The DC-3 was traveling at three miles per minute. By the time Hickman had made his way back to the cockpit and gotten back into the pilot’s seat to start the climb, he was ten miles past Jerusalem and about an equal distance from the Dead Sea.
Pulling back on the yoke, Hickman climbed higher.
“Thirty more seconds and any wreckage will be away from any Palestinian settlements,” Lincoln said.
Hickman was far from an innocent; still, the Corporation were not murderers. If Hickman continued on toward Jordan, they’d try to catch him on the ground there. If he started a turn, they would have no choice. The only reason Hickman would turn back toward Jerusalem was to make a suicide run.
The DC-3 was seconds from crossing above the Dead Sea.
“Sir,” Murphy said, “the computer detects the turn starting.”
“You have sanction,” Hanley said quietly.
“Time note,” Lincoln said, reading off the date and time.
“Missiles away,” Murphy said a split second later.
“Tracking,” Lincoln said.
TWO MISSILES LEFT the firing platform, two packages of four from each side of a small glass dome that housed a radar tracking unit. The time interval between the two packages was but milliseconds, and they streaked from the ship across Israel and directly toward the DC-3. Like arrows shot from a warrior’s bow they ran straight and true toward the target.
Adams was plucking Cabrillo off the Dome as the missiles streaked overhead. Quickly removing the rope and dropping it down to those on the ground, Adams pulled up on the collective and climbed above the mosque then edged the Robinson forward.
Hickman was almost sideways when for the briefest of seconds he saw two pinpoints of light coming from the distance. Before his mind could register what they were, they slammed into the fuselage of the DC-3.
Death came instantaneously as the shattered aircraft fell into the Dead Sea.
THE GLASS NOSE cone of the Robinson was facing the DC-3 far in the distance when the missiles found their mark.
“Secure the stone,” Cabrillo radioed to Hanley on the Oregon.“I’m going out to the crash site.”
52
“IT’S A MIXTUREof starches taken from rice powder along with the addition of a naturally occurring accelerant that makes it plump up,” Nixon said.
Seng was staring at the courtyard surrounding the Dome of the Rock. A Muslim CIA agent who was assigned to Israel was carefully removing Abraham’s Stone from the crust. The heavy object had penetrated the surface over a foot but was still cushioned by inches of the white blanket.
The CIA agent looked up at Seng and nodded that the stone was secure.
“How do we get this stuff off the courtyard?” Seng asked.
“I didn’t have much time to test that,” Nixon said, “but vinegar should do the trick.”
Seng nodded, then reached onto his belt and removed a folding knife. He reached down and cut a square into the white blanket. Prying with the knife, he pulled up the chunk and held it in his hand.
“It’s like a rice cake,” he said, tossing the feather-light square in the air and catching it again.
“If we have someone cut it up with shovels,” Nixon said, “then remove the biggest pieces, followed by wetting the area with vinegar and brushing it with brooms, I think all it will need then is a good hosing off.”
THE SOUND OF the Robinson grew louder. The helicopter passed over the mosque then landed on a nearby street. Seng was giving the Israelis instructions on the cleanup when Cabrillo walked through the arched gate and into the courtyard.
“The wreckage of the DC-3 landed in the Dead Sea,” Cabrillo said to Seng. “The largest piece we could see on the surface was about the size of a loaf of bread.”
“And Mr. Hickman?” Seng asked.
“Whatever remains exist,” Cabrillo said, “sleep with the fishes.”
Seng nodded and the men stood quietly for a moment.
“Sir,” Seng said a moment later, “the stone is secured and the cleanup of the mosque has been initiated. The teams are ready for extraction.”
Cabrillo nodded. “You’re cleared for extraction,” he said, turning to the CIA agent. “Bring the stone and come with me.”
Placing the carefully wrapped stone into a wheelbarrow used by the gardeners at the mosque, the CIA agent grabbed the handles and followed Cabrillo toward the gate.
AT THE SAME time Cabrillo was walking toward the Robinson, Hanley was conferring with Overholt over the telephone.
“We’ve secured the stone and are withdrawing from Israel,” Hanley said. “How are your contacts in Egypt?”
“Excellent,” Overholt said.
“And the Sudan?”
“Our man there is top-notch.”
“Here’s what we need,” Hanley said.
Overholt made notes as Hanley explained. “Okay,” he said when Hanley finished, “Al Ghardaqah, Aswan, and Ras Abu Shagara, Sudan. I’ll arrange the clearances and have one-hundred-octane fuel at each stop.”
HANLEY WAS JUST disconnecting as Halpert walked into the control room holding a file folder stuffed with papers. “I think I have Medina figured out,” he said. “I lifted the blueprints from the contractor’s computer base and studied them for the last hour.”
“Blueprints?” Hanley asked. “It was built hundreds of years ago.”
“But enlarged and modernized 1985 through 1992,” Halpert said. “At that time they bored underground tunnels to run water lines for an air-conditioning system. You told me to think like Hickman—if I was him, that’s where I’d place charges.”
Hanley stared at the diagrams for a moment. “Michael,” he said a second later, “I think you nailed it.”
“Remember that,” Halpert said, smiling, “at bonus time.”
Halpert walked out of the control room and Hanley reached for a telephone. While the number was ringing, he turned to Stone. “Pull up a satellite shot of Medina for me.”
Stone began to enter commands into the computer just as the phone was answered.
“YES, SIR,” KASIM said.
“What’s the progress?”
Kasim was standing just off to the side of a crowd of people at the Jeddah bus terminal.
“Both teams made it safely here,” Kasim said. “We stashed the motorcycles in a dry wash outside of Jeddah and made our way into the city. Skutter, who’s heading the Medina operation, and his team have already boarded a bus for the city. My team and I are waiting for ours now.”
“And Skutter has a satellite phone with him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long until his bus arrives?” Hanley asked.
“Four to five hours,” Kasim said.
“I’ll wait until he arrives to call him, but we think we know where the charges were placed at the Prophet’s Mosque.”
The bus was just pulling up.
“My bus is here,” Kasim said. “What do you want us to do?”
“You’ll be met by a CIA contact in Mecca and taken to a safe house,” Hanley said. “I’ll call you there.”
“Got it.”
PETE JONES LOOKED over to the emir of Qatar. “Your Excellency,” he said, “how are your relations with the Bahrainis?”
“Great,” the emir said, “they are dear friends.”
“Can you have trucks waived through customs without any problems?”
“I’m sure I can.”
“Do you have a cargo ship available that can pick them up at the port in Bahrain?”
The emir stared over at his aide, al-Thani.
“I’ll arrange one here or in Bahrain immediately,” al-Thani said.
“We have about six hours before everything needs to be in place,” Jones said.
“It shall be done, Mr. Jones,” the emir said. “It shall be done.”