Shepherd One (25 page)

“Nothing of this is confirmed, Mr. President.”

“Then tell me this: Why would Hakam have someone like her
dispatched, if it wouldn’t benefit their cause like he said?”

Craner appeared uneasy, his voice beginning to shake as he
spoke. “I’ll look into it, Mr. President.”

“You damn well better,” he said. “It just makes me wonder
how many other spies we have running around in our departments!”

“We have agents in Mossad as well.”

The president glared at him. “So what’s your point, Doug?
Because we have spies there they probably have them here. Is that your
justification?”

Craner’s face twitched nervously as he looked away and to
the papers on the tabletop in front of him. “No, sir.”

“Then get on it. If what Hakam says to be true, then I’m
holding you personally responsible. So stop sitting on your thumb and start
cleaning house.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Burroughs stood and appeared clearly agitated. “All right,”
he said, “let’s take what he said into consideration. What were Hakam’s key
points?”

Thornton read from a page of scribbled notes. “Mr.
President, at one point Hakam made mention that Rokach was a piece of the
puzzle of five. And if all five members within Mossad are wiped out, then
Mossad would be rendered impotent until it was able to gather itself and
reconnoiter its position, which could take time.”

“And what does that mean to you, Al?”

“On the surface, I believe from what Hakam was saying is
that these five people are the minds of Mossad who literally possess enough
information to start a World War . . . Or more likely, to keep one from
happening. If we were to take these five out simultaneously, then gates of
opportunity would open up for terrorist groups all over the world. We may be
able to staunch some of the bleeding, but there’s no way we’d be able to stop
the hemorrhaging. Just imagine what would happen if five integral pieces of the
intelligence network was taken out. It would be like a communication grid going
down at once and leaving us in the dark until everything was back online again.
But during the interim while the network is crippled, allows an advantage for
terrorist cells to advance their causes due to lack of scrutiny . . . We’d be
left wide open and the devastation would be incredible.” 

“Are you saying that five people on this planet hold the key
to possible worldwide ruin?”

“Maybe not worldwide ruin, Mr. President, but enough to open
up the national floodgates allowing insurgency groups to run wild on American
soil. After Nine-Eleven we had nobody in the Middle East except Israel. And to this day we depend upon them greatly for our information. Without Mossad we
never would have achieved what we have thus far for national security.”

“Still, it’s too much power for five people to wield.” The
president pressed on. “
So
what you're saying is that by taking one out it wouldn't be as much of a
political detriment as it would be by taking out all five at once
?”

“That’s correct, sir. And getting to any of the five,
especially those in Israel, would be difficult to do. They’re literally
protected as if they were gods, which is why insurgents have yet to endeavor to
take them out.”

“So knowing his efforts would prove wasteful, Hakam is
forcing his enemies to fight within.”

“Yes, sir. He knows we have the advantage of getting close
without drawing suspicion since we’re their key ally. Once we do . . .”

“Then he expects us to pull the trigger.”

“And if we do that,” said Hamilton, “then we will forever
alienate ourselves from Mossad and never be trusted by them again.”

“And that would be killing two birds with one stone,” said
Burroughs. “Maybe three if he detonates those nukes.”

“Without Mossad we would be left so wide open to terrorist
attacks it wouldn’t even be funny. We need Mossad, Mr. President. We simply
can’t do this.”

The president sat down with his head bowed, the fingers of
his right hand toying with his lower lip as he deliberated. “And the price for
not acting would be the loss of LA. There has to be an alternative.”

“I don’t see one, Mr. President,” said Dean.

“The one thing I have always believed in,” the president
said, sounding somnolent, “is that there is a solution for everything. We need
to look harder.”

Thornton spoke. “Mr. President, Hakam will be back online in
two minutes.”

The president stared at the faces of those sitting at the
table—at the men, the women, at all the political principals—who were looking
at their Commander-in-Chief who, for the moment, was rendered powerless. It was
a position none of them cared to be in.

