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JEFF PORTE GATHERED up the items he was taking from Hickman’s office and stared at the head of security. “Our warrant gives us the right to any and all items we determine might be of value.”
The large manila folder in Porte’s hand contained documents, the dog tags and a few stray hairs he’d found on the desk.
“I understand, Jeff,” the head of security said.
“Two of my men will remain here,” Porte said, “in case we need anything else.”
The security chief nodded.
Porte headed for the door and walked down the hall toward the living room, where his two detectives were waiting.
“No one in or out,” Porte said, “unless I okay it.”
Walking from the penthouse, Porte rode down in the elevator, exited the lobby and climbed into his car. As soon as he returned to the Las Vegas Police Department he copied the dog tags and the other documents, then faxed them to the CIA.
As soon as Overholt received
them he forwarded them on to the Oregon.
HANLEY WAS READING the stack of papers when Halpert entered the control room.
“Mr. Hanley,” he said, “I have my report.”
Hanley nodded and handed him the papers Overholt had sent. Halpert read them, then handed them back.
“This confirms my findings,” Halpert said. “I found Hunt’s birth certificate. His mother, Michelle, did not list the father but I managed to access the old hospital records and learned that the bill had been paid by one of Hickman’s companies. There’s no doubt now that Hunt was Hickman’s son.”
“So what does that have to do with the meteorite?” Hanley asked.
“Look at this,” Halpert said, handing Hanley a file.
“Hunt was killed by the Taliban in Afghanistan,” Hanley said after he had finished reading.
“Right after that, Hickman started exhibiting strange behavior,” Halpert said, reading from his notes.
“So he blames the Arab world for the death of his only son,” Hanley said.
“So how did he come to fund the expedition to Greenland?” Stone asked.
“Apparently, since the death of his son, Hickman has funded numerous archaeological departments across the country. Ackerman’s expedition for UNLV was one of several slated for the year. The primary one was an expedition to Saudi Arabia by a scholar who is trying to discredit the legend of Muhammad as a myth. Ackerman’s was outside that realm but he received funds anyway. I think that the recovery of the meteorite was just a stroke of luck.”
“So Hickman decided at first to use history to attack the Arab world,” Hanley said slowly, “then, as if from the gods themselves, the meteorite drops in his lap.”
“But that has nothing to do with Islam or Muhammad,” Stone noted.
Halpert nodded. “At that point I think Hickman decided more direct retribution was needed. I found records he pulled up on his computer dated right after Ackerman’s finding. They explain the radioactive nature of iridium and the dangers it poses.”
“So he decides to grab the meteorite and then what,” Hanley said slowly, “combine it with an existing warhead and bomb some Arab country?”
“That’s what has taken me so long,” Halpert admitted. “At first I was following that same train of thought—that the meteorite was to be used somehow in a nuclear fashion. That was a dead end—there is simply nothing to tie him to the Ukrainian nuclear device or any other—so I started to branch out in my thinking.”
“Radioactive dust?” Hanley asked.
“That’s the only other logical use,” Halpert said.
“What else have you found?”
“I found records that Hickman just purchased a textile mill in England, near the town of Maidenhead.”
