“Fleming won’t shut down Heathrow,” Cabrillo said over the speaker phone as soon as Hanley answered. “What’s the closest exit to Global Air Cargo?”
Stone read off the exit number and Cabrillo repeated it to Jones.
“We’re right there, boss,” Jones said as he started to slow and pull off the M4.
“Follow the signs to Global Air Cargo,” Cabrillo said to Jones.
Jones stepped on the gas and raced down the side streets. In a few seconds he could see a large hangar with the name painted on the side in ten-foot-tall letters. A 747 was taxiing away from the building.
“Can you take us any closer?” Cabrillo asked.
Jones looked around but a chain-link fence secured the entire area. “No way, boss,” he said. “They have it secured.”
The 747 was turning to enter the taxiway.
“Drive up there to that spot between the buildings,” Cabrillo said.
Jones accelerated and then pulled to a stop. Cabrillo reached for a pair of binoculars in the side pouch and stared at the cargo plane. Then he read the tail numbers off to Hanley, who quickly wrote them down.
“Have Gunderson follow them in the Gulfstream,” Cabrillo said dejectedly. “That’s all we can do right now.”
“I’ll do it,” Hanley said.
Just then Hornsby radioed in and Stone took the call. After he explained what they had found, Stone wrote it down and handed it to Hanley, who read the notes.
“Mr. Chairman,” Hanley said, “I’m calling up the Challenger 604. I think you’re going to want to travel to Saudi Arabia at once.”
45
AT ROUGHLY THEsame time the Global Air Cargo 747 was lifting off the runway at Heathrow, the truck carrying Hickman was stopping at another section of the airport.
“Meet up with the others, ditch the trucks, and disappear,” Hickman said to the driver who was dropping him in front of the private jet terminal. “I’ll reach you if I need you.”
“Good luck, sir,” the driver said as Hickman climbed out.
Hickman waved at the driver, then walked through the front door.
The driver steered the truck out of the parking lot, then reached for his radio. “The big man is clear,” he said. “I’ll meet you at the rendezvous.”
Twelve minutes later, the three trucks met up at an abandoned factory on the west side of London where they had stashed their getaway car. Climbing from the trucks, they quickly wiped down any surfaces they had touched with ungloved fingers then climbed into a nondescript British sedan.
Their plan was to drive through the city toward the English Channel, leave the rental car in a lot and board the ferry for Belgium. The plan would go off without a hitch.
“PREPARE THE OREGONto sail,” Cabrillo ordered Hanley as Jones steered into the executive air terminal at Heathrow. “Set a course for the Mediterranean and then through the Suez Canal into the Red Sea. I want the ship as close to Saudi Arabia as possible.”
Hanley sounded an alarm throughout the ship. Cabrillo could hear the whooping sound over the telephone link. “Gunderson and the others are in the air,” he said. “The cargo plane is headed toward Paris.”
“Jones and I are going to board the Challenger 604 in a few minutes,” Cabrillo said quickly. “Have the team at Maidenhead withdraw and board the amphibian. Then have Michaels fly out and meet the Oregonin the English Channel.”
“What about the mill?” Hanley asked.
“Tell Fleming what we found,” Cabrillo said, “and turn it over to him.”
“Sounds like we’re swapping playing fields,” Hanley noted.
“The action,” Cabrillo said, “has switched to Saudi Arabia.”
THE COPILOT OF Hickman’s Hawker 800XP was waiting in the terminal.
“The pilot has fueled, finished the preflight and received the necessary clearances,” the copilot said as he steered Hickman through the terminal and toward the runway. “We can leave now.”
The two men walked out to the Hawker and boarded. Three minutes later they were taxiing toward the north-south runway. Three more minutes and they were airborne. Once they were over the English Channel, the pilot opened the cabin door.
“Sir,” he said, “at the speed you want to fly, we’re going to burn up a ton of fuel.”
Hickman smiled. “Don’t spare the engines,” he said, “time is critical.”
“As you wish, sir,” the pilot said as he closed the door again.
Hickman felt the engines throttle up and the plane gain speed. The flight plan called for the Hawker to travel across France along the border with Belgium, then over Switzerland above Zurich. Continuing on across the Alps, they would race down the eastern coast of Italy, then Greece, Crete, and over Egypt. Crossing the Red Sea, they would be in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, by early morning.
AS SOON AS Hanley called, Truitt and the others started preparing to leave. After making sure they had carefully photographed everything, they strung tape across the doors and windows of the mill and left handwritten signs warning people not to enter.
Once that was done, they climbed back in the beaten-down truck and headed back to the river and the amphibious plane.
FROM THE EDGE of the trees a young red fox made tentative steps from his cover in the brush. Sniffing at the air, he started across the cargo loading area at the rear of the mill. Warm air was blowing out of the mill through the open cargo doors and he raised his snout and felt the heat. Carefully moving forward, he stopped near the open middle door.
Then, feeling no threat, the fox wandered inside.
Raised near people, he knew that their presence equaled food.
Smelling human scents, he started to forage for scraps of food. He stepped in a strange black substance on the floor that coated his paws. Then he continued on across the floor, the sticky black coating picking up traces of the virus.
Just then the overhead heaters clicked on and the noise scared him. He raced back to the cargo door. When nothing happened, he decided to lie on the floor and wait. Lifting his paw up to his mouth to clean it, he began to lick the blackness away.
Within minutes his body began to convulse. His eyes grew bloodshot and liquid ran from his snout. Twitching as if he were being electrocuted, he tried to rise on his legs and run away.
But his legs would not work, and white foam was running from his mouth.
The fox lay down to die.
THE SOUND OF the whooping horn was filtering throughout the Oregon.
The team members raced to their stations and the ship was a blur of activity. “Lines are away, Mr. Hanley,” Stone said.
“Take her away from the dock,” Hanley said over the intercom to the wheelhouse.
The Oregonstarted to move away from the dock and gradually gained speed.
“Have you plotted the course?” Hanley asked Stone.
“Just finishing it, sir,” Stone said, pointing to the large monitor on the wall.
A large map of Europe and Africa was displayed with a thick red line showing the route. Time intervals were displayed alongside the line.
“What’s the quickest we can reach the Red Sea?” Hanley asked.
“January fourth, at eleven a.m.,” Stone said.
“Coordinate the pickup with Michaels on the amphibian and get Adams back on board,” Hanley said, “then arrange the schedule of watches for the journey.”
“Yes, sir,” Stone said.
Then Hanley reached for the telephone.
THE INSISTENCE THAT the cargo of prayer rugs be documented as coming from France would help one side and hurt the other. The Global Air Cargo 747 was quickly cleared to land. After less than an hour on the ground, the cargo was retagged and the plane was off the ground again.