Shepherd One

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

President Burroughs tried to show no sign of weakness, but an unyielding strength with the projection of his jaw. “I’m going to ask you once, Mr. al-Khatib Hakam. Do you have weapons on board that plane?”

Hakam’s image peered back at them from the large viewing monitor, the image grainy. “You know who I am. Very good, Mr. President, but as you can see the advantage is mine. First, let’s get several things clear: I run the show, I make the demands, and you follow them to a T. Or Los Angeles becomes a wasteland. This I guarantee.”

“So you do have the weapons?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “Or maybe they’re well hidden somewhere in Los Angeles.”

Then why were you trying to make it to Washington before your mission was compromised? he wanted to ask. It wouldn’t make sense to leave them behind when you could have used them to destroy the highest political seat in the land.

No, he thought, they’re on board. And they would have used them over D.C., if they had made it.

“What do you want, Hakam?”

“And that’s what it really comes down to, doesn’t it, Mr. President?”

“I suppose you want us to release your terrorist clan members from custodial facilities throughout the world and other impossible considerations, right? So tell me, Hakam, what do you really want?”

“So terse, Mr. President… I don’t think I like the tone of your voice.”

“I don’t give a damn what you like. What… do… you… want?”

“For the moment… a change in attitude,” he said calmly. “Mr. President, if you believe for one moment I would allow you to press your authority on me by trying to impress your staff by the way you address me, then you’re sadly mistaken.” And then the screen went dead, the image winking off.

Burroughs raised his hands. “What the hell just happened? Did we lose contact?”

CIA Analyst Doug Craner nodded. “We did,” he said. “But from his end.”

The president looked briefly at Doug, then back at the screen. “That son of a bitch turned me off.”

“Mr. President, we still don’t have confirmation if the weapons are on board.” This came from Thornton.

“He’s maintaining leverage. He wants us to believe that if we should drop the plane, then the additional unit would still be alive somewhere in LA. He doesn’t want us to think all the eggs are in one basket.”

“Maybe they’re not.”

“Before their position became compromised,” he said, “I believe they were heading for the most powerful political city in the world with the intent to destroy it. Now that they’ve been found out, they’re creating a new agenda for which maintaining leverage is the key. And Hakam knows this.”

“But what if his plan all along was to set off a blast in LA, and then another over Washington? A nuclear blast is a nuclear blast. Not only would he have destroyed the highest political seat of the nation, but wreaked havoc with the populace of LA as well.”

Burroughs considered this. Hakam maintained a huge advantage by handing the president and his team the idea of ‘not knowing.’

“I wish we could get the pilot to confirm something for us,” he said.

“Maybe he doesn’t know.”

“Then get that little prick Hakam back online,” he ordered.

“We’ve tried,” said Hamilton. “But he’s locked us out.”

The president fell back into his seat and pitched a sigh. That little son of a bitch!

Hakam closed the screen to the laptop. After terminating the transmission with the president, he knew that Burroughs was trying to position himself as a man with a strong and unyielding constitution by confronting the face of adversity with a sense of bravado. His tactic, however, never made it beyond the first stage.

As with most negotiations, psychology was the key to the outcome of any situation. And Hakam knew this, letting the president know by cutting off the transmission that he was not in charge of the circumstances, only Hakam. Therefore, Hakam employed his own brand of psych posturing by letting the president stew over the prognosis of whether or not there was going to be future contacts. Which, of course, there would have to be; otherwise, the mission would hold no purpose for the Muslim Revolutionary Front. But Hakam knew that the president would appear far more passive on the second broadcast, which brought an inward smile to the Arab who was holding the greatest country in the world on its knees. And for the moment he could no longer hold back the vanity of his pride as that inward smile of his made its way to the surface. Game one went to him.

But the game was far from over.

No doubt the president would try to reestablish contact by sending the F-16 forward. But Hakam would ignore the calls.

In two hours he would contact Burroughs and his team with a desired game plan with demands to be issued at that point in time. In the interim, Hakam would make penance. And for those two hours he would pray for Allah’s forgiveness and guidance, along with the courage and strength to see this mission through.

If Allah was testing his faith, Hakam vowed never to fail the test again.

But something inside him that could not be wholly exorcised clung to him with unwavering dependence. It was the fact that his faith remained shakable. And if he couldn’t fool himself, then how could he fool Allah?

Grabbing his prayer rug from an overhead bin, Hakam went to the rear of the plane, removed his shoes, got on bended knees, and began to pray with devotion, hoping this act of homage would grant him Paradise.

He was sure Allah would give him his needs.