Shepherd One (16 page)

The plane took a jolt from an air pocket before resettling. 

“You will die,” Hakam stated with apathy. “And so will I. But
what better way to serve as a symbol to a dying religion while another rises
for all to inherit without condemnation: one law, one religion, one God.” 

“Your God is the same as mine,” said Pius, prompting Hakam
to face him. “Your God, my God, the God of the Jews, the God of Islam. We
are
all His children no matter how differently we perceive him. There is already
that one God you speak of—the God of many faces but only one voice. And what
you speak of is intolerance. And intolerance is the plague of man, which you
seem to be infected with.”

Hakam turned away. “Intolerance paves the way to Oneness.”

“Intolerance paves the way to insanity. If you get your way
of one god and one religion, then you’ll always find something else to forbid.
Perhaps it would be the way a man wears his beard or the way he dresses. In
time the rules become such a stranglehold on the masses that He would be viewed
as an unmerciful God who could never be pacified. The people would then turn
and look for a more benevolent God, which will put you back right where you
started from—with several gods and several religions.”

“Allah would not allow that,” he said. “Once the people see
Allah’s ways, then they will accept no other.”

Pius eased back into his seat disturbed by this man who was
blinded by irrationality and bipolar in his reasoning. This man of calmness was
totally corrupted by fanaticism, leaving the shell of a person who appeared
visibly sound but fundamentally insane. 

For an awkward moment neither man spoke. They simply stared
at the wall before them, the plane riding flat pockets of air like a
mini-roller coaster before leveling off.

“Your Knight will not save you,” Hakam finally said. “And
that is the will and power of Allah, the will and power of the one true God.”

“I wouldn’t cut my man too short,” he countered.

Hakam proffered a lazy smile. “Oh, but I can,” he said.
“Because there isn’t anything he can do with what’s in the hold.” Hakam stood
with a cherubic smile on his face. “If you wish to pray to your God,” he said,
“you may do so.” 

And then he was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Raven Rock (Presidential Bunker)

The cavern beneath Raven Rock had
become increasingly active, the list of investigating principals growing. The
Director of the FBI had been flown in to navigate his troops from the same
vantage point as the president and the attorney general. Aides, secretaries and
political staffers had been repositioned from their White House posts to the Raven
Rock Underground, their roles to amass data from varying intel sources and
submit them to the principals as corroborated information. House and senatorial
giants now filled the once vacant seats surrounding the presidential table. And
space was beginning to run thin as people milled about the cavern. The proverb
‘beehive of activity’ could not have been more appropriate with the generators
putting out a waspy hum.

President Burroughs was tired and haggard, the gray half
moons beneath his eyes more obvious, darker, the lines surrounding them more
pronounced. For several hours he had gone without sleep, his world sometimes
going fuzzy with fatigue, forcing him topside to walk the compound, only to
return hardly refreshed.

So far he had nothing. The Muslim Revolutionary Front was
not on anybody’s radar and did not exist by any conventional means to find
them. If a shadow group were ever present, they were it. 

“Mr. President.”

Burroughs looked up from a stack of documents. His attorney
general had just been given a detailed message from Homeland Security and the
FBI’s Los Angeles field office regarding the discovery of Shepherd One’s entire
flight crew found dead. 

“Shepherd One?”

Dean Hamilton expounded. “Shepherd One is the pope’s plane,”
he said. “Apparently the crew had been murdered. And preliminary reports
suggest the victims were strangulated in similar fashion.” 

President Burroughs appeared lost, not quite sure why his
attorney general made such a reference in light of the current situation. The
connection escaped him.

“Shepherd One took off less than an hour ago with a full
crew,” said Hamilton. “And this has been confirmed by LAX Admin.”

Burroughs eased back into his seat. “You just said the crew
was found dead.”

Hamilton nodded. “What I’m suggesting, Mr. President—what
Homeland Security seems to be alluding to—is the possibility that Shepherd One
has been commandeered.”

The corners of the president’s eyes brows dipped sharply
over the bridge of his nose. “By whom?”

“We’re not sure at this point,” he said. “All we know is
that the pilot registered his team with TSA officials prior to takeoff.”

“And how is that possible, Dean, when his team is lying
dead?”

“That is the question, sir, isn’t it?”

“Well, here’s another question.” The president leaned
forward and spoke in a manner of discontent, his inflection vacillating between
anger and dissatisfaction as he spoke. “How in the hell would something like
that be possible, since the airports are supposed to be battened down? Can you
tell me that?”