“If Mossad was to lose their attaché at the embassy in DC—”

“Mr. President,” Thornton’s tone was that of incredulity, if
not admonishment. “You’re not actually entertaining the idea of having a member
of Mossad assassinated, are you? Israel is one of our chief allies!” 

The president raised his hand to stop Thornton from saying
anything further. “Hakam wants an answer soon and I’ll have to give him one. I
certainly can’t tell him that we refuse to go forward with this because we’re a
huge fan of Israel. He’ll just drive Shepherd One right into the ground. What I
need to do is buy more time. So for now, I’ll tell him exactly what he wants to
hear.”

“Which includes the assassination of a Mossad agent?”

“Unfortunately, Ms. Rokach may have to become collateral
damage. Since she’s here in the States, it could be made to look like anything
but a political killing. Her death would provide us the disablement of a
nuclear device and additional time. Mossad would never know the truth.”

Thornton clenched his teeth. Although he hated the idea of
compromising with terrorists, he knew the president had no other course of
action.

On cue the screen winked on and Hakam’s composed image waited
for the president’s answer.

“We will do as you ask,” said Burroughs, “to see if you’re
willing to hold onto your faith of good gesture. If we commit to this, then you
will disable the weapon and hand it to us by mid-air transfer?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then we’ll need five hours.”

“You have three,” he said. “Once Rokach has been removed,
then we’ll discuss the terms regarding the remaining four. But if you’re unable
to commit to the task at hand, then there’ll be no further reason to discuss
additional terms. Los Angeles will become a wasteland and hundreds of thousands
will die. You know your target, Mr. President. You have three hours and not a
second more.” The screen suddenly went dead.

“I hate it when that son of a bitch cuts me off like that.”

“Are you really going to use Rokach as collateral damage?”
asked Hamilton.

“Only as a last resort,” he said. “Right now we have nearly
three hours to come up with a solution. Let’s concentrate on that.”

As the president was about to address a team that had
already proffered numerous proposals, all of them highly implausible, but
propositions nonetheless, an aide placed a manila envelope before the
president. Inside were three pages, an intercepted fax, a copy of Shepherd
One’s passenger list, and an explanation of the contained documents. It
appeared that an email was sent to the Vatican from someone on board the plane,
someone not in league with the Muslim Revolutionary Front.

Burroughs couldn’t help but smile, signifying hope. Raising
the intercepted email, he said, “People, it appears we have somebody on board
Shepherd One.”

#

On the large
viewing screen
before the president and his team was the printout of the email in high-definition.
It was clear, in bold, and at the moment for everyone there, the message was rife
with the prospect of hope.

Bonasero:

Shepherd One commandeered by terrorist faction of six;
however, one has been terminated and two disabled. At least one bishop is dead.
Pope Pius, at least for now, well. Options limited due to being locked in the lower
level with no access to upper.

Heightened hostile intent; two nuclear weapons on board!

Enzio flying under duress; family believed to be held
captive in Perugia—maybe at the Ponte Felcino Mosque or the old munitions
factory on the outskirts. Send the Knights to secure their safe release. Have
Leviticus lead the team.

I’ll do what I can from my end. Contact me ASAP.

KIMBALL

“I knew it,” said the president. “I knew both weapons were
on board! So that takes care of that question regarding the location of the two
remaining devices. Now we need to dissect the rest of the letter. Go ahead,
Al.”

Thornton used a laser pen and traced the beam over the lines
of the first paragraph with a steady hand. “So far we’ve established that the
Bonasero mentioned in this letter is most likely Bonasero Vessucci—who happens
to be a highly respected cardinal within the College who is reputed to be the
next pope upon the death of Pius. If a vote was conducted today, it’s said that
he’d be the strongest consideration.

“Secondly, there’s the mention of the six terrorists on
board; however, this Kimball notes that one has been terminated and two are
disabled. So the question is: How is that possible? We know six crew members
boarded, according to TSA. So how does Hakam lose half his team by the time the
plane lifts off; to the time this message is sent?”

