Kangerlussuaq featured a six-thousand-foot-long paved runway that

could handle large jets and was often used as a refueling station for cargo

flights bound for Europe and beyond. The airport was nearly four hundred

miles from Mount Forel but was the closest facility with a runway

long enough to take the Hawker.

Clay Hughes waited while the copilot unlatched the door, then he

rose from his seat. "What are your orders?" Hughes asked.

"We are to wait here until you return," the copilot said, "or receive

a call from the boss telling us to leave."

"How do I reach you?"

The copilot handed Hughes a business card. "Here's the number for

the satellite phone the pilot carries. Just call us and give us a half hour or

so to prepare."

48 CLIVE CUSSLER

"Were you told how I'm supposed to get from here to where I'm

going?"

The pilot poked his head out of the cockpit. "There's a man approaching

the front of the plane," he said, motioning toward the windshield.

"My guess is he's here for you."

Hughes placed the business card in the pocket of his parka. "All

right, then."

An icy wind was blowing across the runway, scattering the dry

powdered snow like confetti on a parade route. As Hughes climbed

down the stairway from the Hawker, his eyes immediately began to

tear.

"You must be the party I was hired to fly out to Mount Forel," the

man said, extending his hand. "My name is Mike Neilsen."

Hughes gave Neilsen a fake name, then stared overhead. "Are you

ready to leave?"

"We can't leave until morning," Neilsen said. "Two rooms were

arranged at the hotel for you and the pilots. We can leave at first lightprovided

the weather breaks."

The men started walking toward the terminal. "Do you have enough

range to fly directly to Mount Forel from here?" Hughes asked.

"I have a range of six hundred miles in still air," Neilsen told him.

"However, for safety I think we should refuel in Tasiilaq before we attempt

the mountain."

They reached the terminal building, and Neilsen opened the door

then motioned for Hughes to enter. Neilsen steered Hughes toward a desk

where a lone Inuit sat at an ordinary-looking metal desk. His mukluks

were atop the desk, and he was sleeping.

"Isnik," Neilsen said to the dozing man, "time to work."

The man opened,his eyes and stared at the two men in front of him.

"Hey, Mike," he said easily. "Passport, please," he said to Hughes.

Hughes handed the official a U.S. passport bearing a false name but

his actual picture. Isnik barely glanced at the document then stamped

the entry.

"Purpose of visit?" he asked.

"Scientific research," Hughes answered.

SACRED STONE 49

"I guess no one comes here for the weather, right?" Isnik said as he

made a notation on a slip of paper on a clipboard on his desk.

"Can you ask the pilots to walk over to the hotel after they are