The Ark - Страница 3

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Getting the bag onto the plane had been even easier than he thought it was going to be. Cutter knew that Crestwood Limos was Hayden’s preferred company, so he had simply called to cancel the reservation and showed up himself.

He knew those celebrity types. They didn’t pay any attention to the staff, never even asked for his name. They simply assumed he was their assigned driver and that all the bags would get on, so they didn’t see him put an extra one on with the others. When that little chump named Fitz had threatened him, Cutter had momentarily entertained the notion of snapping the pissant’s neck, just to show him how unimportant he really was. But then he remembered his mission. The faithful leader’s vision. Everything they had worked for the past three years. Getting the bag on the plane was far more important.

It had been Cutter’s suggestion to test the device on Hayden’s plane. A long distance flight over water was exactly what they needed. The wreckage would be three miles deep, so the plane wouldn’t be recovered even if it were found. Plus, it had the added bonus of Hayden. He had been a thorn in their sides for months, bringing undue attention to the cause. And the press would go into a feeding frenzy when the plane of one of the world’s biggest stars crashed, providing the perfect distraction.

Bringing the device onto a commercial airliner for the test would have been much riskier. As checked baggage, it would have been out of his control for most of the time, during which too many things could go wrong. The device could be discovered, or it could simply be left off the plane for some reason and put onto another plane. Not to mention that whoever traveled with the bag would have to go with it; for security reasons, airlines regularly removed bags when the passenger was not on board. With Hayden’s plane, Cutter had seen the bag go into the cargo hold himself, and now he could watch it take off, with him standing safely to the side.

The tower gave permission for Hayden’s 737 to taxi to the runway. Right on time, as Cutter knew it would be. If it hadn’t, Hayden would have gone berserk. Guys like that thought the world revolved around them.

Now was the time. He opened his cell phone and navigated the address book until he found the entry he had programmed in: New World. He pressed the green call button. After three rings, a click of the other phone answering. Then a series of three beeps told him the device in the belly of Hayden’s jet was activated. He hung up the phone and replaced it in his pocket.

The 737 came to a stop at the end of the runway. On the scanner, Cutter listened for the tower to give permission to take off.

“Flight N-348 Zulu, this is Burbank tower. Hold short of the active and await further clearance.”

“Acknowledged, tower. What’s the problem?”

“We’ve got a fuel spill on the runway. Leaking truck.”

“How long? My boss isn’t going to like a long wait.”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Should I head back to the ramp?”

“Not yet. I’ll keep you informed.”

“Gotcha.”

Cutter stared at the idling 737 in horrified disbelief, kicking himself for activating the device before permission to take off was given. A lengthy delay could be a disaster. The weather was perfect, so he hadn’t anticipated a delay. Now that the device was active, there was no way to turn it off. It was already working. If the plane returned to the ramp, he would have to get the device back somehow. That would be extremely problematic, not to mention dangerous. It was already too lethal to interact with. As the plane sat there, he was helpless. So he did the only thing he could. He prayed.

Cutter leaned on the wheel, his eyes shut tight, his hands clasped together, praying with all his heart that his mission would go on. God would not forsake him. His faith would overcome.

His entire life, Cutter knew he was destined to serve a greater purpose, and he was willing to lay down his life to attain it, as all his brethren were. It was only after he left the Army, where he had gained the skills necessary to carry out God’s plan, that he learned what that greater purpose was, and he had pledged himself to it without reservation. The acts he had committed to ensure a better future might be seen as barbaric to those who did not believe, but his soul was pure. The end goal was all that mattered.

Now that goal seemed as if it were in danger, but Cutter had no doubts. He was a fervent believer. His prayers would be answered.

After 40 minutes of waiting, the miracle arrived. The radio squawked to life.

“Flight N-348 Zulu, this is the tower. The fuel spill has been cleaned up. You are cleared for takeoff.”

“Thank you, tower. You just saved my job.”

“No problem, George. Enjoy Sydney.”

Within two minutes, the jet roared down the runway. As he watched the 737 soar over the mountains and turn westward, Cutter closed the hood and got back in the Hummer. For the first time that day, he smiled.

