Sacred Stone (Oregon Files 2)

“We’re watching you from above,” Hanley said. “There has been a slight change in plans—we don’t want you to go to Jeddah. We’re going to pull you out before that.”

“Where do you want us to go?” Skutter asked.

On the Oregon, Hanley was watching the infrared satellite image of the truck racing south. “Go six point two miles farther south,” Hanley said, “then pull over to the side of the road. There is a ship just offshore there now. They are sending in a shore boat to extract you from the cove there. Just get all your men aboard, Captain Skutter, and we’ll take it from there.”

“HOW MANY CHARGES had Kasim and his team found when he called?” Stone asked.

“Five,” Hanley said.

“Well, sir, I’d order him to leave the rest to the Saudis. I just intercepted a call from the wife of one of the guards. She was calling the local police to inquire why her husband was not home yet.”

“It’s two twenty-one!” Hanley thundered.

“Women,” Stone said, “are impossible to live with sometimes.”

Hanley reached for the phone.

Kasim was crouched down disabling a C-6 packet when his phone beeped.

“Get out now!” Hanley said.

“We haven’t covered the—” Kasim started to say.

“I’m ordering an immediate evac,” Hanley said. “This thing is blown. I have a truck in front to take you to your second escape hatch. Do you understand?”

“Got it, boss.”

“Now, go.”

JUST AS KASIM was placing the telephone back in his pocket, a CIA agent pulled up in front of the Great Mosque in a Ford extended-cab four-wheel-drive pickup truck. He nervously clutched the wheel as the seconds passed.

“That’s it,” Kasim shouted across the courtyard, “everyone to the gate.”

The four fake guards started to sprint across the courtyard as the others that were searching the grounds began to appear from behind buildings and pillars. Kasim raced through the gate and approached the truck.

“We’re coming out now,” he said to the driver.

“Load them in back,” the driver said, “and pull the tarp over them.”

Kasim lowered the rear tailgate and the men started climbing inside. Kasim counted them off, ten, eleven, twelve, and thirteen. With him there were fourteen—one man was still inside. He raced for the gate and stared across the courtyard. The last man was sprinting across the distance.

“Sorry,” the man said as he ran over, “I was in the middle of a disarm when you shouted.”

Kasim grabbed him by the arm and pushed him along. “Get in the back,” he yelled when they reached the truck.

Then Kasim pulled the tarp over his team and climbed in front with the driver.

“You know where we’re going?” he asked as the driver slid the Ford into gear and hit the gas.

“Oh yeah,” the driver said.

U.S. AIR FORCE Major Hamilton Reeves understood both the need for military decorum as well as having a loose hand with his crew. Hanging the radio microphone back in the holder, he turned to his copilot and flight engineer.

“You boys up for penetrating the airspace of a sovereign nation this evening?”

“I’ve got nothing going on,” the copilot offered.

“All pays the same,” the flight engineer noted.