Shepherd One (24 page)

The president appeared mystified. “What?”

“I’ve approached this from the wrong angle,” he said.
“Instead of disabling the weapon’s CPU system, why not modify the readings on
the altimeter?”

The president eased forward in his seat. “Can it be done?”

On the screen Simone presented a brash smile. “I’ve already
done it,” he told him. “I brought the readings down to ten feet. And LAX is one
hundred twenty-six glorious feet above sea level.”

“I see,” said the president, falling back. “But how do you
propose to do that, Ray, when the units you need to reconfigure are flying over
LA?”

Simone’s smile abruptly left him. He’d been so enthusiastic
about his discovery that he forgot a way to apply the breakthrough.

“Ray?”

“I would have to send the data to someone on board,” he
said. “And they would have to connect a laptop to the unit. At that point I
would forward the programming that would feed the figures to the altimeter’s
CPU.”

“And who do you propose that be, Ray, since everyone on
board is being held captive? You think maybe a terrorist would oblige us?”

Simone did not like the condescending tone of the
president’s voice, and answered with his own brand of guided annoyance. “Mr.
President, you asked me to find that Achilles’ Heel, which I did. Right now I
have come up with the answer to land Shepherd One at LAX without the
consequences of the nukes going off. If I’ve failed you, then I apologize for
my lack of effort to find the proper solution.”

Burroughs raised his hands, as if conceding. “Listen, Ray, I
didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did, so please don’t take it
personally. Everybody here is in stress mode and even though I appreciate your
efforts, the fact remains that your findings cannot be applied unless someone
on board Shepherd One can do it manually, correct?”

“That’s correct—yes.”

“So tell me, is there another way to alter the readings on
the altimeters?”

“Not unless somebody onboard does it.”

“And there within lies the problem,” said the president. “We
have
no one on board.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

LAX Tower

Attorney General Dean Hamilton
issued a demand to maneuver the Feds into key positions along the United States and Mexico border, as well as locations in California, which included the LAX
Tower.

At the moment Shepherd One was 30,000 feet in the air, a
perceptible dot in the sky, in a constant state of circling. Approaches to
reopen a second round of interaction between the insurgents and the
Commander-in-Chief have proven unsuccessful, with Hakam refusing to open a
channel of communication since the initial exchange was terminated two hours before.

At the top of the glassed-in Control tower, Federal agents
Wilcox and Sanford examined the vacant tarmac knowing the terminals were ready
to combust with angry flyers that had been delayed for an indeterminate period
of time.

That situation, of course, was beyond their control.

The agents were poised as the interceptors of incoming data
that was to remain covert—and act as the disciplinarians if such information
should ever find its way into civilian hands, where they would act accordingly
in the interest of national security by meting out certain courses of action
mandated by President Burroughs.

Sometimes situations had to disappear and be explained away,
even in a democracy. And sometimes particular methods had to be employed to
justify the means.

Around them the console panels inside the Tower blinked
intermittently as voices piped through the intercom systems in aviation terms
the agents did not understand. The phones rang constantly, the room always in
an unremitting drone. In the center of the area where the Com Center was located, faxed documents poured out in chronological order. The delay, depending
upon the number of pages sent, was more than an hour behind.

However, a page not belonging with a certain group of
diagnostic reports surfaced and was caught by a Tower employee, who proffered
the sheet to an agent. It was an intercepted email from Alitalia Airliner 4161,
Shepherd One.

“Are you sure?” the agent asked the Tower employee.

The employee nodded. “Thoroughly,” he said. “All airline
transmissions go through the Avionics dock to the airline com centers. Usually
they’re up-to-the-date diagnostics of the flight in progress—you know,
mechanical, electrical; something to let the airline engineers know if something’s
wrong during the flight. Emails are never personal—not like this. Everything
coming from the Avionics panel is strictly diagnostics charts. Whoever was in
the Avionics Room tapped into one of the ports and redirected the channel by
typing in an address, which appears to belong to the Vatican.”

The agent held the intercepted letter up and gave it a mild
wave in emphasis. “So this was sent by the pilot?”

 The employee shrugged. “I have no idea who sent it,” he
said. “All I know is this: the Avionics Room is a secured zone below the
cockpit. To access the area one would need a key from an airline diagnostics
specialist and not from the pilot since the area is restricted to all personnel
with the exception of the plane’s engineers. If somebody was in that room while
the plane was in flight, then they forced their way in. Whether or not it was
the pilot—I don’t know. But the message has the name Kimball on it.”