God was with him.

THREE

Wind whipped over the landing pad of the Scotia One oil platform, blowing the windsock steadily toward the east. Located 200 miles off the coast of Newfoundland, the Grand Banks were known for some of the world’s nastiest weather, but the 30 mile-per-hour winds and 15-foot seas hardly qualified as gale force. Just a typical day. Tyler Locke was curious to find out who was willing to brave the trip to meet with him.

He leaned against the railing, searching for the Sikorsky transport helicopter due to arrive any minute. No sign of it. Locke zipped up his bomber jacket against the cold and inhaled the smell of salt spray and crude oil that permeated the rig.

He’d had almost no downtime since he arrived on the platform six days ago, so the brief moment staring out at the vast Atlantic Ocean was a welcome rest. A few minutes were all he needed, and then he’d be recharged. He wasn’t the type who could lie in front of the TV all day watching movies. He loved immersing himself in a project, working nonstop until the problem was solved. His need to stay busy was a product of the work ethic his father had drilled into him. It was the one thing his wife, Karen, never could change about him. Next year, he always told her. Next year is the big vacation.

He was lost in thought, the old regret rearing its ugly head, and he absently reached to fiddle with his wedding ring. Only when he felt bare skin did he glance down and remember that it was no longer there. He quickly pulled his hands apart and looked back up to see one of the landing control crewmen, a short, wiry man named Al Dietz, walking toward him. At six feet two inches tall and a solid build somewhere north of 200 pounds last time he checked, Locke towered over the diminutive rig worker.

“Afternoon, Tyler,” Dietz said over the wind. “Come to see the chopper land?”

“Hi, Al,” Locke said. “I’m expecting someone. Do you know if Dilara Kenner is aboard?”

Dietz shook his head. “Sorry. All I know is that they have five passengers today. If you want, you can go wait inside, and I’ll bring her down to you when they get here.”

“That’s okay. My last job was on a mine collapse in West Virginia. After a week of breathing coal dust, it could be forty below and I wouldn’t mind being out here. Besides, she was kind enough to make the flight to see me, so I’m returning the favor by meeting her here.”

“You should see them in a minute. You know, if she didn’t make this flight, she’s in for a delay. We’re supposed to be socked in for at least 24 hours.” Dietz waved as he left to make preparations for the landing.

Locke had heard the weather forecast, so he knew what Dietz meant. In the next hour, the wind was expected to die down and fog would roll in, making a landing impossible until it cleared. He saw the cloud formation approaching from the west, and just beneath it about five miles away, a yacht slowly motored past. White, at least 80 feet long. A beauty. Probably a Lurssen or a Westport. Why it would be in the middle of the Grand Banks, Locke couldn’t guess, but it wasn’t in any hurry.

He also had no idea why an archaeologist was so impatient to meet with him that she was willing to fly out here. She’d repeatedly called Gordian’s headquarters over the last few days, and when Locke took a break from his work on the platform, he’d returned her call. All he could get out of her was that she was a professor at UCLA, and she had to see him right away.

When he told her that he was going straight from Scotia One to a job in Norway, she’d insisted on seeing him before he left. The only way that would happen, he told her jokingly, would be if she took the two-hour flight out to the rig. To his surprise, she jumped at the chance and agreed to the trip, even willing to pay the exorbitant fee for the helicopter ride. When he asked why, all she would say over the phone was that it was a matter of life and death. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was just the kind of mysterious distraction that could spice up an otherwise routine assignment, so he finally relented and arranged for the rig’s manager to clear her for a visit.

To be sure Dilara wasn’t yanking his chain, Locke checked her credentials out on UCLA’s web site and found the picture of a beautiful ebony-haired woman in her mid-thirties. She had high cheekbones, striking brown eyes, and an easy smile. Her photo gave Locke the impression of intelligence and competence. He made the mistake of showing it to Grant Westfield, his best friend and his current project’s electrical engineering expert. Grant had immediately made some less-than-gentlemanly suggestions as to why Locke should meet with her. Locke didn’t reply, but he had to admit her looks added to the intrigue.