“First and foremost,” said the president, “before we get too
far, have we confirmed this to be a true interception from Shepherd One?”

“There’s absolutely no doubt. This message came from the
Avionics Room, which is located beneath the cockpit. And this gives further
credence that this Kimball is locked in the level beneath the main deck, which
gives him direct access to the room. Or so I’m told.”

“The problem is,” added Craner, “is that I didn’t see
anybody with a first or last name on the passenger list with the name of
Kimball.”

“And this makes me wonder if somebody hacked into the system
and sent a bogus message.”

Thornton shook his head. “All matters have been investigated
by our experts. This message most
definitely
. . . came
. . .
from the Avionics Room of Shepherd One.”

The president examined the large screen intently. “Then who
the hell is this Kimball guy?”

“It has to be a nickname for somebody on the list,” said CIA Director Craner.

The president stood up, his eyes fixed on the screen, his
mind in full throttle. “He’s expecting the cardinal to contact him, which means
he’s keeping the line active.” He waved his hand as a gesture to gain the
attention of everyone at the table. “Send an email immediately,” he said. “Ask
this guy who he is and inform him that we need to establish contact. Can we do
that with this screen?”

Craner nodded. “We can.”

“Then get to it. I want this guy online in three minutes.”

“Yes, sir. I can have a technician here in less than a
minute.”

The president stepped closer to the viewing monitor. Then:
“I want to know who this guy is,” he said. “And I want to know why Hakam locked
this guy below level to run free rather than to send a team down to eliminate
him.”

“Perhaps he did,” said Thornton. “Which may be why one is
dead and two others disabled.”

The president nodded incredulously. “I don’t see a priest
doing something like that.”

“Maybe he’s not a priest, which is why his name is not on the
passenger list.”

The president faced his Chief Advisor. How wonderful it
would be to have such an ally on board with the martial skills to take control.
“That would be a nice concept, wouldn’t it?”

Thornton shrugged, the gesture denoting an existing possibility.

The president turned back to the screen with his arms
folded. “Another thing,” he began. “This Kimball mentions the pilot’s family
being held in Perugia. Is there any validity to that?”

“All we know at this point, Mr. President, is the family hasn’t
been seen or heard from in the past few days by neighbors or relatives. So
there is a possibility of that, yes.”

“And he mentions the Ponte Felcino Mosque.” Everybody at the
table knew the mosque and Italy’s crackdown on the rising insurgency there a few
years back. “And who are these Knights that he’s referring to?”

“There’s no record of any group called the Knights,”
reported Thornton. “We can only assume they’re some type of specialized law
enforcement group akin to our own SWAT units.”

“And I assume we tried the Vatican, since Cardinal Vessucci
received the same email. Perhaps he can shed some light on the matter.”

“He could,” said Thornton. “But he won’t. An emissary from
the Church stated this was a Vatican issue.”

The president turned to Al. “You’d think they’d want our
help in this matter.”

“Apparently, they believe the matter to be in God’s hands.”

“Typical Vatican response,” he remarked, then turned back to
the screen.

He looked at the signature.

Who are you, Kimball? Why are you there?

“Mr. President.”

Burroughs never turned away from the screen. “Yes.”

“We’re ready to go online with Shepherd One,” said a
technician, who sat in a vacant seat with a wireless keyboard in front of him.

“Then type exactly what I tell you,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

The president began to dictate.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Inside the Avionics Room there was a
slight ping, the sound of an email received. Kimball had taken a message from
Bonasero Vessucci, who informed him that Leviticus was leading the team to Perugia on behalf of Enzio’s family. And just as he was about to leave the room the chime
of the laptop drew him back.

Although the message was addressed to him, the sender made
him cock his head. It was from the Commander-in-Chief of the United States, President James Emerson Burroughs. After double-clicking on the email,
Kimball read the message.

