Sacred Stone (Oregon Files 2)

“I didn’t have much time to test that,” Nixon said, “but vinegar should do the trick.”

Seng nodded, then reached onto his belt and removed a folding knife. He reached down and cut a square into the white blanket. Prying with the knife, he pulled up the chunk and held it in his hand.

“It’s like a rice cake,” he said, tossing the feather-light square in the air and catching it again.

“If we have someone cut it up with shovels,” Nixon said, “then remove the biggest pieces, followed by wetting the area with vinegar and brushing it with brooms, I think all it will need then is a good hosing off.”

THE SOUND OF the Robinson grew louder. The helicopter passed over the mosque then landed on a nearby street. Seng was giving the Israelis instructions on the cleanup when Cabrillo walked through the arched gate and into the courtyard.

“The wreckage of the DC-3 landed in the Dead Sea,” Cabrillo said to Seng. “The largest piece we could see on the surface was about the size of a loaf of bread.”

“And Mr. Hickman?” Seng asked.

“Whatever remains exist,” Cabrillo said, “sleep with the fishes.”

Seng nodded and the men stood quietly for a moment.

“Sir,” Seng said a moment later, “the stone is secured and the cleanup of the mosque has been initiated. The teams are ready for extraction.”

Cabrillo nodded. “You’re cleared for extraction,” he said, turning to the CIA agent. “Bring the stone and come with me.”

Placing the carefully wrapped stone into a wheelbarrow used by the gardeners at the mosque, the CIA agent grabbed the handles and followed Cabrillo toward the gate.

AT THE SAME time Cabrillo was walking toward the Robinson, Hanley was conferring with Overholt over the telephone.

“We’ve secured the stone and are withdrawing from Israel,” Hanley said. “How are your contacts in Egypt?”

“Excellent,” Overholt said.

“And the Sudan?”

“Our man there is top-notch.”

“Here’s what we need,” Hanley said.

Overholt made notes as Hanley explained. “Okay,” he said when Hanley finished, “Al Ghardaqah, Aswan, and Ras Abu Shagara, Sudan. I’ll arrange the clearances and have one-hundred-octane fuel at each stop.”

HANLEY WAS JUST disconnecting as Halpert walked into the control room holding a file folder stuffed with papers. “I think I have Medina figured out,” he said. “I lifted the blueprints from the contractor’s computer base and studied them for the last hour.”

“Blueprints?” Hanley asked. “It was built hundreds of years ago.”

“But enlarged and modernized 1985 through 1992,” Halpert said. “At that time they bored underground tunnels to run water lines for an air-conditioning system. You told me to think like Hickman—if I was him, that’s where I’d place charges.”

Hanley stared at the diagrams for a moment. “Michael,” he said a second later, “I think you nailed it.”

“Remember that,” Halpert said, smiling, “at bonus time.”

Halpert walked out of the control room and Hanley reached for a telephone. While the number was ringing, he turned to Stone. “Pull up a satellite shot of Medina for me.”

Stone began to enter commands into the computer just as the phone was answered.

“YES, SIR,” KASIM said.

“What’s the progress?”

Kasim was standing just off to the side of a crowd of people at the Jeddah bus terminal.

“Both teams made it safely here,” Kasim said. “We stashed the motorcycles in a dry wash outside of Jeddah and made our way into the city. Skutter, who’s heading the Medina operation, and his team have already boarded a bus for the city. My team and I are waiting for ours now.”