Mirror, Mirror at 1600 D.C.

by Edward Galluzzi

  Hannah’s eyes moistened as she better understood Josetta’s friendship with her Harrison. She comprehended clearly now the bond that existed between the holy man and the sinner. They saved the lives of each other risking their own. Yet, Hannah was aware of Josetta’s guilt of serving as the reluctant instigator of violence and death. It must be intolerable for a man of God ordained to protect life, to uplift life and to celebrate life to take it away even under such extraordinary circumstances. Josetta’s personal demon was an ongoing struggle of conscience in his life.

  Hannah stood and moved toward Josetta. She reached out to him. Their hands joined and they held each other firmly. Hannah spoke, “You need your rest, Holy Father. I cannot tell you how much meeting you has meant to me. I understand why Harrison speaks so fondly and genuinely about you. Thank you for reliving a painful part of your past just for me.” Josetta waived his hand as he often did before he spoke and said, “Spia and I have shared much over the years. And now he brings me you. You are much prettier on the eyes than your fiancé—be sure to tell Harrison I said so.” Josetta and Hannah both managed a smile. Hannah spoke, “I will tell him. Meanwhile, you get your rest. I want to meet again when Harrison and I can visit together with you. Your friendship means so much to him.” “And you? You can take care of my Spia knowing what you know and don’t know about him?” said Josetta coyly. They both understood what was said and left unsaid. Hannah replied, “We will all take care of each other.” Josetta afforded a hearty laugh, one of few laughs in the past months, and countered, “You should be a diplomat!” The two growing friends managed a laugh again. Hannah knelt at Josetta’s bedside and spoke, “May the strength of God be with you.” Josetta nodded as he watched Hannah rise and disappear from his sight. He lay back in his bed, coughing once again. Josetta closed his eyes in hopes of securing some needed sleep. He drifted to sleep not knowing if he would awaken again in the physical world, not knowing if he would share in the friendship of Harrison and Hannah.

  Hannah attempted to control the tears swelling in her eyes as she walked down the narrow passageway. As she walked out the corridor, Father Pusniche stood on the other side. Hannah thanked him for his kindness. She could hardly control the wetness in her eyes and quickly walked out of the Vatican. Hannah cried quietly but openly as the noon sun shined directly overhead. Except for the tears, it was a beautiful day in Roma.

  Chapter 8

  Going Down

  The uncertain journey from Italy to Washington, D.C. was nearing its end. ‘Hopefully, that will not be prophetic’ Harrison thought to himself. He sat motionlessly in the cockpit as the autopilot sustained the aircraft’s navigation, speed and altitude. Target One has maintained 10,000 feet since its departure from Roma Airport. A thorough search of the private jet revealed no explosive devices—well, at least no explosives on board. Harrison bit his lower lip as he once again considered the possibility of an external detonation. He could not keep the fate of his colleagues from disrupting his thoughts. Would Harrison suffer a similar fate as did Scout and Eagle at 8,000 feet?

  Harrison grabbed his flight map as thoughts of Hannah drifted into his mind as they often did during the course of the flight. He assumed that her visit with Josetta had ended by now. Harrison hoped that his holy friend was lying comfortably. He wondered if Josetta finished telling Hannah the events surrounding their first meeting. Sadness came over Harrison much like storm clouds spoiling a sunny, summer day. It distressed him that he was not able to meet with Hannah and Josetta. He prayed that Josetta would still be alive and sufficiently well to receive them once the objectives of his mission were resolved. On the other hand, perhaps it was Harrison’s life that was in jeopardy.

  ‘My mission’ Harrison yelled loudly in anger as he threw his flight map to the floor. ‘I might die even before my mission takes off!’ Harrison pondered, ‘Where was President Ashton? Was she still alive? Why was she kidnapped? What plan had Mentor designed to resolve the situation?’ The questions rattled through Harrison’s mind, but no answers were provided even superficial ones. Of course, if Harrison did not survive the descent to the airport, neither the questions nor their answers would be particularly meaningful to him.

