Shepherd One (30 page)

On screen Simone raised a finger in emphasis. “I’m not
talking about LAX. I’m talking about Denver International Airport, which is
fifty-four hundred and thirty one feet above sea level. That gives them a
window of five hundred feet.”

The president appeared genuinely keyed up. “Thank you,
Doctor. We’ll take your plan under advisement. All I ask is that you stand by.”

“I can do that.”

“Thank you once again, Ray.”

The monitor winked dead. 

 “You think Shepherd One can make it that far?” asked
Burroughs, looking at Thornton.

The Chief Advisor shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong guy.
The only one who knows for sure is them,” he said, jabbing his thumb skyward.
“But it sounded like the plane was coming apart at the seams, according to
Father Kimball’s last message. But do we really want to attempt another flight
path over American soil in the condition she’s in, Mr. President?”

Burroughs considered this.

“The entire metro area, including Denver itself, has a
population of two point five million people. And we all know that aviation
accidents usually happen during liftoff or landing. And with the condition
Shepherd One is in, Mr. President, it may be too much for her to overcome.”

Doug Craner immediately asserted himself. “Mr. President, we
have a prime opportunity here. The media has reported severe damage to the
aircraft and I think we should avail ourselves to that advantage. The Flying
Falcons are still circling Shepherd One. This could be made to look like a
product of too much damage.”

“Are you asking me to take her down now? After everything
those people have been through.”

“I’m thinking about the security of this nation, Mr.
President. You dodged a bullet once. How many more do you think you can dodge
before you end up mortally wounded?”

“Before, Mr. President,” said Dean Hamilton, “we planned to
take her down because we were not in control and didn’t know Hakam’s
intentions. We’re now in total control . . . And she is over the Pacific.”

The president found himself once again in the same
predicament as before, waging a one-man battle against the rationality of his
team. “This is true. But we were willing to take her down over the western side
of the Rockies. I believe that those people, including the pope and the man
solely responsible for quashing nuclear devastation over a city of four
million, deserve better.”

 “You’re exchanging one threat for another,” said Doug.

“That may be. But it’s a challenge I’m willing to meet.” The
president made his way to the tracking screen of Shepherd One. The plane was
approximately eighty miles beyond the California shoreline; Denver another 850
miles. It would be close to a three-hour jaunt, maybe more considering the
damages. “Have the Flight Commander of the Fighting Falcons inform Shepherd One
to divert their heading to Denver International.”

#

“ . . .
Two-Six-Four
-Three
to Shepherd One
. . .”

Enzio switched on the mike. “Go ahead, Two-Six-Four-Three.”

“ . . .
Shepherd One, you are to divert your coordinates
to
39 degrees, 50 minutes, 57.8 seconds latitude; 104 degrees, 40
minutes, 23.9 seconds longitude. Do you copy?
. . .”

Enzio typed the coordinates into the computer. The numbers
popped up as the location of Denver International Airport, DIA. “Two-Six-Four-Three, those coordinates show up as DIA. Is this correct?”

“. . .
That’s affirmative, Shepherd One. Can you cover
the distance?
. . .”

Enzio could feel the vibration of the yolk growing worse.
Apparently the strain of the air entering the fuselage was applying intense
pressure with the tail cone. But by going in an eastward trajectory they would
be flying with the jet stream, which would give them a substantial push and
less fuel consumption. “That’s affirmative, Two-Six-Four-Three . . . She can
make it.”

“. . .
Copy that, Shepherd One . . . Two-Six-Four-Three
out
. . .”

Barring the lights from the cockpit console, the room was
relatively dark. Yet the pope’s robe continued to give off an afterglow. “And
where are we to go now?” he asked.

“They want us to go to Denver,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because there’s a solution for everything,” said Kimball,
stepping into the cockpit. “That’s why. Denver International is high enough to
land this plane without consequence.”

“But the question is,” the pontiff started, “can she make
it?”

