Sacred Stone (Oregon Files 2)

“Good,” Murphy said, “because this little barrage is close to a million if you want guaranteed success.”

“Go big or go home,” Hanley said.

Lincoln was staring at a track line that showed the inbound DC-3. “Let’s hope this course remains the same,” Lincoln said, “and that what you hypothesize is true.”

“From the angle of his camera,” Hanley said, “it seems like he’s going to come in low for the drop. That would make the destruction of Abraham’s Stone more visible. If he dropped it from up high, he’d need to have the camera lens set on wide-angle and it wouldn’t give the picture much detail when it shattered.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Lincoln said. “I’m worried about the second pass.”

“To make sure the DC-3 destroys the Dome,” Hanley said, “he has to know he’ll need to climb up several thousand feet then dive down.”

“We entered the climb rate of the DC-3 into the computer,” Murphy said, “and set the parameters for two thousand feet extra elevation. That takes the flight out here.”

Murphy pointed to the monitor.

“Perfect,” Hanley said.

Murphy smiled. “Me and Lincoln think so too.”

HICKMAN WAS STILL nine minutes away when Adams passed over the courtyard surrounding the Dome of the Rock and lowered the helicopter down to where Nixon was waving. Nixon raced under the spinning rotor blade and handed Cabrillo the end of the rope through the open door, then raced back away.

“Slow and steady,” Cabrillo said through the headset.

“That’s my middle name,” Adams said confidently.

Carefully lifting off, Adams manipulated the controls with all the finesse of a surgeon. Bringing the Robinson up slowly, Adams crabbed sideways as Cabrillo played out the rope. A thin web began to form over the Dome. Reaching the far side, Adams hovered a few feet off the ground and Cabrillo dropped the end of the ladder. Meadows and Ross each took a side and pulled out the slack, then stood there holding the ladder taut. Nets hung down from the rope ladders.

“Now if you could drop me off on the top,” Cabrillo said, smiling across the cockpit, “I’d appreciate it.”

Adams lifted up slowly and carefully came close to the Dome. Cabrillo opened the door cautiously and stepped out ont

o the skid. Then with a little wave at Adams, he stepped across and grabbed the rope rung of the ladder.

Adams carefully backed away then landed on a street nearby.

Cabrillo was atop the Dome. He stared up at a large silver plane approaching in the distance. He pulled the nets as tight as he could.

“GO, GO, GO, go, go,” Seng shouted to the seven members of the team.

They quickly began to spread the powder across the courtyard like farmers of old sowing seeds. Once they were finished, they ran to the fire hoses and waited for the orders to spray.

Nixon and Gannon were manning a hose. Nixon had the nozzle, Gannon was behind him holding the hose in place. “You’re sure this will work, old buddy?” Gannon asked.

“It’ll work,” Nixon said. “It’s the cleanup that will be a problem.”

HICKMAN DIDN’T NOTICE that no Israeli jets had been scrambled to intercept him. He simply thought that his coming in low had brought the DC-3 under the radar. Setting the autopilot, he walked back to the cargo bay and opened the door.

Abraham’s Stone was still wrapped in the blanket. Hickman removed it and clutched it in his hands.

“Good riddance,” he said quietly, “to you and all you stand for.”

Through the side window he could see the mosque complex approaching. He had calculated that at the speed the DC-3 traveled, to hit the Dome itself he would need to toss out the meteorite just as the nose of the plane reached the edge of the first wall.

Hickman would never see the stone strike the Dome, but that’s why he had cameras.

“NOW, NOW, NOW,” Seng shouted as he heard the noise of the approaching DC-3.

The teams at the hoses opened the nozzles and sprayed the powder on the ground. The water was the catalyst. As soon as it hit the dust, the tiny grains of powder began to expand and interlock into a dense foam material. The dust grew to nearly two feet in height. Gannon felt himself rise in the air as the spray from the hose he was handling wet the dust beneath his feet. The weight of his body made an imprint of his feet in the foam.