  Hannah’s image once again sailed into Harrison’s mind. He was amazed that he had survived without Hannah for so many years and yet…and yet he could not remain focused for several hours outside of her presence. Harrison thought that if his fate should mimic that of his colleagues, he would never see Hannah again. She knew that his missions were sometimes very dangerous, but she was unaware fortunately of the recent deaths of his colleagues.

  The moment of releasing the autopilot and beginning the descent to 8,000 feet was fast approaching. Harrison walked out of the cockpit and sat behind the desk in his small office. He wanted Hannah to know that his last thoughts were of her, if indeed they were his final thoughts. Harrison removed a sheet of stationery out of his desk. He gathered his thoughts and began writing:

  “My Dear Hannah,

  I will soon land in Washington and receive my assignment. I regret that you are not with me. You are always in my thoughts. Your presence in my life has created a void when you are not here. I miss your soothing voice, smiling face and gentle touch. The moments pass so differently when we’re apart, my love. Your radiance compliments the beauty found in nature and natural things are fortified by your presence. Without you, my love, the beauty of the rising and setting sun is diminished. The twinkling of stars in the night sky is tarnished. I am more whole with you than without you. I miss you terribly. Be assured that I will contact you as often as the mission permits. Take care, my love.

  Your H.”

  Harrison glanced at the message before placing his labor of love in the fax machine. He quickly sketched a cover page with instructions as to where the fax should be redirected. Harrison then pushed the coded buttons to send his letter to its destination. The machine whirled and his innermost thoughts were transported across the vast sky. Harrison checked that the ending procedure flashed on the facsimile indicated that his letter was processed successfully.

  Harrison left the office and entered the cockpit of Target One. He immediately scanned the instrument panel as he sat down in the pilot’s seat. The plane’s current position indicated that he was about one hour outside of the alternative Washington, D.C. airport. It was time to release the autopilot and return Target One’s controls to his capable hands.

  Harrison took hold of the autopilot switch and let his hand rest for a moment. Adrenalin was building quickly as he mused to himself, ‘Well, are you a man or a mouse?’ Harrison rubbed his cheeks with his free hand and let his fingers glide downward across his chin. He took a deep, slow breath and radioed the Washington D.C.-2 airport. “D.C.-2, this is Target One. D.C.-2, this is Target One, over.” Static filled the blue sky as he awaited a reply. A moment passed before Harrison heard from the tower. “Target One, this is D.C.-2, over.” “D.C.-2,” Harrison radioed, “Request permission for a gradual descent to 8,000 feet.” The transmitter was again void of human voices and static filled the air. The tower then interrupted the static. “Target One, you are clear for a gradual descent to eight-zero-zero-zero. Change your heading to course 365 and contact the tower when level at 8,000.” “Roger, D.C.-2” confirmed Harrison. “Good luck, Hardware,” added the tower. Harrison knew that the use of his code name was a sign of respect to him and in memory of his two comrades who failed to make it home.

  Harrison was calm outside, but his body was tingling with inner tension. He again placed his hand on the autopilot switch where it had been moments ago. Target One and he were at an impasse once more where neither could ignore the other. The man and his plane were at a fork in the road where all paths led in only one direction—down.

  Harrison grabbed hold of the steering as he switched off the autopilot. The jet dipped slightly as he held the steering firmly. Harrison scanned the many dials and gauges of the instrument panel to look for any warning signs of
danger. He pushed forward on the steering and the jet began its slow descent. Harrison gazed at the altimeter—9,500 feet. He searched the gauges again and noted nothing suspicious. Harrison looked back at the altimeter—9,000 feet. He swallowed voluntarily and leveled Target One at 9,000 feet.

  Harrison’s mind raced as he reexamined his search of Target One. This was not the time to make a mistake, even a minor one. He knew Target One forward and backward. If there was something hid on this plane, it could not have escaped him. Harrison did not have time to research the jet. He was running low on fuel. If an explosive did not tear him apart in midair, an empty fuel tank would accomplish the same as he slammed into the ocean.

