Sacred Stone (Oregon Files 2)

“I know it’s a powder keg, Mr. President.”

“Powder keg!” the president exploded. “It’s much worse than that. If Hickman has poisoned prayer rugs and switched Abraham’s Stone and something like you theorize happens to it, I see three major things that could happen. The first is a given—the Saudis cut off oil shipments to the U.S. That will plunge us into another recession and we’re barely out of the last one—that would be a shock that our economy just could not stand. Second, the fact that Hickman is an American will fan the flames with the terrorist elements. They will be swimming to the U.S. to wreak havoc. Let’s face it, the U.S.-Canadian and U.S.-Mexican borders are sieves. Short of us erecting walls, there’s not much we can do if someone is determined to enter our country. The third is possibly the worst. If the Greenland meteorite is shattered and releases a virus similar to the one that was in the Arizona sample, then the other two might be mute points. The oxygen could be sucked out of the atmosphere like water down a drain, then we’ll all be breathing dust.”

Overholt nodded slowly. “The first two are easily handled if what the CIA doctor learned from the captured combatant is true. That Hickman is planning to blame the entire affair on the Israelis.”

“Unfortunately, as much as I’ve tried to wean the Israelis from American aid, I’ve been mostly unsuccessful. The Arab world believes the United States and Israel are closely tied—and we are. If the blame goes to Israel, it would be overrun with Arab troops from any nation that has troops. And we know what would happen then.”

“The Israelis would go nuclear,” Overholt said.

“So what are we left with?” the president asked. “Give me the out.”

“The only way we can put this thing to bed is to eliminate the prayer rugs, capture Hickman and somehow replace the meteorites if he has already switched them, then search the holy sites for explosives.”

“All without the Saudi Arabian government knowing what we’re doing,” the president said. “That’s a tall order.”

“Mr. President,” Overholt said, “do you have a better idea?”

ON JANUARY 4, 2006, at 5 A.M. Qatar time, the telephone in Cabrillo’s hotel room rang and woke him.

“It’s me, Juan,” Overholt said. “I’ve finished meeting with the president and have your orders.”

Cabrillo sat up in bed. “What’s the verdict?”

“He wants to do it all without Saudi cooperation,” Overholt said. “I’m sorry but that’s the only way we see this working.”

Cabrillo exhaled and the sound carried over the telephone line. “We have six days until the hajj, when two million pilgrims will be all over Mecca and Medina, and you want me to send a team inside for what?”

“First, you find Hickman,” Overholt said, “and determine the status of the meteorite—if he has switched it with Abraham’s Stone, you switch it back. Then you search al-Haram and al-Nabawi mosques and make sure they are not wired to blow during the hajj. Then you and your team get out of Saudi Arabia before anyone knows you’re there.”

“I hate to talk business when you are talking fantasy,” Cabrillo said, “but do you have any idea what this is going to cost the United States?”

“Eight figures?” Overholt guessed.

“Maybe nine,” Cabrillo said.

“So you can do it?”

“Maybe, but I’ll need all the resources of the Department of Defense and the entire intelligence community on our side.”

“You call,” Overholt said, “I’ll make sure they jump.”

Cabrillo hung up and dialed a number.

AN HOUR LATER, while Cabrillo was still back at the hotel showering, Hali Kasim walked out onto a runway in front of a hangar on the edge of the U.S. Air Force base in Qatar. Thirty-seven men were milling about—the entire number of Muslim U.S. military men from Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean to the continent of Africa. All had been flown in yesterday from their various postings on military jets to Qatar.

Not one man had been told why they were sent for.

“Gentlemen,” Kasim said, “form ranks.”

The men lined up and waited at parade rest. Kasim studied a sheet of paper.

He looked up and addressed the men. “My name is Hali Kasim. I served seven years in the United States Navy as a warrant officer W-4 in underwater demolition before joining the private sector. I have been recalled to active duty by presidential decree and given a field rank of commander for the purposes of this operation. According to my docket, the next highest ranking man here is a United States Air Force captain named William Skutter. Would Captain Skutter please step forward.”

A tall, thin black man dressed in a blue Air Force uniform took two steps forward.

“Captain Skutter,” Kasim said, “is my second in command. Please come over here next to me and face the troops.”

Skutter walked over and pivoted on his heel and stood alongside Kasim.