MR. KIMBALL,

As you well know, Shepherd One is flying above Los Angeles with the attempt to destroy the city and its populace. Demands have been made
by Hakam, the leader of the Muslim Revolutionary Front, which may, regrettably,
have to be met with dire consequences whether we commit ourselves to the order
or not. You stated in your last message that ‘one has been terminated and two
disabled.’ Can you expound on this? Has the group been reduced to three? Who
exactly are you since the passenger list does not bear the name Kimball?

Below you will find a link provided by our technician for
Instant Messaging. Please utilize this method of communication, which may take
a minute to load directly to your laptop. Direct communication is a must at
this point, since we have exhausted all avenues and nothing appears positive.
You’re our only hope, Mr. Kimball. 

President James Burroughs, Commander-in-Chief of the United States of America.

Between the mild jarring of the flight Kimball reread the
email three times. Enzio commented that his message might be intercepted, which
it apparently was . . . And in a very big way.

After downloading the link as requested, Kimball was capable
of instant messaging after it took the laptop three minutes to download the
data. But he had to be careful. Communicating with the government for which he
was once employed as their primary assassin now considered dead by the brass
who directed him, he had to remain as furtive as humanly possible. He could
never afford to allow the present regime to know he was still alive after he
absconded years ago. The sudden illumination of him resurfacing after all this
time might make him a target for all the nefarious secrets he held—of all the
people he killed on behalf of past presidents. Yet he could not ignore them
either. Their input might prove valuable.

But for the moment he would refer to himself as Father
Kimball, a former soldier who is now seeking his salvation through God. No
further explanation was needed. Nor would he give it if asked. His responses
would be curt, short, and to the point. And he would serve them now as he
served them in the past, all the time wondering if he had no other destiny. Was
his fate written in stone after all? Would he ever be allowed to seek
redemption? Or would God not permit it?

In the quasi-darkness he fell back against the wall, the
light of the laptop’s screen and the blinking lights on the Avionics panel
drawing odd lines against his face.
I kill people. It’s what I do. It’s what
I’m good at.

“It’s my life,” he murmured.

There would be no salvation.

He leaned forward, poised his fingers, and began to type.
Redemption or not, his primary goal was to save the life of the pope using
whatever means available.

I kill people. It’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at.
And he recited this as he typed, the words bouncing across his mind over . . .
and over . . . and over again.

#

SHEPHERD ONE: Mr.
President.

RAVEN ROCK: Who are you?

SHEPHERD ONE: I am Father Kimball.

RAVEN ROCK: There is no Father Kimball on the passenger
list.

SHEPHERD ONE: I’m the pope’s personal valet.

RAVEN ROCK: You stated that Shepherd One was commandeered by
a faction of six with one terminated and two others disabled. Is this correct?

SHEPHERD ONE: Yes.

RAVEN ROCK: So Hakam’s team is reduced to three?

SHEPHERD ONE: Yes.

RAVEN ROCK: How were they reduced?

There was a long hesitation, long enough for the president
to inquire if they had lost communication until:

SHEPHERD ONE:  I reduced it.

RAVEN ROCK: How?

SHEPHERD ONE: I am the pope’s personal valet who possesses a
very particular set of skills.

RAVEN ROCK: Are you his bodyguard?

SHEPHERD ONE: You could say that.

RAVEN ROCK: Are you a soldier of the Swiss Guard?

SHEPHERD ONE: Not of the Swiss Guard.

RAVEN ROCK: Are you a soldier?

SHEPHERD ONE: I am.

RAVEN ROCK: For whom?

SHEPHERD ONE: You’re wasting time. Get to the point!

RAVEN ROCK: Can you take out the other three?

SHEPHERD ONE: I’m locked below. The elevator has been
disabled and the trapdoor leading to above is heavily guarded.

RAVEN ROCK: If you can get topside, would you be able to use
your particular set of skills to take them out?

SHEPHERD ONE: Yes.

This was particularly good news for the president and his
team, knowing they had a man on board with an apparent wide range of combat
expertise.