  Harrison shook his head to clear his thoughts. He was certain that he did not overlook anything on board. Still, outside was another matter. Harrison again pulled forward slightly on the steering and Target One responded by gliding downward. He searched the instrument panel repeatedly, evaluating parameters as he read them. Nothing was out of order, so far.

  Harrison checked the altimeter—8, 500 feet. The cockpit was quiet beyond the whine of the engines. ‘So far so good,’ he thought to himself. He looked again—8, 400 feet. Unexpectedly, a high pitch-warning buzzard broke the eerie silence. Harrison scanned quickly the panel in front of him. The buzzard drew his attention to an illuminated gauge. “Oh, damn,” he exclaimed. The warning light was indicating fire in his left engine. Harrison glanced in the direction of the engine. He saw some smoke and a flash of fire. He reacted instinctively and pulled the extinguisher switch for the left engine. Harrison had little time to think, but he wondered whether a detonation device had been planted in the engine— or was this simply an unbelievably horrible coincidence? Harrison struggled to maintain an even flight level. He decided to cut the left engine in hopes of restarting it once the fire and smoke subsided. He flipped another switch and terminated the flow of jet fuel to the damaged engine. As he fought for control of his jet, Harrison transmitted an SOS, “Mayday! Mayday! D.C.-2. This is Target One. One engine on fire and down. Struggling to maintain 8-3-0-0 feet. Heading 3-2-7 about 20 minutes outside of D.C.-2. Do you read?” Harrison did not wait long before repeating his message: “Mayday! Mayday! D.C.-2. This is Target One. One engine on fire and down. Struggling to maintain 8-3-0-0 feet. Heading 3-2-7 about forty-five minutes outside of D.C.-2. Do you read?”

  Harrison did not have to repeat his SOS a third time. “Target One, this is D.C.-2.” There was a pause from the tower and then a familiar voice transmitted. “Hardware, this is Mentor. What’s your status, Harrison?” “It’s good to hear your voice, Mentor” said Harrison. “Things are not good up here. I’ve shut down my left engine fire-warning indicator. Struggling to maintain altitude and course with one engine. Uncertain whether an explosive device is planted or a technical problem. Do not know how long I can maintain level flight, over.”

  “Harrison, I’ve already lost two agents—two friends. I don’t want to lose a third,” was Mentor’s reply. “Can you restart your engine? Over.” Harrison struggled with the vibration of Target One as he worked at maintaining his altitude. He glanced at the altimeter and read 8, 250 feet. What if the engine fire was simply coincidental and an explosive device was armed to detonate at 8,000 feet? Harrison shook his head and focused on the crisis at hand. If he did not maintain control, the resulting accident would be just as fatal as any bomb purposely planted to end his life.

  The sweat rolled down Harrison’s face as he gripped firmly Target One’s steering. He knew there was a chance at survival if he could restart the engine. Harrison glanced to his left and no longer observed any smoke or fire trailing from the engine. He wondered how much damage had occurred and whether the integrity of the engine had survived the insult. With these thoughts racing through his mind, Harrison finally replied to Mentor; “Don’t know the extent of damage. No smoke or fire observed in left engine…now approaching 8-2-0-0 feet.” Harrison managed a brief smile as he radioed, “Which door, Mentor, the lady or the tiger?” Mentor did not respond although he grasped Harrison’s meaning. As Target One approached 8,000 feet, whether the engine restarted or not, an explosive device would seal Harrison’s fate.

  Mentor broke the silence between the two men: “So, what’s it going to be, Hardware?” Harrison being a student of efficiency decided to descend below 8,000 feet. He reasoned that there was no use in struggling to restart Target One’s engine only to be blown to bits seconds later. Although Mentor knew Harrison well enough to deduce the answer, Hardware spoke tersely, “Will descend to 7,500 feet before attempting restart.” After a moment of silence, he spoke more softly and grappled with the words, “Greg…I faxed a note to my special box. It’s to Hannah. Be sure that she gets it, won’t you?” This time there was no pause between to the men. “Send it yourself when you get here,” was Mentor’s quick reply. He continued, “Harrison, I have scrambled helicopters for support and rescue. Good luck and see you soon.” “Roger,” was Harrison’s brisk reply.

