Sacred Stone

“You know that if the Hammadi Group realizes that their cover is blown, they could detonate at any time,” Cabrillo told him. “Our best chance is to try to make contact using our voice tape of Al-Khalifa, or simply to wait for them to move and follow them to the bomb, then defuse it.”

“We should cancel the concert,” Fleming said. “That reduces the number of people in the area at least.”

“I think that will clue in the Hammadi Group,” Cabrillo said.

“We need to at least remove the royal family and the prime minister to safe locations,” Fleming said.

“If you can do it undetected,” Cabrillo said, “by all means do.”

“Prince Charles is scheduled to announce Elton John before his performance, but he could plead sickness,” Fleming said.

“Use a decoy,” Cabrillo offered.

“If the plan is to hit the concert,” Fleming said, “and the weapon is not already in place, then they have to deliver it to the site.”

“If you have teams covertly check all the areas near the concert with Geiger counters and no radiation is found, then we have to assume they are planning to deliver the warhead to the site by vehicle.”

“So we eliminate the areas near the concert, and if we find nothing,” Fleming said slowly, “we just need to control the roads leading into the Mayfair and St. James areas.”

“Exactly,” Cabrillo said. “The traffic is already horrible in the area. You just station trucks on the side streets that can be moved into place to seal off the roads. I don’t think it will come to that. If we’re correct and Lababiti is in control of the bomb, we know it is not in his Jaguar but it must be close. I think our only hope is to keep surveillance on him as thick as flies on a carcass. Then grab him when the time is right.”

“If we’re wrong and he doesn’t lead us to the bomb,” Fleming said, “then our only hope to stop it is the ring around Mayfair and St. James.”

“If you place your trucks correctly, there isn’t a car in the world that can make it through those streets.”

“But then will we have time to defuse the bomb?” Fleming asked.

“The farther away from the concert we locate it, the more time we’ll have. Make sure all your men have diagrams so they know what wires to cut in order to stop the timer from running through its cycle.”

“Lord,” Fleming said, “if only we knew exactly where the bomb was.”

“If we did,” Cabrillo said, “this would be a hell of a lot easier.”

40

OVERHOLT WAS BRIEFING his commander in chief.

“So that’s where we are, Mr. President,” Overholt said early on New Year’s Eve morning.

“And you offered the British any help we might have?” the president asked.

“Absolutely,” Overholt said. “Fleming, who heads MI5, said there’s nothing we can do at this point other than have a couple of our nuclear experts from Mindenhall Air Base on standby.”

“And you did that, of course,” the president said.

“The U.S. Air Force helicoptered them down an hour ago,” Overholt said. “They are in London now and should be linking up with the Corporation and MI5.”

“What else can we do?”

“I have contacted the Pentagon,” Overholt said. “They are preparing relief and medical supplies if it goes badly.”

“I’ve ordered all nonessential personnel evacuated from the embassy in London,” the president said. “There were only a few because of the holiday.”

“I don’t know what else we can do,” Overholt said, “but pray for a positive outcome.”

ACROSS THE POND, Fleming was briefing the prime minister.

“That’s the latest,” he finished. “We need to evacuate you and your family as soon as possible.”

“I’m not one to run from a fight,” the prime minister said. “Evacuate my family, but I’m staying. If it goes bad, I can’t let my countrymen die when I knew of the threat.”

The debate raged for the next few minutes as Fleming pleaded for the prime minister to allow himself to be taken to safety. The prime minister held firm to his decision.

“Sir,” Fleming finished, “you becoming a martyr cannot help in any way.”

“True,” the prime minister said slowly, “but stay I will.”

“At least allow us to take you to the bunkers under the Ministry of Defence,” Fleming pleaded. “They are casehardened and have fresh air generators.”

The prime minister rose. The meeting had ended.

“I’ll be at the concert,” the prime minister said. “Arrange the security.”

“Yes, sir,” Fleming said, rising and heading for the door.

OUTSIDE THE APARTMENT on the side street bordering the Strand, four parabolic microphones were hidden on nearby buildings and directed at the windows of Lababiti’s residence. The dishes picked up vibrations on the glass of the windows and magnified the sounds until everything inside the apartment could be heard as clearly as a high-definition recording.

A dozen MI5 agents were posing as London cab drivers and patrolled the streets nearby, while others walked