Shepherd One

CHAPTER THIRTY

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?”

“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.

“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.