  Harrison restored the microphone to its slated slot. He checked the instrument panel for any variance in parameters and noted none except those relative to the stalled engine. He glanced at the altimeter once more and read 8-1-5-0 feet. The sweat from his brow seeped like water streaming unchecked from a broken tap. In a few moments Harrison would know his fate—at least a part of it. If there was no detonation device, fate once again would have the opportunity to play its hand. The engine would have to restart if Harrison was to land the jet safely. The odds were not in Hardware’s favor, but they would certainly improve if Target One survived the descent below 8,000 feet.

  Harrison closed his eyes momentarily and envisioned Hannah. He wanted a sharp image of her and as that image unfolded he got that and more. Tears swelled in Harrison’s eyes as the loveliness of Hannah crystallized in his mind. He wanted desperately to be out of danger—to be with her. He wanted to tell her, right now, how much he loved her.

  Harrison blinked the tears away from his eyes and reality shrouded him. He gazed at the altimeter and read a somewhat blurred 8-1-0-0. Harrison stared straight ahead and observed for the first time the bright sun and clear blue sky. He glanced at the instrument panel one final time before pushing forward on the steering. Target One responded to the mechanical command and dipped its nose. As Harrison struggled to maintain control over the damaged jet, he stared intently at the altimeter. Target One was descending…8-0-7-5 feet…8-0-5-0 feet…8-0-2-5 feet. Harrison gripped the steering firmly as he approached 8,000 feet. Target One continued to descend and now was at 8,010 feet. The failed engine was silent. Its healthy twin screamed as the jet proceeded with its descent working overtime to provide the power necessary to keep Target One airborne.

  Harrison lightly pushed forward on the steering and kept a watchful eye on the altimeter—8010 feet…8009 feet…8008 feet…8007 feet…8006 feet…8005 feet… 8004 feet…8003 feet…8002 feet…8001 feet. Harrison squinted his eyes and grasped tighter the steering as he now read 8000 feet. He leveled out at 8000 feet to ponder his fate; yet, there was still no other choice but down.

  Harrison focused once again on the altimeter readings and pushed the steering forward—7-9-5-0 feet…7-9-0-0 feet…7-8-5-0 feet…7-8-0-0 feet…7-7-5-0 feet…7-7-0-0 feet. No visible changes occurred during the course of his flight and more important, no explosion. Harrison took a deep breath and felt some reduction in tension. He was unwilling to relax in order to keep the sharp edge necessary to sustain him during the unfolding crisis. Harrison decided not to radio Mentor. He knew D.C.-2 was tracking him on radar and were aware of his altitude. Harrison suspected that Mentor was breathing a little easier as well. The first crisis appeared over unless an explosive device was armed for a different altitude or by time. Harrison was not going to allow the possibilities to fog his thinking. He would need all his cunning and training as he attempted to restart Target One and keep a level flight.

  Harrison flipped open the switch that he closed previously to choke off je
t fuel to the downed engine. He hoped that the fuel was surging through its normal path in preparation of providing sustained nourishment. Target One was losing altitude. Harrison glanced at the altimeter and noted a flight altitude of 7,500 feet. ‘It’s now or never,’ Harrison thought to himself.

  On the ground, Mentor was relieved that Hardware was maintaining 7,500 feet and that Target One was apparently intact. The question of demolition or not appeared to be answered. Harrison was indeed fortunate. Mentor was in the position of having to replace two irreplaceable colleagues. He did not want to replace a third. As much as he wanted to contact Harrison, Mentor resisted the temptation knowing that Harrison would soon face his second challenge—restarting Target One’s left engine.