Hamilton flushed. “Mr. President, from what I’m being told,
Shepherd One is considered a noncommercial flight with zero risk since it is,
after all, the pope. And because of said classification, the crew is exonerated
from all security measures since TSA needs to concentrate their agents exclusively
with the general population.”

President Burroughs appeared infuriated, the sudden
enlightenment of dark truth striking a blow to his face before he settled into
a sullen calm. “So what do we have?” he said. “We have a dead crew on the
ground, a surrogate crew in the air, and nobody’s the wiser.”

 Chief National Security Advisor Alan Thornton clasped his
hands before him on a stack of manila folders. Like his counterparts he
appeared exhausted and his clothes held the wrinkled markings of an unmade bed.
“Mr. President, we both know the pieces of the puzzle are starting to come
together to create a vague picture. I believe we have to assume that Hakam and
his team maybe on that plane. As Dean just said, the crew of Shepherd One would
have no reason to raise suspicion of harmful intent until it was too late.”

The president looked at the myriad of plasma screens. The
cavern was littered with them. “How sure are we on this before we jump to
conclusions?” he asked.

“We don’t have confirmation, as of yet,” said the attorney
general. “But the anomaly of the situation is this: the pilot always flies with
the same crew. Sometimes he’ll rotate with a second crew, but we’ve confirmed
them to be in Italy, which leaves no one else on the approved roster to staff
Shepherd One. So why would the pilot log in a team not authorized to board the
plane?”  

“Because he was under duress,” said Burroughs.

“Exactly. We’ve also received word that the pilot’s family
is missing. Schools, relatives—nobody’s seen or heard from them in days.”

Thornton poured himself some water; Hamilton’s words still
hanging in the air as he took a swallow, then lowered the glass. “If I may, Mr.
President.”

“Yeah, Al, go ahead.”

“Confirmation or not, the anomaly is too great to shelve.
The terrorists crossed over from the Mexican border while the pope was
finalizing the Papal Symposiums in L.A. They very well could have made it,
given the timeframe.”

“I agree,” he said. “In fact, I would say it’s highly
probable. And if that’s so, then Hakam also possesses the most highly
recognized iconic religious figure on board that jet.”

“Which compounds the problem,” said Thornton.

The president shook his head in disgust. “If the weapons are
on board, then how do we neutralize the situation?”

Hamilton offered the obvious, which was not disputed
vehemently. “We would have to terminate the jet’s trajectory,” he said, “before
Hakam has a chance to direct it over a populated area.”

“Problem is there would be worldwide repercussions if we go
in and knock Shepherd One out of the sky. Religion runs deep and actions can be
unforgiving when it comes to killing a sacred figure.”

“The world will understand,” said Senator Wyman, the
Majority Leader. “We’ll have to restructure the truth and make it appear as an
aviation accident.”

“And how will we explain the corresponding nuclear blast
after we do?” asked Thornton.

Wyman remained quiet thereafter. But the truth remained,
however, that the senator was accurate in his statement. What he proposed was a
solution of necessity, deceptive or otherwise. The people of the United States could never fall victim to a nuclear blast, killing perhaps tens of
thousands.

 “What’s its current trajectory?” the president asked.

“It’s Dulles, Sir.”

“Was that its assigned designation?”

“Yes, sir. It’s to be a refueling stop before heading back
to Rome.”

The president stared at the throng of people milling about.
Everything made sense, he thought—Hakam’s destination all along was to decimate
the highest political seat in the land. And he was going to do it by putting
the American government in an impossible position. Shepherd One was not only a
weapon in motion, it was also the perfect shield.

Burroughs hesitated, thinking, his mind processing the facts
and assumptions of the issue at hand. And then, “I want to know who’s on that
plane,” he stated firmly. “And I want to know yesterday.”

“We’re working that as we speak,” said Dean.

“Do we have their position?”

Thornton nodded. “I can do one better.” On one of the giant
plasma screens was the GPS trajectory of Shepherd One from its starting point
of LAX and nearing Las Vegas on its eastward curve. “This will pinpoint their
exact location throughout the flight,” he said.

The President, his team, everyone at the table stared at the
monitor.

“What do we have by way of the nearest Air Force Base?”
asked Burroughs.

“That would be Nellis in Las Vegas,” answered Dean. “We can
have fighters intercept them ASAP.”

“Do it.”

#

“Dr. Simone.”

Simone leaned over the aluminum case in careful examination
with the loupe over his eye. “Yes.”

The voice was coming over the speakers. “The president’s
coming through the pipe.”

“Thank you.”

