by Jones, Rick
“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 w
ith 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.
Fitting into the hole and positioning himself along the rungs, Kimball made his way to the topside lavatory. Every jar, rise or pitch of the plane’s flight seemed more pronounced, the lifts knocking him against the closed-in walls and pipes of the thin space. When he reached the top rung he arrived at the water tank that supplied the wash basin and toilet.
Placing his palm against the wall supporting the tank, he could feel a slight give. To the right of the tank was a framed schematic of the complex plumbing lines. Kimball quickly tore it off the wall and let it go, listening to the frame carom off the walls until it settled somewhere in the darkness below. With the point of his knife he was able to punch a small hole in the wall which provided him with a glimpse of something wonderful.
It was the interior of a spacious lavatory. But more importantly, it was a way topside.
Returning the KA-BAR to its sheath, Kimball began to
descend.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Hakam prayed long and hard and deep with incredible passion since redemption was not freely given. And in the wake of his sudden loss of faith he wished for divine forgiveness, as well as a single intangible possession. He asked for the courage to see this through.
For nearly two hours he knelt on his prayer rug with his eyes closed, his body rising and lowering with his hands held out in homage, his lips moving silently as if miming the words of prayer. In the end, however, he felt no different than when he first removed his shoes and took position upon the mat. Did he truly expect Allah to speak to him? To give him an answer on whether or not he will be allowed into His Glory?
And what was that about blind faith? he challenged himself. And then he remembered: Blind faith does not require proof because no proof exists. Yet its entire concept to completely devote oneself without question continued to elude him. And though he was highly spiritual, Hakam realized he needed something more. And that, he believed, was his damning point.
The Arab stood wearing his mask of non emotion, which made the Garrote Assassin feel more at ease from across the aisle. Over the past several hours Hakam had been growing anxious and less in control, which worried him. But it appeared that prayer had done him well.
In the prayer’s aftermath Hakam put on his shoes and said nothing to Garrote, would not even face him, his heart feeling a heavy blackness that Allah had seen the truth within him.
What he must do, he does so with the hope that Allah is truly merciful.
Returning to the cockpit he noted a single email message from a source indicating the emissary from the Lohamah Psichlogit still lives, and that President Burroughs thus far has failed to move on the given target with an hour left to go.
Tapping in the required address, Hakam was automatically dispatched to the president of the United States.
Behind him, Shepherd One’s pilot sat with his eyes forward and refused to acknowledge Hakam in any way.
