“No,” Adams admitted, “we’ll be thirty to forty gallons short on the return.”
“What kind of fuel do you burn?”
“One hundred octane low-lead.”
“Mr. Chairman,” Hanley said over the satellite phone, “we have Adams ready to go, but we’re short fuel for the return trip. Do you have extra fuel on the snowcat?”
“I have a hundred gallons or so left,” Cabrillo said.
Hanley looked up at Adams, who had listened to the transmission carefully.
“If I take along some liquid octane booster, we can bump the gas up so it might work. One way or another, I want to get over there and help the boss.”
“I’ll call the mechanical shop and have the booster delivered to the flight deck,” Hanley said quickly. “You do your preflight and take off as soon as possible.”
Adams nodded and raced for the door.
“I’m sending in the cavalry, Juan,” Hanley said into the telephone. “He’ll be there in a couple of hours.”
Cabrillo watched as the second helicopter lined up on the Eurocopter to take another shot. “That’s good,” Cabrillo said, “because the helicopter with the fake registration just fired a missile at the chartered ship.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Hanley said in amazement.
“That’s not all, my friend,” Cabrillo said. “I haven’t had a chance to deliver the really bad news yet.”
“What could be worse?”
“The meteorite is inside the chartered helicopter,” Cabrillo said. “They grabbed it before me.”
INSIDE THE EUROCOPTER, Hughes was holding the pistol to Neilsen’s head with one hand and a satellite telephone in the other.
“Fly west toward the coast,” he said, “there’s been a change in plans.”
Neilsen nodded and made the adjustment.
At the same time, Hughes pressed a button on the speed dial of the phone and waited.
“Sir,” he said as Neilsen sped up and raced over the snowy terrain, “I’ve recovered the object and fired the caretaker, but now there’s a snag.”
“What’s the problem?” the man said.
“We’re under attack from an unidentified helicopter.”
“You’re headed for the coast, right?”
“Yes, sir, just like we planned.”
“The team is there and waiting,” the man said. “If the helicopter follows you out to sea, they can deal with the problem nicely.”
Before Hughes could answer, a second missile struck the tail of the Eurocopter and severed a blade on the tail rotor. Neilsen fought with the controls but the Eurocopter started into a death spiral toward the ground.
“We’re going down,” Hughes managed to shout before the centrifugal force of the spinning Eurocopter flung his hand against the side window, cracking the glass and breaking the phone.
AS THE HELICOPTERS had retreated into the distance, Cabrillo had made his way to the spot on the mountain above where he’d left his snowshoes. He was attaching them to his feet when the sound of the missile striking the Eurocopter caused him to look up. It was dark and he had a hard time making anything out for a second. Then, a few seconds later, a bright pulsing light appeared on the ground in the distance. It danced on the ground like an evil Northern Light, and then started to fade.
Cabrillo finished attaching the snowshoes then made his way over to the Thiokol and drove it in the direction of the light. Ten minutes later, when he arrived at the site, the fires were still smoldering. The helicopter itself was lying on her side like a broken pinwheel. Cabrillo climbed out and forced the jammed door on top of the wreckage open. Both the pilot and the passenger were dead. Removing what identification he could find from the bodies and the helicopter, he searched the wreckage for the box containing the meteorite.
But he found nothing. Only a set of footprints from parties unknown.
AFTER THE LINK to Hughes had gone dead and could not be reestablished, Hughes’s employer called another number.
“We’ve had a hitch,” he said. After he explained the situation, the other party answered.
“Not to worry, sir,” he said confidently, “we’re trained for contingencies.”
17
AS SOON ASthe snow and cold had started to extinguish the fire from the ruptured fuel tank, Al-Khalifa had pried open the door of the Eurocopter. A quick check of the bodies had revealed open, sightless eyes that seemed to indicate death had come quickly. Al-Khalifa had not bothered to try to identify the men—quite frankly he did not care who they were. They were Westerners and they were dead, and that was enough.
His main concern was the recovery of the meteorite, and for that he’d needed to climb through the rear door to where the box had wedged itself against a seat. Removing the box and climbing out of the helicopter, he’d opened the latch and flipped open the top.
The meteorite was inside, lying on foam and shielded by lead panels inside the box.
Closing the box again, he made his way through the snow to the Kawasaki HK-500D, placed the box on the passenger seat and secured it in place with the seat belt. Then he climbed into the pilot’s seat, started the engine and lifted off. As he flew out over the snow-covered terrain, the box sat on the seat like an honored guest, not a deadly sphere of poison destined to sicken an unknowing populace.
Reaching for the radio, Al-Khalifa alerted the crew of the Akbarhe would soon be back on board. Once he reached the vessel, they could make their way to London and complete the mission. The wrath of the righteous would soon find flight.
After that he could deal with the emir and the overthrow of the Qatari government.
“GIVE ME SOME good news,” Cabrillo said as he turned his back to the increasingly strong winds.
“We located the Akbaron the radar,” Hanley said. “We’re a couple hours away. I’m planning an assault now to get our man back.”
Cabrillo was watching the signal strength on the telephone. He moved to receive a stronger connection. “I’m at the site where the Eurocopter went down,” he said. “It was shot out of the sky by the mystery chopper. The pilot and passenger are dead—and the meteorite is nowhere to be seen.”
“Are you sure?” Hanley asked.
“Positive. There’s a single set of tracks coming from a distance away. I followed them until I came to indentations in the snow from the other helicopter. Whoever shot down the Eurocopter now has the meteorite.”
“I’ll have Stone try to track the course of the helicopter on radar,” Hanley said. “He couldn’t have gone far. If it’s an MD helicopter, we’re looking at a range of three hundred fifty miles in total. Since he couldn’t refuel, he’s somewhere within a one-hundred-seventy-five-mile radius of where you are.”
“Tell Stone to try something else as well,” Cabrillo said. “I managed to sand the meteorite before it was stolen.”
Sandwas the slang name the Corporation used for the microscopic homing bugs Cabrillo had sprinkled on the orb in the darkness. They looked like dust to the untrained eye, but they emitted a signal that could be read by the electronics on the Oregon.
“Damn, you’re good,” Hanley said.
“Not good enough, someone else has our prize.”
“We’ll track it down,” Hanley said.
“Call me when you know something.”
After disconnecting, Cabrillo started trudging back to the cave through the snow.
EIGHTY MILES DISTANT and undetectable on the Akbar’s radar scope, the scene aboard the motor yacht Free Enterprisewas more subdued. The men on board were infused with a fervor that rivaled the Muslims on the Akbar—they were simply more highly trained and not accustomed to grand shows of emotions. Each man was white, over six feet in height, and in excellent shape. Each had served in the U.S. military in one capacity or another. All of them had personal reasons for accepting this assignment. Each of them was ready to die for the cause.