Sacred Stone (Oregon Files 2)

“Thanks for agreeing to help,” Dwyer said.

“Shoot,” the man said, “you don’t turn down a request from the President of the United States. I’m glad to be able to help.”

The man walked back to his pickup, reached into the bed and removed a few hand tools and a bucket, then handed Dwyer a shovel. Then he pointed over to the rim.

“I think what you’re looking for is right over there.”

Climbing over the ridge of spoil that rimmed the crater, the two men headed down the side twenty yards. The temperature grew hotter as they descended.

The man in the cowboy hat stopped. “This is the far edge of the crater,” he noted, wiping his brow with a bandana. “It’s always yielded the biggest chunks for me.”

Dwyer glanced around, located a likely spot, and began digging with the shovel.

AT THE SAME time that Dwyer started digging in Arizona, on the Oregon, in the sea off of Iceland, it was decidedly colder. Belowdecks in his office, Michael Halpert was staring at a printout from his computer. Halpert had been hard at work for hours, and his eyes were burning from staring at the computer screen. Punching commands into the keyboard, Halpert brought up the mission file and stared at Cabrillo’s notes again.

Glancing at the printout again, he gathered his notes and walked to the control room.

“Richard,” Hanley was saying as Halpert walked into the room, “have the Gulfstream fueled and ready. I’ll call you as soon as we need you.”

Hanging up the phone, Hanley turned to Halpert. “I take it you found something?”

Halpert handed Hanley the document and he read it quickly. “It might be significant,” Hanley said slowly, “and it might not. That is a large sum that Hickman donated to the university, but he might have a habit of bequests like that.”

“I checked,” Halpert said, “he does. And they are all archaeologically based.”

“Interesting,” Hanley said.

“Plus what the archaeologist said when he was dying,” Halpert added, “he bought and paid for the university.”

“I see what you’re getting at,” Hanley said, “plus, I thought it odd that Ackerman e-mailed Hickman first. He never even bothered to contact his department head with news of the find.”

“Maybe Hickman and Ackerman put that together,” Halpert said, “so Ackerman could be sure he grabbed the glory if anything was found—not his boss at the university.”

“That doesn’t explain how Hickman could be sure Ackerman would even find something,” Hanley said, “or the chance that it would turn out to be a meteorite that was composed of iridium.”

“Maybe Hickman’s involvement was altruistic at the beginning,” Halpert said slowly. “Ackerman makes his pitch and Hickman has an interest in Eric the Red so he decides to fund the expedition. Then, when the meteorite is discovered, he sees some opportunity.”

“We don’t even know Hickman is involved,” Hanley said, “but if he is, what opportunity could make a rich man kill and risk all he has?”

“It’s always one of two things,” Halpert said, “love or money.”

THE OUTLINE OF the Faeroe Islands was just coming into view through the haze when Hanley reached Cabrillo in the helicopter and explained what Halpert had discovered.

“Damn,” said Cabrillo, “that’s a twist out of left field. What are your thoughts?”

“I say we go with it,” Hanley told him.

The islands started growing in size in the windshield.

“Has Dick arrived in London?” Cabrillo asked.

“I just spoke to him a few minutes ago,” Hanley said. “The jet was being refueled, then he was going to a hotel in London to wait for our call.”

“And the Challenger is standing by in Aberdeen?”

“On the ground,” Hanley said, “fueled and waiting.”

“Then call Truitt and his crew and tell them we need to have them fly to Las Vegas to see what they can find out about Hickman.”