“But there’s no doubt that this email was generated from the
Avionics Room of Shepherd One?”

“None,” he stated. “The transmission of the diagnostic
recordings from Shepherd One was interrupted by this message, which can be
confirmed by the time stamp and ISP address on the upper right-hand corner of
the page.” 

The agent reread the email and noted the stamp and address.

“Can I ask you something?” asked the employee.

The agent looked into the man’s brown eyes. “Sure.”

“Are there really nuclear weapons on board that plane? Is
that the reason why the Feds are crawling all over this place?”

From that point on all incoming and outgoing calls were
suspended to employee staff with the phones now manned by federal agents. Though
the Tower staff was not tagged as hostages, their privileges to leave the
facility were suspended for the sake of national security. No one was allowed
to communicate by any means with anyone beyond the airport perimeter. For those
who strongly voiced their disagreements of current conditions were summarily
sequestered.

A lockdown was now in effect. 

After reading the email several times, the agent knew the
president would be pleased to know they had a man on board. So along with the
copy of the passenger list, the federal agent faxed all documents to the
principals at Raven Rock.

#

President Burroughs was
an
emotional pressure cooker by the time Hakam logged on for a second go around.
But he maintained himself after learning from the first exchange.

“Are you ready to act accordingly, Mr. President?”

Burroughs looked at the large viewing screen. There was no
doubt the question was meant to be a source of embarrassment to him as Hakam’s
words resonated throughout the hollow chamber. “You’ve wasted time,” the
president said mildly. “We could have been working toward a solution over the
past couple of hours.”

“There’s plenty of time,” said Hakam. “No doubt you already
know what this plane is capable of—how long we can stay airborne.”

“What do you want?” The question was plain, simple, and
proffered far more gently.

“My demand will be a simple one,” he said. “It’s simply
addition by subtraction.”

The terminology was clear: addition by subtraction meant the
requestor would benefit by the assassination of living obstacles for further
gain.

“You want the American Government to assassinate individuals
for the benefit of your organization?”

“Your policy, Mr. President, is to ‘keep your friends close,
but keep your enemies closer.’ And by that your government has been the
watchdog maintaining close surveillance by illegally tapping the lines of the
Arabic constituency here in the United States, which makes it easier for your
government to access information concerning possible insurgencies regarding
American interests—here and abroad. Therefore, your government has made it
significantly difficult to wage war in your territory.”

“You mean commit acts of terrorism. Say it as it is, Hakam!
It’s terrorism!”

“It’s war, Mr. President.”

The chamber went completely silent. Then: “We do what we do
to preserve the American way of life,” said Burroughs, “and push for the
commitment of peace within our borders. And I will use whatever methods are
available to me to make this happen.”

“I’m not condemning you,” said Hakam. “You’re simply
employing a defensive tactic of war. I can understand that. But now you must
understand that I have to counter your initiative in order to level the playing
field.” 

“Seems to me you have the upper hand at the moment,” said
the president.

“A slight, but temporary advantage,” he returned. “But what
I’m looking for is something long term.”

“And what would that be?”

Hakam appeared to be scanning the faces of those sitting at
the presidential table. “Most of your intelligence comes from Mossad; we know
that—especially from the Political Action and Liaison Department and the
Lohamah Psichlogit.” 

The Political Action and Liaison Department, commonly
referred by Mossad as the PALD, is responsible for conducting political
activities and sustain liaisons with friendly foreign services—such as the CIA—by transmitting data from one agency to another regarding insurgent movement, or to pass on
information to update the terrorist database. The Lohamah Psichlogit Department
was different in the regard that they were responsible for psychological
warfare, propaganda and deception operations. These two departments within
Mossad were the umbilical ties that fed America and kept it safe. 

President Burroughs did not like where this was going.

“There are five people between both departments,” said
Hakam, “who possess enough knowledge within their file and rank to start World
War Three. These people must be eliminated. However, your government and the
Israeli government have made it impossible for us to come close to them to do
the job ourselves. Therefore, we intend to blindside them by using their
strongest ally against them.”

“You really expect us to go after top-ranking officials
within Mossad?”

“If you don’t, then consider the alternative of not
complying with my wish, which is the annihilation of the Los Angeles area.”