Enzio wanted to believe she could as he banked for an
eastward trajectory. In the back, as he made the curve, they could hear the
metal creaking like the timbers of an ancient ship.

#

Everyone’s motor inside
Raven
Rock seemed to be at high-speed, the chattering throughout the center sounding
like a Dow Jones rally. Seated at the presidential table, President James
Burroughs and his team enumerated on what was to be done to ensure the optimum
safety at Denver International Airport.

“All flights coming into and leaving Denver International Airport have been postponed,” said Thornton, “The entire area surrounding DIA has been cordoned off. And the terminals have been locked down. The positive thing is that
it’s late there, so we were able to move quickly on this.”

The president looked at the tracking screen. Shepherd One
was nearing the airport. “Who do we have on the ground when she lands?” he
asked.

Craner perused his data report. “We have a six-man federal
force and a manageable crew from the fire department.” 

“That’s it?”

“That’s enough, if she doesn’t land properly.”

Burroughs could hear the objectionable tone in the CIA Director’s voice. He had taken another gamble, he knew that. And by doing so he was risking
an additional two dozen lives on the ground. But this time they had minimal
control. Shepherd One was under the guidance of a master pilot whose agenda was
to land the plane safely.

“How long before they reach DIA?”

Craner looked at his watch. “About fifty minutes,” he said.

The president took a step closer to the screen and rubbed
his chin thoughtfully. “How long before Dr. Simone reaches Denver?”

“Soon.”

The president sighed inwardly, hoping above hope that he had
not gone too far by taking another critical gamble against the requests of his
team. And though he was not a devout man, he believed that Shepherd One had
persevered because a grander reason existed that was above their comprehension.

Feeling an odd sense of impending disaster, the president
hoped that he had not ventured too far this time with his decision.

#

The lights to
the interior of Shepherd One hadn’t
worked since the breach in the fuselage, the entire cabin submersed in absolute
darkness. Sitting alone in one of the seats in the center aisle with his hair
blowing like the whipping mane of a horse, a seat-belted Kimball stared out through
the gaping hole and into the night sky. Although he knew they were moving, the
skyscape appeared to be at a standstill, the stars shining as countless
pinpricks of light. He could make designs of the configurations—could see the
swirls of distant galaxies with total clarity.

The last time he saw the sky with such vision was the moment
of his epiphany in Iraq after burying the shepherd boys. It was there when he
first began to wonder of a greater existence. Now, looking at the same sky
years later, he could only wonder if it was another sign of a coming epiphany,
if a second epiphany was to come at all. Or was this a final glimpse of a
Heaven he may never reach, but a reminder of what he could have had.

Kimball turned away from the view offered by the hole and
eased his head back into the cushion of his seat. For the past two hours the
flight had grown increasingly erratic as the noise became unmusical, the ride
itself in a flutter as the unsteady aerodynamics of the plane began to grow in
magnitude, threatening its structure. 

On Shepherd One’s descent it became worse; the shuddering
was like riding the downhill slope of a roller coaster, the plane now in a
buffet with its aerodynamic components in excitation because the pilot was
manipulating the speed brakes. To Kimball it seemed like the plane was being
shaken by the Divine Hand of Providence.

Yet Kimball did not pray. Instead, he faced the gaping hole
to view the stars one last time, wondering if a higher order existed.

He was positive that mystery would soon be answered. 

#

Shepherd One was
coming in
unbalanced, the wings tipping from side to side, a distinct signature that the
spoilers and flaps were oscillating between the pilot’s control and the plane’s
attempt to take on a life of its own.

It was a battle Enzio was losing.

Parked in a gauntlet alongside the tarmac, the bar lights of
the fire engines were in full swing, the colors of red, white and blue lighting
up the night sky as the plane neared.

