“I understand, Mr. President.”
“Try to hurry, Ray. We’re running out of time.”
Dr. Simone returned the loupe and began to power up the laser.
Kimball tried the elevator. As expected it had become dead weight, the cables and power grid cut. The cab itself a useless weighted box with no escape hatches.
That left the fore of the plane where the terrorists entered. But it left Kimball little choice as he pressed forward.
The plane flew on an even blanket of air with some minor disturbances of turbulence. But overall the ride was smooth and stable, which made his footing easier as he made his way to the trapdoor.
Through the hatch he could hear muffled tones in Arabic. Then, gently placing his hands against the door, he could feel movement from above. They were right over him. And most likely they were not about to surrender the one viable entry point on the plane. Kimball was positive they knew this as well, disempowering him from leaving the lower level. They wisely thought it prudent to keep him sequestered.
Quietly, as he moved away from the door, he ventured forward to the head of the plane, but was stopped by a wall as the fuselage began to gently taper off into the nose section. Apparently he was close to the cockpit, if not already under it. Then, in semi-darkness, he ran his fingers over the wall before finding a seam. A door, more like a hatch, but locked. With the point of his knife he worked the edges, the material flimsy as it bent back, but enough for him to hook his fingers around, and pulled.
The hatch gave little resistance as it pulled free from the wall. But the entryway was too small for him to work his shoulders through. Going in feet first, Kimball was able to maneuver the lower portion of his body inside without difficulty. The setback came when he tried to force his shoulders though as anticipated, but was able to work his way inside the plane’s nose with maximum effort.
The surrounding walls blinked intermittently as the computers of Shepherd One became a spectacle of dazzling lights that winked in display, as they covered the entire rounded wall.
He had found the Avionics Room.
Here was the nerve center of the plane and Kimball knew it. How to utilize it to his advantage, however, remained to be the question.
The one thing he did know about the Avionics Room was that it served as a diagnostics center with dozens of systems constantly communicating to other systems outside the plane, this current evolution of technology making the Black Box a secondary tool.
He grazed his fingers over the bulbs, over the computer ports allowing the connection of alternative devices like laptops to perform diagnostic down- or uploads. Above him, light emitted from the edges of a latching plate that was small and, when opened, allowed nothing more than his hand to cross over into the room above. It was an access plate that divided the cockpit from the Avionics Room, and allowed communication between the diagnostic engineers as they inspected the concurrent readings from the pilot’s panel with the Avionics panel, making sure the readings were properly in sync with one another — above and below.
Kimball pulled back on the latches, loosening the plate. After he released the handles he lifted the small cover, giving him a view of the cockpit ceiling.
Now he had a way to contact Enzio.
For a moment he waited and wondered if Enzio was alone, or if Hakam was somewhere close by. Letting several minutes pass by without hearing anything, Kimball took the initiative.
“Enzio,” he whispered. “Enzio Pastore.”
Ray Simone had gauged the right coordinates to cut and tap into the programming conduit of the altimeter to the CPU. It had taken a lot of time and mental effort to draw a safe conclusion to breach the outer lining without disrupting the laser grid. So with precision guided measurements, Simone directed a laser cut along the exterior of the unit’s shell by cutting a perfect rectangular hole with the use of a highly concentrated laser beam, which ultimately gave him entry to the altimeter’s In-Out ports. Although he was left with little space to work with, Simone was able to connect a lead wire from the altimeter’s port to the facility’s mainframe.
On a viewing plasma screen, numbers being crunched reflected off the monitor. Numeric symbols and characters scrolled along the screen as Simone typed in commands with fingers that danced across the keyboard at feverish pitch. His cool demeanor was beginning to escape him, his brow breaking out with beads of sweat as a droplet tracked along the side of his temple, down his cheek, and settled at the base of his jaw line where it dangled precariously before falling.
From the way the numbers projected and the way the data was slipping into place, Simone knew this was not going to be good. After brusquely mopping his brow with a quick sweep of his hand, he fell back into his seat and watched the data work its way into the fixed pattern. In the quasi-darkness the number patterns reflected off the twin lenses of Simone’s glasses.
And then the numbers settled, the screen immobilizing into a pattern of programmed information.
In frustration he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, his mind seeking a Simone-ism for comfort and optimism.
What was it that he sought for — his Simone-ism for the impossibility of defeat? And there it was, written across his mind’s eye.
Impossible: Difficult but achievable, challenging but attainable. To accomplish the impossible makes the thing you accomplish even better than imagined.
But there was no solution for this, no answer, and no way out.
The data proffered by the altimeter’s data banks revealed that it was simply an activation device for the weapon. The activation numbers to set the device in motion was to reach a height of 25,000 feet above sea level. The altitude level to ignite the weapon was 10,000 feet above sea level upon its descent. Which told Simone two things: One, Shepherd One could never land; the moment the plane hit 10,000 feet the weapon would detonate. Secondly, since the altimeter was simply recorded by the CPU as memory space and nothing more, there was no way he could disable the weapon with a virus since it was no longer accepting further transmissions other than the initial activation sequence. Once the plane hit 10,000 feet, then the altimeter snuffs itself out. At that point the CPU reads the sudden loss of memory and, as a safety feature, immediately goes off within a nanosecond of recognition.
There was nothing he could do since the weapon’s CPU refused to accept any further transmissions from the altimeter’s brain. The conduit had been forever shut off.
Nevertheless he tried, his fingers tapping and engaging the keyboard at a fast and furious pace. But he garnered zero results despite his efforts.
Impossible: Difficult but achievable…
His typing became more manic…
… challenging but attainable…
… his fingers moved blindingly fast…
… To accomplish the impossible makes the thing you accomplish even better than imagined…
… His Simone-ism was screaming through his mind…
And then he surrendered and fell back into his chair exhausted in every way.
The program was locked and inaccessible, the CPU of the weapon unresponsive to any outside sources. Once Shepherd One hit the 10,000-foot mark, once its fuel had depleted itself, then it would go off.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Captain Pastore thought he heard his name whispered when, in fact, he was being contacted by LAX over the cockpit mike.
“… Shepherd One, Four-One-Six-One… Come in, Shepherd One…”
Enzio kept his heading and refused to acknowledge the contact call, hoping his silence would provide the Command Tower the notion that Shepherd One was in jeopardy.