I will make my enemies destroy each other from within
,
the president quickly considered. That was their ploy. “And what makes you
think I’m going to take you at face value?” he asked, his voice once again
taking on an edge. “You may still detonate that device after we comply with
your demand.”

“Then we negotiate,” he simply said. “For now I will give
you a single target—a female, approximately thirty-eight years of age and a
high-ranking member of the Lohamah Psichlogit, who is passing herself off to
your government as an Israeli attaché when, in fact, she is working covertly
for the LP Division to garner certain information from your intelligence base for
Mossad’s personal interest. Interesting how allies spy on each other for their
own benefit, don’t you think?”

President Burroughs turned to his CIA Director Doug Craner
who shrugged and appeared nonplussed. How could an insurgent know about a
possible Mossad agent conducting a covert operation under the noses of its
American liaison? That is, if Hakam was telling the truth.

“She’s been an attaché for years with the Israeli embassy,”
Craner told Hakam, “and nothing more.”

“Then you know who I’m talking about,” Hakam returned. “For
years Imelda Rokach has been gathering information for her country. So I
believe her termination will also prove to be a benefit to you as well. It’s
amazing how good Mossad really is? How they toy and play with
your
intelligence.”

Another dig.

“And how do you know this? How do you know Rokach is who
you
say she is?”

“Simple,” he said. “The death of an attaché is of no
importance to the cause of my group; therefore, it would not benefit our
situation. Her death, however, would. Otherwise, why would I have the American
government assassinate somebody of no importance when I’m in the position to
dictate to you as to who I want dispatched and when?”

“And what would her death achieve?”

“She’s a piece of the puzzle,” Hakam answered. “The five
members I’m talking about control sensitive knowledge not logged into archives
for fear of appropriation. Wipe them out, then you immediately render these
Divisions in Mossad impotent until they are able to gather themselves and
reconnoiter their position. Once Rokach is out of the way, then the second in
command will usurp the position of the first. And that takes time.”

Everybody at the table was quickly mulling this over. The
effect it would have over them, this country, and the American people.

“If we do this,” stated the president, “what do you place on
the table as a bargaining chip?”

Hakam held up the BlackBerry device. “From here I will
disable one of the weapons,” he said.

“And how will I know this?” he asked. “Since you’re thirty
thousand feet in the air?”

 “Once disabled, then we will make a mid-air transfer.
Commit this one assassination, then I will proffer you the disabled weapon as a
gesture of good faith. Kill the other four . . . then I will inform you of the
location of the second for disarmament.”  

“If I kill the other four, which completes the clan of five,
then I have no way of knowing if you will keep your word. And why should you?
The five people you requested to be killed will be a done deal, which obligates
your primary goal. And you’ll still have an active bomb on board, which you may
detonate anyway. Not good enough, Hakam. I don’t like the terms of this
negotiation. It’s too one sided.”

“If you don’t agree to the terms, Mr. President, then
consider the alternative. Which is I will detonate the second weapon and make a
part of Los Angeles a scorched landscape.”

 “You’re bluffing,” he said. “I don’t think you have that
second weapon on the ground at all. I think they’re both on board because your
initial intent was to detonate them over D.C.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Careful
, thought Thornton. 

“Negotiations are to be even handed,” said Burroughs, his
voice lifting to heightened anger. “All I’m saying to you is if we perform to
your demands, then you have to come up with an alternative to make me believe
that you’ll keep your end of the bargain—that you
will
disable that
second weapon.”

“And how do you propose we settle this, Mr. President? We
both know if I disable and give you the second weapon, then there’s no way your
government will obligate the undertaking of committing the assassinations. The
advantage of having the upper hand,” he said, “is just that. It’s an advantage.
But if you want me to propose a solution, then here it is. Destroy all five
targets, then you shall have my word as a soldier that I will disable the
second weapon and hand it over to your government.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re giving me? Your word?”   

“That’s it, Mr. President. Take it or suffer the
consequences.”

The president hesitated. “Give me ten minutes.”

“You have five.” And then the monitor winked off.

“Son of a bitch!” hollered the president, raking his hands
wildly through his hair. “Doug, is he right about Rokach? Is she Lohamah
Psichlogit?”

He shrugged.

“How the hell does someone like you hold a top position in
the CIA not knowing something like this when a terrorist does?”