Sacred Stone (Oregon Files 2)

“Just over five and a half hours flight time,” the copilot offered.

“Now, if we just had our cargo.”

“If the owner tells you to wait,” the copilot said, “you wait.”

The pilot nodded. “What’s on the telly tonight?”

“The replay of the Hyde Park Concert with Elton John,” the copilot said. “The opening acts are starting soon.”

The pilot rose and walked over to the kitchen area. “I’ll microwave us some popcorn.”

“Extra butter on mine,” the copilot said.

MICHAELS LINED UP over the river and landed. After steering over to the shore, the men secured the plane with ropes to some nearby trees, then off-loaded the cargo and stood on the shore.

MI5 had all their assets tied up in London, so there was no one to meet them.

“Anyone know how to hot-wire a car?” Halpert asked.

“I do,” Reyes said.

“Cliff,” Halpert said, “go with Tom and find something big enough to transport us and the gear.”

“Will do,” Hornsby said, climbing the bank with Reyes and walking toward town.

Halpert studied the map as he waited. He’d had Michaels fly over Maidenhead Mills on the way here—now all he had to do was find the route on the map. Once he had that done, he turned to Michaels, who was still on the plane.

“Can you spare a cup of that coffee?” he asked.

Michaels slipped inside the cockpit and poured a cup, then handed it to Halpert on shore. “What’s the plan?” she asked.

“First we watch,” Halpert said, “then we pounce.”

At that moment, Reyes pulled alongside the bank in an old British Ford flatbed truck. Several chicken coops were on the bed near the cab, along with some rusty tools and a length of chain.

“Sorry about the ride,” Reyes said, climbing out, “but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Let’s load it up,” Halpert said, handing Reyes the marked map.

“I’ll be monitoring the radio,” Michaels said as the men transported the cargo to the flatbed. “Good luck.”

Halpert smiled but didn’t say a word. Once everyone was aboard, he pounded on the bed. “Let’s roll.”

With a swirl of snow the truck lurched away from the bank in the direction of the mill.

43

IT WAS PAST 1 A.M. on January 1, 2006, when Cabrillo finally called the Oregon to report.

“We recovered the weapon,” Cabrillo said.

“How’s MI5?” Hanley asked.

“Ecstatic,” Cabrillo answered, “there’s talk of making me a Knight of the British Empire.”

“You made the final grab?” Hanley asked incredulously.

“I’ll fill you in when we return to the ship. What else is happening?”