“Room cleaning.” Angelina moved to the drapes and felt for the edges. When she parted them light filled the room as if to spotlight the blood spatters and red drippings. Macabre designs were painted in blood. And the smell of copper and death became too intense for her as her stomach threatened to revolt. In the bathroom a bloodied and clawed hand stuck out over the edge of the tub, frozen, yet positioned in such a way she was sure it would beckon her to come closer to view the prize lying within its well.
Drawing balled fists to the base of her chin, Angelina Cordova-Vasquez let a scream rip from her throat as she raced down the corridor with all the alacrity and speed of youth.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
With the exception of the pilot of Shepherd One, the murders of the entire flight crew was completed with deadly efficiency and their positions taken over by Hakam’s team.
In keeping with the specifics of the Alitalia Airline group, Hakam made sure they dressed to uniform specs of the Alitalia Airline crew. Every member of his team wore the designated navy blue pants with red stripes running along the seams, and the stark white short-sleeved shirts bearing the embroidered logo of Alitalia Airlines on the pocket. And because Shepherd One and its crew was exempt from all TSA inspections, all papal baggage was collected and stored in the sublevel beneath the departing gate.
In total, four electric cars were fully loaded with luggage belonging to the pontiff and his staff. On carts One and Two, hidden beneath the soft-shell cases, were the nuclear devices.
Three of Hakam’s team appeared to look like they belonged. In each of their hands they held an electronic notepad and dotted the inventory list with a stylus as they circled the carts. To the two TSA officers who were standing as security, everything appeared to be the norm.
By 9:00 a.m. — thirty minutes before Pope Pius XIII was to arrive by gubernatorial limo — Hakam, Enzio Pastore, and the members of the Muslim Revolutionary Front appeared in the sublevel, with Captain Pastore summarily dismissing the TSA officers with a simple fanfare of a hand wave, leaving him alone with the MRF.
Each motorized cart was capable of holding two, the driver and passenger, with the carts facing a 900-foot tunnel that led to the executive hangers. Without saying a word, Hakam boarded the passenger side and gestured Enzio to the driver’s seat.
“When we reach Shepherd One,” Hakam told him, “make sure you do not falter, slip, or give any indication to the TSA officers watching over her that something is wrong.”
Enzio said nothing; he merely eased into the driver’s seat.
Hakam turned and looked down the length of the tunnel that passed beneath the tarmac. “If you do, Captain, then your family will die.”
“So you keep saying.”
“And I will keep saying it until you realize what’s at stake every waking moment that you fly Shepherd One. Now move.”
Turning the ignition key and depressing the pedal, the electric cart began to move through a concrete tunnel that was barely wide enough to let the carts pass. Light bulbs stretched along the hallway cast feeble light, and myriad pipes of various diameters and umpteen coats of paint ran along the ceiling before branching off to other sections of the airport’s underworld.
During the drive, Hakam’s shadowlike features shifted in the inconstant lighting as they drove away from the weak luminosity of one bulb, and waxed into the dim light of another. “No matter what happens,” Hakam told him, “you will never alter your planned heading unless I say so. Is that understood?”
The pilot nodded.
“The only reason why you are alive is because I need someone who knows all the intricacies of that plane, such as the flares and all the other wonderful defense mechanisms built into its configuration.”
“Expecting an aerial assault, are you?”
“I plan for every contingency and expect to win at every turn,” he answered. “And what better way to plan for such an event when the pilot of Shepherd One also happens to be one of the best pilots who flew for the Aeronautica Milatare?”
“So you know my background.”
“Like I said, I plan for every contingency with the expectation to win at every turn.”
Reaching the incline that led to the executive hangers, both men remained silent as the carts moved out of the tunnel and onto the sunlit causeway that led to Hanger 11, the storage unit for Shepherd One.
The time was 9:07 a.m., twenty-three minutes away from the pope’s scheduled arrival to the airport. From their vantage point they could see the masses lining up within the cordoned off areas to glimpse upon the pope one last time. All security had been transitioned to the populated areas with law enforcement converging to the points of interest, leaving Hakam’s team to breach the area with minimal opposition.
When they neared the end of the causeway, the carts in perfect alignment like the cars of a train, Enzio headed straight for Hanger 11 with the others in tow, the carts looking diminutive in the shadow of the massive structure.
The building was huge, a half-oval-shaped construction rising fifteen stories high with its outer shell fashioned with steel framing and corrugated tin. The bay doors were open, offering a view of one of the most technological advancements to currently hit the circuit, the Boeing 787-9 Dreamliner, a new and top-of-the-line aircraft.
Although this particular airliner was set for papal excursions and geared with additional equipment designed to keep the pope safe, the similarity in its appearance with others in its fleet made it difficult to target, since this Alitalia airliner looked no different from any other in its line. Like any other plane in Alitalia, Shepherd One sat gleaming with its signature red and green dorsal tail, and a green stripe running along the length of its fuselage.
“She’s a beautiful ship,” Hakam mentioned.
“And what will you do with her? Fly her into a building?”
Hakam shook his head. “Nothing as redundant as that,” he said. “In fact, Captain, I don’t plan to crash her into anything at all.”
As they drove near the hanger doors, they noted two TSA officials standing guard.
“Just do and say all the right things,” said Hakam. “I’ll have my team manage the rest, if necessary.”
Captain Pastore said nothing as he drove into the hanger and parked next to the check-in dais. As required, he proffered the ID cards to the officials for examination. Neither officer gave them much consideration. They simply grabbed the cards and noted the tag numbers on their logging sheets before handing the cards back to Pastore without giving the photos a detailed inspection.
“Thank you, Captain. Will you need any assistance to load the cargo bay?”
Pastore nodded. “We’ll be fine,” he said in accented English. “Thank you.”
“Then have a safe trip back to Rome.”
“We will.”
After the officers called into the command post to inform them that the pope’s crew had arrived, they were immediately dispatched to alternative points to bolster security.
“And what if they had checked the photo ID’s?” asked Pastore.
“Then my team would have killed them and their bodies would have been placed on board Shepherd One. But the one thing that is a given in this country, Captain, is American complacency. Right now they should be praying to their God for thankfulness.”
Hakam exited his cart, his team exiting theirs, and stood before the massive plane and examined the aircraft to its full incredible height, each man craning his head upward as if watching the slow trajectory of a rocket.