Sacred Stone (Oregon Files 2)

“I just don’t—”

“Wake the king,” the president said, “or there are going to be serious consequences.”

A few minutes later a sleepy King Abdullah came on the line. Once the president explained, he reached for another telephone and called the head of his air force.

“Have them escort them out of the country but do not take hostile actions,” he said in Arabic.

Returning to the open line with the president, he said, “Mr. President, if your secretary of state does not supply a proper answer to what is happening, your citizens will have a very cold winter.”

“Once you hear what happened, I think we’ll be good.”

“I look forward to the meeting,” King Abdullah said and disconnected.

REEVES LANDED THE C-17A, then turned around and faced the opposite direction.

“Drop the door,” he said to the flight engineer.

The Ford pickup was already making its way across the sand as the door slowly lowered. When the truck pulled up, the door was fully extended down, making a ramp. Edging forward through the sand, the driver reached the end of the ramp. Then he gave it some gas and drove inside the cargo bay.

Opening the door, the driver ran forward to the cockpit. “We’re in, sir,” he said.

“Door up,” Reeves said.

As the door was rising, Reeves ran the engines up to check the operation. Everything looked good, so as soon as the light on the control panel went green, indicating that the door was locked in place, he pushed the throttles forward and raced down the patch of sand.

Two minutes later they were airborne again.

“Ninety miles to the Red Sea,” he shouted back to the rear, “five minutes or so.”

“I have two fighter jets inbound,” the copilot said.

“Prepare countermeasures,” Reeves said.

But the jets never turned on their firing computers. They just stayed off the wingtips until the C-17A passed over the water. Then they peeled away to head back to their base.

“WE’RE OUT OF Saudi airspace,” Reeves yelled to the rear, “two hours to Cutter.”

Kasim walked to the rear of the pickup and pulled back the tarp. “Okay, men,” he said, “we did it—we’re going back to Qatar.”

The cheers filled the cargo area of the C-17A.

“Take over,” Reeves said to the copilot.

Reeves walked back into the cargo area. “I would have brought you a cooler of beer but I understand you men don’t drink. So I had the mess hall prepare a cooler of iced soda and some food in case we did have to come get you. There are some hamburgers, hot dogs, potato salad and such. It’s been a few hours, but they packed it in those silver insulated bags so it should still be warm. Enjoy.”

Reeves headed back to the cockpit.

“Okay, men,” Kasim said, unzipping a silver padded bag, “dig in.”

EPILOGUE

THREE HOURS BEFORE sunrise on January 10, U.S. military crews working with Saudi military and intelligence officials finished complete sweeps of all three mosques. Any explosives found were removed and destroyed, and the area was deemed safe for the hajj.

Saud Al-Sheik stared down at the courtyard as the last of the aging prayer rugs were being fitted into place. He wished he’d found the new ones but they’d disappeared into thin air—so he had the old ones dug out from storage and used again this year.

Behind the curtain surrounding the Kaaba, Abraham’s Stone awaited the faithful.

At sunrise, a sea of white-robed pilgrims began to fill the holy spots.