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“While your team was working the bomb, Halpert dug up more information tying the meteorite to Halifax Hickman. We now believe that because his son was killed by the Taliban in Afghanistan, he’s planning to strike at the entire Islamic religion. He recently purchased a mill to the west of London that is filling an order for prayer rugs to be used during the hajj,” Hanley said.
“Refresh my memory,” Cabrillo asked, “the hajj is the pilgrimage to Mecca, right?”
“That’s correct,” Hanley said, “this year it falls on the tenth.”
“So we have plenty of time to shut down his operation.”
“That might have been the case,” Hanley said, “but a lot happened today while you were tied up in London.”
Hanley recounted what Overholt had explained about the tests on the meteorite fragments. Then he recapped all Halpert had discovered.
“Where are we at right now?” Cabrillo asked.
“I’ve dispatched Halpert and three others to the mill,” Hanley explained. “It’s in the town of Maidenhead.”
“And the bugs on the meteorite?” Cabrillo asked.
“They show that it is still in the general area at the moment.”
“So if Hickman does something to disturb the integrity of the orb, we could have a worse situation than from the nuke,” Cabrillo said.
“Stone checked with some sources and discovered there’s no machine in a standard textile mill that’s strong enough to crush or grind iridium,” Hanley said. “If that is Hickman’s plan, he must have some way to achieve that goal at, or nearby, the mill.”
Cabrillo was silent for a second.
“Halpert is going to need some help,” Cabrillo said. “I’m leaving Seng and Meadows here—they’ve been coordinating with MI5 on the operation and they can handle the mop-up and cover-up of our involvement.”
Hanley was writing notes on a pad. “Got it,” he said. “What about the rest of you?”
“Call Adams and have the Robinson at the heliport across the river in half an hour,” Cabrillo ordered, “and tell Halpert we’re coming.”
“Consider it done,” Hanley said as the telephone went dead.
“THE CORPORATION STOPPED the bomb, Mr. President,” Overholt reported. “It’s in the hands of British intelligence.”
“Good job,” the president said heartily, “offer them my heartfelt congratulations.”
“I’ll do that, sir,” Overholt said, “but there is another problem you need to be aware of.”
“What’s that?” the president asked.
Overholt explained about the tests done with the meteorite samples.
“That’s not good,” the president said. “It could be easily argued the meteorite got in the wrong hands as a result of a CIA screwup.”
“I need you to do me a favor then,” Overholt said. “We need to take the mother of Hickman’s son secretly into custody—no warrants, no lawyers.”
“Suspend her rights under the Patriot Act?” the president asked.
“That’s it, sir,” Overholt said.
The president thought for a moment. As much as he wanted this over, snatching U.S. citizens from their homes or businesses without explanation always smacked of dictatorship to him. The president only used the power when the threat was great.
“Go ahead, then,” he said at last, “but make the snatch smoothly.”
“Trust me, sir,” Overholt said, “no one will know she’s gone.”
SIX MEN FROM the CIA’s Directorate of Operations surrounded Michelle Hunt’s Beverly Hills home later that same afternoon. As soon as she returned from the gallery after work they grabbed her as she pulled into her garage. By 7 P.M. that same evening she had been taken to Santa Monica Airport and loaded on a government jet bound for London. The plane was just crossing the Colorado River above Arizona when one of the CIA men started to explain the situation. When he finished she spoke.
