Sacred Stone

“Then you’d better take a left up here,” the passenger said, staring at the road map.

CABRILLO DROVE ALONG, tracking the truck with his remote detector. It had been nearly twenty minutes since he’d seen the truck, but once they reached the series of villages around Edinburgh he’d sped up and was closing the gap.

Taking his eyes off the metal box, he stared at the countryside.

The fog was thick as he drove along the road, which was lined with fences built from rocks and stones. The trees were barren of leaves and appeared as stark skeletons against a gray backdrop. A minute or so before, Cabrillo had caught a glimpse of the Firth of Forth, the inlet that cut into Scotland from the North Sea. The water was black and tossing; the span of the suspension bridge near the edge of the water was barely visible.

Pressing down on the gas pedal, he stared at the box again. The signal was growing closer by the second.

“I WAS ORDERED to drop you in front and take off,” the driver said. “Someone will meet you farther down the line.”

The driver slowed in front of the Inverkeithing Railroad Station, then came to a stop near a porter with a baggage cart.

“Anything else?” the passenger asked as he reached to open the door.

“Good luck,” the driver said.

Stepping onto the sidewalk, the passenger waved his hand at the porter. “Come here,” he said, “I have something to load aboard.”

The porter wheeled the cart over. “Do you have your ticket already?”

“No,” the passenger said.

“Where’s the baggage?” the porter asked.

The passenger opened the rear of the van and pointed at the box.

The porter reached down and hoisted the box. “This is heavy,” he said. “What’s inside?”

“Specialized oil-field testing equipment,” the passenger said, “so be careful.”

The porter placed the box on the cart and stood up.

“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 London on 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