After a series of clicks, a voice that was highly
recognizable. “Ray.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“We may have come to a theory as to the reason why the
altimeter is attached to the device.”

“I’m listening.”

“There’s a likely scenario brewing in which we believe the
pope’s plane may have been commandeered by a terrorist faction,” he said. “It’s
a possibility that the weapons are on board. But we’re trying to verify this as
we speak.” The voice sounded hollow due to poor acoustics.

Now things were beginning to factor for Simone.

“You there, Ray?”

“Yes, Mr. President. It still doesn’t answer the question
about its function or purpose.”

“I understand that. What I’m suggesting is can you find the
answer within the altimeter itself?”

“I have just initiated a task at hand,” he told him. “I’m
about to power a precision laser beam allowing me access to the altimeter, so
that I can mine it for its current programmed status.”

“How long will it take?”

“As long as it takes, Mr. President, but I promise you I’ll
have an answer.”

“Time is of the essence, Ray. If those weapons are on
Shepherd One, then decisions have to be made long before they reach their
destination.”

“I understand, Mr. President.”

“Try to hurry, Ray. We’re running out of time.”

Dr. Simone returned the loupe and began to power up the
laser.

#

Kimball tried the
elevator.
As expected it had become dead weight, the cables and power grid cut. The cab
itself a useless weighted box with no escape hatches.

That left the fore of the plane where the terrorists
entered. But it left Kimball little choice as he pressed forward.

The plane flew on an even blanket of air with some minor
disturbances of turbulence. But overall the ride was smooth and stable, which
made his footing easier as he made his way to the trapdoor.

Through the hatch he could hear muffled tones in Arabic.
Then, gently placing his hands against the door, he could feel movement from
above. They were right over him. And most likely they were not about to
surrender the one viable entry point on the plane. Kimball was positive they
knew this as well, disempowering him from leaving the lower level. They wisely
thought it prudent to keep him sequestered.

Quietly, as he moved away from the door, he ventured forward
to the head of the plane, but was stopped by a wall as the fuselage began to gently
taper off into the nose section. Apparently he was close to the cockpit, if not
already under it. Then, in semi-darkness, he ran his fingers over the wall
before finding a seam. A door, more like a hatch, but locked. With the point of
his knife he worked the edges, the material flimsy as it bent back, but enough
for him to hook his fingers around, and pulled.

The hatch gave little resistance as it pulled free from the
wall. But the entryway was too small for him to work his shoulders through.
Going in feet first, Kimball was able to maneuver the lower portion of his body
inside without difficulty. The setback came when he tried to force his
shoulders though as anticipated, but was able to work his way inside the plane’s
nose with maximum effort.

The surrounding walls blinked intermittently as the
computers of Shepherd One became a spectacle of dazzling lights that winked in display,
as they covered the entire rounded wall.

He had found the Avionics Room.

Here was the nerve center of the plane and Kimball knew it.
How to utilize it to his advantage, however, remained to be the question.

The one thing he did know about the Avionics Room was that
it served as a diagnostics center with dozens of systems constantly
communicating to other systems outside the plane, this current evolution of
technology making the Black Box a secondary tool.

He grazed his fingers over the bulbs, over the computer
ports allowing the connection of alternative devices like laptops to perform
diagnostic down- or uploads. Above him, light emitted from the edges of a
latching plate that was small and, when opened, allowed nothing more than his
hand to cross over into the room above. It was an access plate that divided the
cockpit from the Avionics Room, and allowed communication between the
diagnostic engineers as they inspected the concurrent readings from the pilot’s
panel with the Avionics panel, making sure the readings were properly in sync
with one another—above and below.

Kimball pulled back on the latches, loosening the plate.
After he released the handles he lifted the small cover, giving him a view of
the cockpit ceiling.

Now he had a way to contact Enzio. 

For a moment he waited and wondered if Enzio was alone, or
if Hakam was somewhere close by. Letting several minutes pass by without
hearing anything, Kimball took the initiative.

“Enzio,” he whispered. “Enzio Pastore.” 

#

Ray Simone had
gauged the
right coordinates to cut and tap into the programming conduit of the altimeter
to the CPU. It had taken a lot of time and mental effort to draw a safe
conclusion to breach the outer lining without disrupting the laser grid. So
with precision guided measurements, Simone directed a laser cut along the
exterior of the unit’s shell by cutting a perfect rectangular hole with the use
of a highly concentrated laser beam, which ultimately gave him entry to the
altimeter’s In-Out ports. Although he was left with little space to work with,
Simone was able to connect a lead wire from the altimeter’s port to the
facility’s mainframe.