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 unnecessary,” Cabrillo said, ripping off the paper taped to the thermos.
“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 connected.
“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 running all over their little isle on what the prime minister described as ‘goose chasing and near misses.’ The prime minister ordered the roads leading into two cities in Scotland closed, and now they’ve entered the van you told them contained the meteorite and found it empty. They want the Corporation to back off and let them handle the situation.”
“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?”
“The Ukrainians hired the Corporation for that job,” the president said, “not agencies of the United States government. I don’t see how it is within our power to order them off.”