When Shepherd One approached and passed overhead of the
vehicles, one of its wings clipped a truck, shearing its rooftop hose
assemblage and a piece of Shepherd One’s wing. In the aftermath the plane
overcorrected itself and swung to the other side, the wing tip striking the
tarmac and raising a rooster tail of sparks, before the plane landed hard on
its wheels and righted itself. The impact, however, caused the fragile metal
surrounding the hole to crumple inward with the fuselage taking on a slight V
appearance, as it sped down the runway faster than normal.

As Enzio applied the brakes and fixed the flaps, the metal
creaked in protest as Shepherd One neared the runway’s stop barrier. Beside him
Pope Pius firmly pressed his legs against the floorboard and braced himself
against the impending collision against the barrier, that rushed at them with
amazing speed.

Knowing he would not be able to stop in time, Enzio advised
the pope to ‘hang on,’ then closed his eyes as the nose of Shepherd One came to
an immediate halt when it struck the sand hill, the dirt flying everywhere in grand
explosion as the sudden stop in momentum caused the bended wreck of the
fuselage to take on more of a V shape.

What had been crippled was now completely lost. Shepherd One
was dying as its engines wound down to their last revolution.

In the end, however, she had done them well.

#

Shepherd One was
surrounded
by fire engines and their flashing array of lights. On board was the six-man
team of federal agents. Soon after, Dr. Simone discovered the weapons secured in
the cargo bay with the altimeters’ reading at 5431 feet.

Pope Pius, although rattled, remained stalwart as he and the
bishops were helped off the plane and to more peaceful quarters.

Captain Enzio Pastore, one-time hero within the
Aeronautica
Milatare,
looked every bit as the shell of a man who lost his entire family.
But when he stepped off the plane he was quickly reunited via telephone with
his wife. They were fine, she told him. Soon afterward he resigned his post as
the Vatican’s pilot and moved to Venice to start a family business. Somewhere
in all of this his son, Basilio, no longer needed to be a man, but steadily
played out what was left of his youth and resumed his play as a soccer star.   

However, a mystery remained.

When they cleared the plane everyone surviving the ordeal
was accounted for with the exception of one man. Father Kimball. When the
authorities questioned Pope Pius regarding this priest, the pope emphatically
denied anybody with the surname of Kimball, which was the truth. Nor was he a
cleric as they alluded to.

This man, Father Kimball, if he existed, was nowhere to be
found.

#

Raven Rock (Presidential Bunker)

0730 hours

They stood at
the summit of Raven
Rock: the president, his Chief Advisor Alan Thornton, CIA Director Doug Craner,
and Attorney General Dean Hamilton. The rest of the team headed back to Washington.

From their vantage point they viewed miles of green treetops
in all directions and a perfect blue sky without a cloud to be seen. The
morning air was crisp, clean, and had a snap to it. No one could have asked for
a better day.

“It is beautiful,” commented the president as he nodded
appreciation. “It just makes you wonder how much longer we have until the next
go-around when someone actually sets off a nuke on American territory.”

“We might not be so lucky next time,” said Thornton.

“That’s what I mean.” The president then pointed to the
luscious landscape. “All this could be wiped out in a matter of a split
second,” he said. “All of it.” 

“A lesson learned,” said Dean. “Obviously we need to shore
up our borders.”

The presidential team remained quiet as they admired the
scenery. In the air, wafting lightly in the breeze was the smell of
honeysuckle.

“Any further word on Father Kimball?” asked Burroughs. The
matter had to come up sooner or later—the mystery too deep not to be bandied
about.

“Nothing,” said his CIA Director. Craner moved beside him
and leaned against the corral fencing, his eyes locked on the panoramic view.
“The remaining survivors were all accounted for with the exception of the one
man not on the passenger list, this Father Kimball. My agents said all the
priests on board that plane couldn’t have punched out a clock, let alone punch
out a terrorist. They were elderly men in their sixties, hardly soldier
material.”

“And no one was willing to talk about the mystery of Father
Kimball, including the pontiff?”

“Not a single soul.” 

“It’s unlikely for the pope to lie.”