“So was the North Korean president,” Cabrillo noted.

“You have a point,” Halpert said, “but be assured that if this guy has one bad wrinkle, I’ll find it.”

“I’m leaving the ship. Report your findings to Hanley.”

“Yes, sir.”

CABRILLO WALKED DOWN the passageway and up the stairs toward the flight deck.

George Adams was sitting in the pilot’s seat of the Robinson and dressed in a clean khaki-colored flight suit. He had yet to start the engine, and the cockpit was cold. He rubbed his flight gloves together and finished writing in the log attached to a clipboard.

Flicking on the main battery power switch to check status, he looked up as Cabrillo approached and opened the passenger door. Cabrillo took a bag containing weapons, extra clothing, and electronics and another with food and drinks and placed them in the rear. Once these were safely stowed he looked over at Adams.

“You need me to do anything, George?” he asked.

“No, Chief,” Adams said, “everything’s already taken care of. I have a weather report, a flight plan, and the waypoints are logged into the GPS. If you want to climb in and strap on a seat belt, I’ll get this show on the road.”

Over the years that Adams had worked for the Corporation, Cabrillo had never ceased to be amazed by the helicopter pilot’s efficiency. Adams never complained and never got excited. Cabrillo had flown through some rough conditions with the man, but other than some glib casual comments, Adams seemed unflustered and without fear.

“Sometimes I wish I could clone you, George,” Cabrillo said as he climbed in and fastened the seat belt.

“Why, boss,” Adams said, glancing up from the instruments, “then I’d only have half as much fun.”

Reaching down, Adams twisted the key and the piston engine turned over and settled into an idle. Adams watched the gauges until the engine reached operating temperatures, then radioed the pilothouse.

“Are we into the wind?”

“Affirmative,” the reply came.

Then with a smooth motion he raised the collective and the helicopter lifted from the deck. The Oregoncontinued steaming until the helicopter was clear. Then Adams accelerated and passed alongside the ship. A couple of minutes later the Oregonwas fading behind them in the distance. Now only clouds and the black sea filled the windshield.

“THAT’S WHAT WE have so far, Mr. Prime Minister,” the president said.

“I’ll raise the alert status,” the prime minister replied, “and release a cover story to the press that the reason is that we believe a shipment of Ricin poison is loose. That way the terrorists continue with their plans.”

“Hopefully we can wrap this up soon,” the president said.

“I’ll alert MI5 and MI6 to coordinate efforts with your people. However, once the meteorite reaches British soil, we’re going to need to take over.”

“I understand,” the president said.

“Then good luck,” the prime minister said.

“Good luck to you.”

TRUITT STARED AT the side window of the Gulfstream as it streaked across the sky at over five hundred miles an hour. Far below, the coast of Spain sat glowing in the sunlight. Rising from his seat, he walked forward and knocked on the cockpit door.

“Come on in,” Chuck “Tiny” Gunderson said.

Truitt opened the door. Gunderson was piloting and Tracy Pilston was in the copilot’s seat. “How’s it going up here?” he asked.

“Here’s the score,” Pilston said. “Tiny has eaten a turkey on rye, an entire bag of M&M’s and half a can of smoked almonds. I’d keep my hands away from his mouth if I were you.”

“There are two things that make me hungry,” Gunderson offered. “Flying is one of them, and you know the other one.”

“Salmon fishing?” Truitt offered.

“That too,” Gunderson agreed.

“Dirt biking?” Pilston said.

“That too,” Gunderson agreed.

“It’s probably easier to find out what doesn’t make you hungry,” Truitt said.

“Sleeping,” Gunderson said, slumping over and faking a nap.

“What did you need, Mr. Truitt?” Pilston asked as Gunderson continued to pretend he was asleep. The Gulfstream flew along untended.

“I was just curious if we were landing at Gatwick or Heathrow.”

“Our last orders were Heathrow,” Pilston said.

“Thanks,” Truitt said as he turned to leave.

“Can you do me a favor?” Pilston asked.

“Sure,” Truitt said, turning around.

“Order Tiny to let me fly, he always hogs the controls.”

Gunderson’s mouth barely opened as he spoke. “It’s on autopilot.”

“Play nice, kids,” Truitt said, walking away.

“I’ll give you a Snickers if you let me fly,” Pilston offered.

“Shoot, woman,” Gunderson said, “why didn’t you say so?”

24

A WIND INFUSEDwith a fine powdery dust blew from east to west, coating all in its path with grit. Dust in Saudi Arabia was as constant as the tides in the ocean. Cool temperatures like today, however, were as infrequent as steaks at a Hindu wedding.

Saud Al-Sheik stared at the empty expanse of the giant stadium in Mecca.

Saudi Arabia was blessed with huge reserves of oil, fine hospitals and schools, and Islam’s holiest site, Mecca. It is recommended that devout Muslims make the pilgrimage to Mecca, or hajj, at least once in their life as a statement of faith. Each year, thousands of the faithful converge, usually in early January, with most also taking a trip to nearby Medina, where the prophet Muhammad is buried.

The influx of so many pilgrims in so short a span of time is a logistical nightmare. Housing, feeding, caring for the sick and injured, and providing security for the masses is both mind-boggling and expensive.

Saudi Arabia bears the costs of the pilgrims visiting as well as the public scrutiny if something goes wrong.

With U.S. and British forces occupying both Iraq and Afghanistan, the simmering hatred for the West that permeated the region was a powder keg ready to explode. Security this year at Mecca would be tight and unyielding. Fundamentalist Muslims wanted the West crushed and wiped from the planet like a plague.

The hatred was mirrored by the Western world, which after 9/11 and numerous terrorist scares and attacks had lost all patience with the fundamentalist message. If one more attack was to occur with Saudi nationals involved, most citizens in the United States would advocate an occupation of the oil-rich country. The lines in the Western world had become more defined as of late. There were two kinds of people in the world—friend or foe. Friendship was rewarded—enemies should be eradicated.

Amid all this tension, hatred, violence, and anger, everything needed to be in place for a safe and successful hajj, which was due to start on January 10.

There was less than two weeks to accomplish all the necessary preparations.

SAUD AL-SHEIK STUDIED a stack of documents on his clipboard. There were still a thousand and one details, and the time of pilgrimage was quickly drawing near. His latest problem had just cropped up—the new prayer rugs he had ordered from England. They were not finished yet and the mill had just changed hands.

That, combined with the fact that England was not exactly held in esteem by his people because of the UK’s support of the United States in the occupation of Iraq, was creating a hassle. Al-Sheik wondered if a bribe to the mill was in order. He’d pay them extra to complete the order and then run them through a broker in Paris to disguise their country of origin.

That would take care of both problems at once.

Pleased with his idea, he took a sip of tea and reached for his cell phone to place the call.