Cabrillo read them off and waited while Campbell consulted his map in Kulusuk.
“Looks like you took a wrong turn about a mile back,” Campbell told him, “and went left instead of right. You’re up against Nunuk Glacier. Backtrack and skirt the edge of the glacier. That will take you over a small rise and down into the lowland. From there you could see Forel if it was clear and not pitch-black outside.”
“You sure?” Cabrillo asked.
“Positive. I’ve been up the canyon you’re in before—it’s a dead end.”
“Back about a mile and turn left,” Cabrillo reiterated.
“That would be a right turn to you,” Campbell said quickly, “you’ve changed directions.”
“Then I follow the edge of the glacier?”
“Yes, but right now, while you’re stopped, I want you to climb out and adjust the light on the driver’s side sideways. That way, once you reach the edge of the glacier, the light will illuminate the edge. The reflection will look like jade or sapphires—just glance occasionally to the side to check your progress. Once the edge of the glacier recedes you’ll crest a ridge and start down again. That will signal that you’re free of Nunuk Glacier. Then you’ll have a straight shot up the side of Mount Forel. It’s steep but the old Thiokol can make it—I’ve done it before.”
“Thanks,” Cabrillo said. “Are you going to be able to make it a few hours more if I need you? Keeping it on the straight and narrow?”
“I’m just sipping enough to get by,” Campbell said. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
“Good,” Cabrillo said as he shut the telephone off.
Climbing from the cab again, he reached up to the roof of the Thiokol and adjusted the light to the side. Then he climbed back in, shifted into first, and spun the snowcat 180 degrees on her tracks. Driving slowly, he found the edge of the glacier a few yards away and started following along.
Mount Forel was not far away, but in the snow and darkness it was still hidden.
Cabrillo needed to reach the mountain and retrieve her secret. But there was someone else with the same plan—and he didn’t follow the same rules for fair play as the Corporation. The two of them were bound to collide.
THE EMIR FELT the helicopter slow as Al-Khalifa lined the Kawasaki up over the fantail of the Akbar,and then carefully set her down on the landing pad. Once deckhands had chained down the skids and the rotor blade was secured, Al-Khalifa walked around, unlocked the door and dragged him into the main salon. The emir’s eyes were still taped but he could hear what sounded like a half dozen Arab voices. The air in the salon smelled of gunpowder, oil, and a strange, sweet almond odor.
Hustled down a set of steps to a lower deck, the emir was unceremoniously tossed on a bed and had his hands and feet bound together with thick tape. He lay on his back like a trussed chicken. The emir heard Al-Khalifa order a guard posted outside. Then he was left alone to ponder an unknown fate.
Other than the fact that the skin on his face had started sweating from the heat in the cabin, the man was not overly concerned. If Al-Khalifa was going to kill him he would have done it already. That, and he knew his friends at the Corporation would seek him out soon. If only he could scratch his nose under the plastic—then he’d feel better.
“ATTACH THE WEAPONS pod,” Al-Khalifa said as he walked back into the main salon. “I need to fly to the mountain as soon as possible.”
Four of the men walked outside and started the process. The installation went slow—wind, rain and snow were raking the Akbar’s deck, but the men were trained and unrelenting. Twenty-seven minutes later their leader walked back in, wiping snow off his gloves.
“The pod is installed,” he said to Al-Khalifa.
“Have the men come inside and gather around the table.”
The teams of terrorists slid into chairs at the long ornate table. The gathering was a confederacy of killers, a party of thugs. They stared up at Al-Khalifa and waited.
“Allah has blessed us again,” Al-Khalifa began. “As you witnessed, I captured the pro-Western emir that rules my country and have taken him prisoner. Soon I will ascend to the throne. On the second matter, a Western traitor has alerted me to the location of an orb of iridium we can use in conjunction with the bomb that is destined for London. If I can retrieve this iridium, it will magnify the destruction in London at least a hundredfold.”
“Praise be to Allah,” the group shouted spontaneously.
“Right now the Akbaris heading for the east coast of Greenland,” Al-Khalifa said grandly. “In a few hours, when we arrive, I’ll fly the helicopter over and recover the iridium. As soon as I return, we’ll set a course for England and the conclusion of the mission.”
“There is but one, and that one is Allah,” the group shouted.
“For those of you that have your duties finished, I want you to rest up,” Al-Khalifa said. “We will need everyone on their toes once we reach England. Soon those that oppose Allah will feel our wrath.”
“Allah is great,” the group shouted.
The meeting broke up and Al-Khalifa walked from the room and down to his cabin. He would grab a few hours’ sleep. He had no way of knowing that this sleep would be his last until the big one.
15
AT HOTEL KANGERLUSSUAQ,thirteen hundred miles away, Clay Hughes was finishing a breakfast of bacon, eggs, hash browns and toast washed down with a pot of steaming coffee. Michael Neilsen approached his table.
“You ready to go?” Hughes asked, standing up.
“The weather has not improved much,” Neilsen said, “but I’m willing to try if you want. What’s your verdict?”
“We go,” Hughes said.
“If I were you,” Neilsen said, “I’d have the hotel pack some food for the trip—if we go down out there, it’ll be some time before help can arrive.”
“I’ll order a platter of sandwiches and a couple thermoses of coffee,” Hughes said. “Anything else you can think of we might need?”
“Just some luck,” Neilsen said, glancing outside.
“I’ll get the food and meet you at the helicopter.”
“I’ll be ready,” Neilsen said, walking away.
Fifteen minutes later the EC-130B4 lifted from the snow-packed runway and started flying east. A slight tinge of yellow infused the clouds as the scant sunlight tried to penetrate the gloom. Mostly it was dark and dreary, like an omen carried on an evil wind.
The hours passed as the Eurocopter flew high above the snowy terrain.
THE THIOKOL STOPPED and Cabrillo stared at the map. He estimated that he was within an hour of reaching the cave on Mount Forel. Once he had started away from the glacier, he noticed his satellite telephone was receiving signals again. He hit the speed dial and called the Oregon.
“We’ve been trying to reach you,” Hanley said as soon as he answered. “The emir was kidnapped last night.”
“Kidnapped,” Cabrillo said quickly. “I thought we were on top of that situation.”
“They grabbed our guy,” Hanley said, “and we have had no communication with either party since.”
“Do you have an idea where they’ve taken him?”
“We’re working on it.”
“You get our man back,” Cabrillo said.
“Will do.”
“I’m almost at the site,” Cabrillo said. “I’ll wrap this up and get out of here. Meanwhile, you locate me some faster mode of transportation home.”
“Yes, sir,” Hanley said.
Cabrillo disconnected and tossed the telephone on the passenger seat.
AT THE SAME time Cabrillo started up Mount Forel, an attendant at Reykjavik International Airport was sweeping snow from the bottom of a ramp leading up to a privately owned 737. Auxiliary power units were supplying the plane with heat and electricity from both sides. The inside of the jet was lit up like a billboard and it spilled out of the windows into the dim light outside.