SHEPHERD ONE: But again—I’m unable to get topside.

RAVEN ROCK: What about the nuclear payloads?

SHEPHERD ONE: What about them?

RAVEN ROCK: Are they accessible from your location?

SHEPHERD ONE: Yes.

This caused a murmur among the president’s team. If he had
access to the weapons, then he could disable them with the aid of Ray Simone.

RAVEN ROCK: If you have access to the weapons, then why
doesn’t Hakam send a team after you to ensure their safety?

SHEPHERD ONE: He did, which is why one has been terminated
and the other two disabled.

RAVEN ROCK: You need to deactivate those weapons.

SHEPHERD ONE: Unable.

RAVEN ROCK: We can provide you with assistance.

SHEPHERD ONE: How?

RAVEN ROCK: We can divert the altimeter readings that would
allow Shepherd One to land.

SHEPHERD ONE: What are you talking about?

RAVEN ROCK: The weapons are equipped with altimeters. The
moment Shepherd One reaches an altitude of 10,000 feet, the weapons will
detonate. Shepherd One has been jury rigged to never land again.

Another long hesitation, then:

SHEPHERD ONE: Then disabling the weapons would be pointless
unless I get topside and take out Hakam’s team. If I can’t do that, if I can’t
get topside, then he’ll just run Shepherd One into the ground and achieve the
same result.

RAVEN ROCK: We’re running out of time.

SHEPHERD ONE: Then I need to get topside.

RAVEN ROCK: Father Kimball . . .

. . . COMMUNICATION TERMINATED. . .

#

The president stood
just
beyond table’s end with his arms folded staring up at the screen. His team sat
quietly by.

“What do you think, Al?”

Thornton stood to work the crimps out of his body. He had
surely been sitting for far too long. “Whoever this Kimball guy is,” he began,
“he’s certainly an asset. But the odds are still in Hakam’s favor.”

The president maintained his focus on the screen as if the
outcome of this situation was imprinted on its surface. “But, there’s that
solution I’ve been talking about,” he said. “We have a man on board capable of
disabling the weapons and taking out Hakam. It’s an option we didn’t have five
minutes ago.”

“True. But your optimism, Mr. President, is overruling your
reasonability. You have to remember that he’s locked below with no right of
entry topside, which he has stated. Otherwise, he probably would have attempted
an assault on Hakam’s team by now. That’s problem number one. Problem number
two is if he does gain access and fails to take out Hakam’s team, then there’s
no doubt that Hakam will send Shepherd One right into the middle of LA.”

“Then let’s hope that Father Kimball succeeds, Al. At least
he levels the playing field to a degree, which is all we could hope for since
that Hakam was most likely going to detonate those weapons regardless. I’d like
to think that our chances of winning have grown from ten percent to fifty
percent—a level field.”

“Mr. President,” Doug Craner began, “if I may, the quick
termination in communication tells me that Father Kimball is currently trying
to make his way topside, or at least trying to find a way before he makes his
stand.”

“And your point is, Doug?”

“My point, Mr. President, is if he’s trying to make his way
topside at this very moment, then, as you have put it, he has a fifty-fifty
chance of succeeding. If he fails, then that means there’s a fifty-percent
proposition that Shepherd One will begin its fatal descent within the next
fifteen minutes . . . And we haven’t even begun to evacuate LA.”

The president closed his eyes. His CIA Director was
absolutely right.

“You’re right,” he said soberly. “But there’s not much we
can do in fifteen minutes, is there? If we inform LA now, it would cause mass
hysteria. All we can to at this point and time is pray for one of two things:
Either Father Kimball takes out Hakam’s team, or he’s looking for a definite
way topside so he can formulate a plan before he engages his opponent, which is
what a good soldier would do.”

“Then let’s hope he’s a good soldier who looks before he
leaps. But sooner or later we’ll have to consider the evacuation of LA,” added
Craner

“I’ll wait until Hakam comes back online—see what he does
before I make my decision.”

