President Burroughs appeared lost, not quite sure why his attorney general made such a reference in light of the current situation. The connection escaped him.
“Shepherd One took off less than an hour ago with a full crew,” said Hamilton. “And this has been confirmed by LAX Admin.”
Burroughs eased back into his seat. “You just said the crew was found dead.”
Hamilton nodded. “What I’m suggesting, Mr. President — what Homeland Security seems to be alluding to — is the possibility that Shepherd One has been commandeered.”
The corners of the president’s eyes brows dipped sharply over the bridge of his nose. “By whom?”
“We’re not sure at this point,” he said. “All we know is that the pilot registered his team with TSA officials prior to takeoff.”
“And how is that possible, Dean, when his team is lying dead?”
“That is the question, sir, isn’t it?”
“Well, here’s another question.” The president leaned forward and spoke in a manner of discontent, his inflection vacillating between anger and dissatisfaction as he spoke. “How in the hell would something like that be possible, since the airports are supposed to be battened down? Can you tell me that?”
Hamilton flushed. “Mr. President, from what I’m being told, Shepherd One is considered a noncommercial flight with zero risk since it is, after all, the pope. And because of said classification, the crew is exonerated from all security measures since TSA needs to concentrate their agents exclusively with the general population.”
President Burroughs appeared infuriated, the sudden enlightenment of dark truth striking a blow to his face before he settled into a sullen calm. “So what do we have?” he said. “We have a dead crew on the ground, a surrogate crew in the air, and nobody’s the wiser.”
Chief National Security Advisor Alan Thornton clasped his hands before him on a stack of manila folders. Like his counterparts he appeared exhausted and his clothes held the wrinkled markings of an unmade bed. “Mr. President, we both know the pieces of the puzzle are starting to come together to create a vague picture. I believe we have to assume that Hakam and his team maybe on that plane. As Dean just said, the crew of Shepherd One would have no reason to raise suspicion of harmful intent until it was too late.”
The president looked at the myriad of plasma screens. The cavern was littered with them. “How sure are we on this before we jump to conclusions?” he asked.
“We don’t have confirmation, as of yet,” said the attorney general. “But the anomaly of the situation is this: the pilot always flies with the same crew. Sometimes he’ll rotate with a second crew, but we’ve confirmed them to be in Italy, which leaves no one else on the approved roster to staff Shepherd One. So why would the pilot log in a team not authorized to board the plane?”
“Because he was under duress,” said Burroughs.
“Exactly. We’ve also received word that the pilot’s family is missing. Schools, relatives — nobody’s seen or heard from them in days.”
Thornton poured himself some water; Hamilton’s words still hanging in the air as he took a swallow, then lowered the glass. “If I may, Mr. President.”
“Yeah, Al, go ahead.”
“Confirmation or not, the anomaly is too great to shelve. The terrorists crossed over from the Mexican border while the pope was finalizing the Papal Symposiums in L.A. They very well could have made it, given the timeframe.”
“I agree,” he said. “In fact, I would say it’s highly probable. And if that’s so, then Hakam also possesses the most highly recognized iconic religious figure on board that jet.”
“Which compounds the problem,” said Thornton.
The president shook his head in disgust. “If the weapons are on board, then how do we neutralize the situation?”
Hamilton offered the obvious, which was not disputed vehemently. “We would have to terminate the jet’s trajectory,” he said, “before Hakam has a chance to direct it over a populated area.”
“Problem is there would be worldwide repercussions if we go in and knock Shepherd One out of the sky. Religion runs deep and actions can be unforgiving when it comes to killing a sacred figure.”
“The world will understand,” said Senator Wyman, the Majority Leader. “We’ll have to restructure the truth and make it appear as an aviation accident.”
“And how will we explain the corresponding nuclear blast after we do?” asked Thornton.
Wyman remained quiet thereafter. But the truth remained, however, that the senator was accurate in his statement. What he proposed was a solution of necessity, deceptive or otherwise. The people of the United States could never fall victim to a nuclear blast, killing perhaps tens of thousands.
“What’s its current trajectory?” the president asked.
“It’s Dulles, Sir.”
“Was that its assigned designation?”
“Yes, sir. It’s to be a refueling stop before heading back to Rome.”
The president stared at the throng of people milling about. Everything made sense, he thought — Hakam’s destination all along was to decimate the highest political seat in the land. And he was going to do it by putting the American government in an impossible position. Shepherd One was not only a weapon in motion, it was also the perfect shield.
Burroughs hesitated, thinking, his mind processing the facts and assumptions of the issue at hand. And then, “I want to know who’s on that plane,” he stated firmly. “And I want to know yesterday.”
“We’re working that as we speak,” said Dean.
“Do we have their position?”
Thornton nodded. “I can do one better.” On one of the giant plasma screens was the GPS trajectory of Shepherd One from its starting point of LAX and nearing Las Vegas on its eastward curve. “This will pinpoint their exact location throughout the flight,” he said.
The President, his team, everyone at the table stared at the monitor.
“What do we have by way of the nearest Air Force Base?” asked Burroughs.
“That would be Nellis in Las Vegas,” answered Dean. “We can have fighters intercept them ASAP.”
“Do it.”
“Dr. Simone.”
Simone leaned over the aluminum case in careful examination with the loupe over his eye. “Yes.”
The voice was coming over the speakers. “The president’s coming through the pipe.”
“Thank you.”
After a series of clicks, a voice that was highly recognizable. “Ray.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“We may have come to a theory as to the reason why the altimeter is attached to the device.”
“I’m listening.”
“There’s a likely scenario brewing in which we believe the pope’s plane may have been commandeered by a terrorist faction,” he said. “It’s a possibility that the weapons are on board. But we’re trying to verify this as we speak.” The voice sounded hollow due to poor acoustics.
Now things were beginning to factor for Simone.
“You there, Ray?”
“Yes, Mr. President. It still doesn’t answer the question about its function or purpose.”
“I understand that. What I’m suggesting is can you find the answer within the altimeter itself?”
“I have just initiated a task at hand,” he told him. “I’m about to power a precision laser beam allowing me access to the altimeter, so that I can mine it for its current programmed status.”
“How long will it take?”
“As long as it takes, Mr. President, but I promise you I’ll have an answer.”
“Time is of the essence, Ray. If those weapons are on Shepherd One, then decisions have to be made long before they reach their destination.”