Sacred Stone

look at the rash.

The man had no way of knowing the next doctor he’d see would be a coroner.

21

THE VIEW FROM the front window of the helicopter was a field of lights. On Hanley’s orders the crew of the Oregon had lit all the available lights and the ship looked like a Christmas tree against the dark sky. Flying with only instruments was nerve-racking, and Adams was glad they could soon touch down. Lining up behind the stern, he descended and hovered at the rear of the ship then gradually eased forward until the Robinson was over the landing pad.

Then Adams lightly touched down and began the shutdown procedure.

“Hard flight,” Cabrillo said as he waited for the rotor blade to stop spinning.

“It was white knuckle most of the way,” Adams admitted.

“Hell of a job, George,” Cabrillo said.

Before Adams could answer, the Oregon’s medical officer, Julia Huxley, raced over and opened the door just as the rotor stopped and Adams engaged the brake. Right behind her was Franklin Lincoln.

“He’s in back,” Cabrillo said.

Huxley nodded and opened the rear door and quickly checked Ackerman’s vital signs. Then she stood back and Lincoln reached in and lifted the archaeologist, sleeping bag and all, into his arms. Carrying Ackerman in front at waist level, he raced for the sick bay with Huxley following closely. Hanley walked over as Cabrillo was climbing from the helicopter. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Murph called from the Akbar.”

“He’s compromised?” Cabrillo asked expectantly.

“Nope,” Hanley said as he steered Cabrillo toward the door leading into the interior of the Oregon, “he heard some noises and freed himself. After waiting a safe amount of time, he ventured from the cabin where he was being held and started searching around. The ship was empty and there was no sign where Al-Khalifa and his crew had gone, so he risked a call.”

The men had exited the rear deck and were heading down the passageway to the control room.

“Did he recover the meteorite?” Cabrillo asked.

“It was gone,” Hanley said as he opened the door to the control room. “We’re receiving tracking signals from the bugs you left, but they’re intermittent.”

The men walked into the control room.

“Where are the signals originating from?” Cabrillo asked.

Hanley pointed to a monitor. “There,” he said, “the track was heading north but now it’s heading east in the sea above Iceland.”

“He switched boats,” Cabrillo said, “but why?”

“That’s the question,” Hanley said.

“How far are we from the Akbar?”

Without replying, Stone entered commands into the computer and an image came onto a monitor on the wall. A video camera that was lit by spotlights on the Oregon’s bow was filming.

The Akbar was dead ahead.

THE FREE ENTERPRISE was steaming at full speed through the tossing seas.

“Stop at the Faeroe Islands,” a man said over a secure link. “I’ll have someone at the local airport to pick up the package.”

“Where do you want us after that?” the captain asked.

“Calais,” the man stated, “the rest of the team is there.”

“Very good, sir,” the captain said.

The man added, “One more thing.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Explain to the team they each have a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus coming,” he said, “and be sure they know that Hughes’s family will be well compensated for their loss.”

“I’ll do that, sir,” the captain said.

The man disconnected then reached for a folder on his desk. He removed the sale document for the British textile firm as well as the authorization for payment. He signed both, then fed them into a fax machine and awaited receipt.

Once he received the confirmation, he stood back for a moment.

The first part of his plan was now in place. Soon it would be time for the payback.

AT THE SAME time the fax was traveling to England over the telephone line, the cargo ship Larissa was rounding Cabo de Finisterre. The captain set a course for Brest, which was located on the point of France that led into the English Channel. The night air was cool and the skies overhead were clear with a blanket of billions of stars.

He watched as a comet streaked across the sky.

Nodding in approval, he lit a cigarette, sipped from a silver flask containing ouzo, and then scratched the itch on