Nixon said, “but vinegar should do the trick.”

Seng nodded, then reached onto his belt and removed a folding knife. He reached down and cut a square into the white blanket. Prying with the knife, he pulled up the chunk and held it in his hand.

“It’s like a rice cake,” he said, tossing the feather-light square in the air and catching it again.

“If we have someone cut it up with shovels,” Nixon said, “then remove the biggest pieces, followed by wetting the area with vinegar and brushing it with brooms, I think all it will need then is a good hosing off.”

THE SOUND OF the Robinson grew louder. The helicopter passed over the mosque then landed on a nearby street. Seng was giving the Israelis instructions on the cleanup when Cabrillo walked through the arched gate and into the courtyard.

“The wreckage of the DC-3 landed in the Dead Sea,” Cabrillo said to Seng. “The largest piece we could see on the surface was about the size of a loaf of bread.”

“And Mr. Hickman?” Seng asked.

“Whatever remains exist,” Cabrillo said, “sleep with the fishes.”

Seng nodded and the men stood quietly for a moment.

“Sir,” Seng said a moment later, “the stone is secured and the cleanup of the mosque has been initiated. The teams are ready for extraction.”

Cabrillo nodded. “You’re cleared for extraction,” he said, turning to the CIA agent. “Bring the stone and come with me.”

Placing the carefully wrapped stone into a wheelbarrow used by the gardeners at the mosque, the CIA agent grabbed the handles and followed Cabrillo toward the gate.

AT THE SAME time Cabrillo was walking toward the Robinson, Hanley was conferring with Overholt over the telephone.

“We’ve secured the stone and are withdrawing from Israel,” Hanley said. “How are your contacts in Egypt?”

“Excellent,” Overholt said.

“And the Sudan?”

“Our man there is top-notch.”