“Mr. President, that’s nearly two hours away. Do you know
how many people we can evacuate by then?”

“If Father Kimball succeeds, then there will be no need to
evacuate anyone at all.”

“You’re placing way too much confidence on the marginal
possibility that he’ll succeed,” said Thornton. “Doug’s right. We need to start
evacuating people now.”   

The president mused for a long moment before moving about
the table in a slow lap. “Send a message to Father Kimball asking him to
contact us immediately,” he requested. “I want to know his agenda.”

“He may be acting on his agenda right now,” stated Thornton,
and then more persistently. “And that’s why we need to inform the people of LA
right now, Mr. President. And yes, people will die in the crossfire of panic.
But others will also find their way out of the blast radius, saving untold lives.”

“If Shepherd One does go down within the next few minutes,
and that’s if Father Kimball is engaging Hakam’s team as you suspect, then I
hardly see a reason to inform LA. By the time they get the message it’ll be too
late; Shepherd One would have already landed on their heads by then.” Burroughs
stared back at the screen. “If Father Kimball hasn’t contacted us within the
next hour, and if Shepherd One continues to maintain its flight pattern over
the city, then we’ll begin the process of evacuation. I’ll concede that we have
finally run out of time . . . and hope. But until then, let’s see what Father
Kimball can give us.”

#

Kimball mounted the
steps
leading to the trapdoor, pressed the flats of his palms against the entry, and
listened. Although he heard nothing, a good soldier always knew enough to never
leave a port of entry without positioning a sentry at its post. And most likely
an assassin was ready to fire a shot the moment he lifted the door and raised
his head. 

The advantage, however, was that the site would be occupied
by a guard or two while he tried to breach topside from another location, most
likely from the rear section so he could work his way forward. All he would
have to worry about was their posted position between the aft to the fore of
the plane. 

Quickly he began to process the numbers: One dead, two
disabled, leaving three capable opponents. Hakam was most likely the overseer
making the constant rounds between the cockpit and the holding area. The
Garrote Assassin and the other able terrorist were probably switching off with
one another with one watching over the bishops, while the other scouted the
plane. The crippled terrorists were most likely keeping vigil over the
trapdoor. 

Making his way to the rear of Shepherd One he tried the
elevator once again. This time he noted that its ceiling was a solid plating of
steel, which would make it impossible to penetrate to the upper level. His only
option was the trapdoor. And as much as he loved the use of his knives over a
firearm because a knife never ran dry, the successful warfare of edged weaponry
always depended upon stealth. If he was to engage his opponents though the
trapdoor, then the art of stealth would be gone and his attempt to accomplish
the impossible would be nothing more than a futile and desperate exercise. Yet
sooner or later he knew he would have to make that move.

Kimball sat and leaned his backside against a wine cooler
with his elbows resting on his knees, thinking. For every minute Shepherd One
was flying, fuel was being depleted.

And so was time.

The man stood, his eyes deep-set and determined, and
commenced his search.

Beneath the lavatories were closet-like outcroppings from
the fire-resistant walls; four on each side, eight in total throughout the entirety
of the Shepherd One’s interior. Each closet-like extension possessed a hatch
reminiscent of the one leading into the Avionics Room, but without the locking
mechanism. Instead, the indented seam around the hatchway had red arrows
marking where to place the flat end of the screwdriver to pop the panel free. 

Using the tip of his knife, Kimball worked its point into
the slot and popped the panel open, exposing a vertical shaft. Against the far
wall was the circuitry of water hoses and pressure lines that led from the
restroom above to the waste tank below. This was the maintenance closet for the
topside lavatory that allowed repair crews to routinely inspect lines for
possible pressure leakages, line tears and fluid freezes. Lining the inside
walls were ladder rungs securely riveted to the sheet metal, giving a crew
member access to the entire conduit system that ran from top to bottom. But for
a man of Kimball’s size, it would be a tight squeeze.