“… Shepherd One, Four-One-Six-One… Come in, Shepherd One…”
But what would Hakam do to his family knowing that he willingly refused to return the Tower’s communication. And the answer was obvious. He would have them killed.
“… Shepherd One, Four-One-Six-One… This is Eight-Seven-Three-One-Niner… Please respond…”
“Answer it,” ordered Hakam, standing by the Navigator’s station. Enzio wondered how long he’d been looking over his shoulder. “And be very careful about what you say.”
Enzio switched the toggle above him. “Go ahead, Eight-Seven-Three-One-Niner, this is Shepherd One.”
“… Shepherd One, Eight-Seven-Three-One-Niner, confirm your status with your A-P-I-N, please…”
Enzio hesitated. The Tower was asking for a confirmation code as to who he was by typing in his Aviation Personal Identification Number, a recognition number given to each member of the flight crew that was highly guarded. Nobody, including flight members or Tower personnel, was privy to the sequence code. It was an exclusive number known only by its bearer. Once Enzio typed it in, the computer would then acknowledge the number as valid or invalid.
“Copy that,” he said. He then reached for the keypad next to the center console.
“Wait,” said Hakam. “What are you doing?”
Enzio drew back his hand. “The Tower is asking me to type in my personal identification number. If I don’t, they’ll know something is wrong.”
Hakam looked at the console, at the keypad. “Do not make a mistake, Captain Pastore. If you should do anything foolish enough to give us away, then I will surely have a member of your family taken.”
“I have no intentions of putting my family in harm’s way. How many times are you going to hold that over my head?”
“As many times as I see fit.”
Enzio raised his hand, his fingers poised to strike the keypad, and waited for Hakam to give him the go-ahead nod.
“Careful,” said Hakam. “And I do mean… careful.”
Enzio typed in a series of numbers on the faceplate, and then hit the * * *’s symbol. Approximately ten seconds later he received confirmation from the Tower.
The code was valid.
“… Copy that, Shepherd One. Thank you…” And then, “… Shepherd One, Four-One-Six-Two, confirm your status with your A-P-I-N, please…”
Hakam waited for Pastore to respond, but he didn’t. The pilot maintained his course, his eyes transfixed on the blueness of open sky.
“… Shepherd One, Four-One-Six-Two; confirm your status with your A-P-I-N, please
…”
“What are you doing?” asked Hakam, his voice maintaining an edge to it. “Answer him.”
Enzio nodded. “They’re not calling me,” he responded without concern. “They’re calling the co-pilot.”
“… Shepherd One, Four-One-Six-Two; confirm your status with your A-P-I-N, please
…”
“Then type it in.”
Enzio turned to him. “I can’t,” he said harshly. “They’re asking for his personal identification number. The only one who knows it is the person who has it.”
“Type it in!”
“I don’t know his number! Nobody does! It’s a security measure!”
Hakam didn’t hesitate. He popped open the lid of the laptop and began to type in a series of commands. “Then perhaps the death of a family member,” he said, “maybe your wife, or son, or daughter will help you remember.” His fingers danced quickly over the keyboard. “Unless you find a way to send them—”
“… Shepherd One, Four-One-Six-Two; confirm your status with your A-P-I-N…”
“—the proper code, then you will suffer the complete agony of losing a loved one by the blade of a sword. It’ll be quick, I assure you. But your pain will be everlasting.”
Enzio countered with a threat of his own, but his voice quavered with the tone of a man weakened by sudden despair. “If you harm a single member of my family, so help me God I will fly this plane into the ground.”
“And if you do that, Captain Pastore, then you shall be the one who has consigned the rest of your family to die by the sword. Are you willing to go to your grave knowing that your selfish and callous action has resigned them to an early and unnecessary death?”
Enzio could feel his heart gallop in his chest as well as the pain that came with it. He was sure it would misfire and end his life right there. “Please,” he begged, “I swear to you. I do not know his number. Everyone’s number is known only by those who possess it.”
Hakam let his finger hover close to the SEND button, his face a mask of controlled rage.
“I swear to you,” said Enzio, holding his hands in prayer. And then came the fall of tears, hot and rolling, his demeanor cracking to a man of desperate pleading. “I swear…”
Hakam continued to hold his finger over the SEND key, debating whether or not to send the killing stroke. Then, after a moment of brief deliberation, he dotted a key with a firm tapping of his forefinger.
And as any father or husband would over the safety of his family, Enzio cried out. “NO!”
Dr. Simone appeared as if he had been sitting in a sauna for a better part of an hour. On the back of his shirt a huge Rorschach moth of perspiration spread out to meet the overflow from his armpits. His face shined with sweat that gave him somewhat of a waxy, adipocerous appearance. At the moment he appeared less than suitable in front of the webcam.
“Are you telling me, Ray, that there’s nothing we can do to disarm those weapons?” President Burroughs voice didn’t quite hold the quality of restrained measure, but more of incredulity. And then in his patented reserved degree, which Simone knew would come sooner than later, said, “What about all this crap you gave me about everything having a solution — that you were positive you could find a way to disable the thing, no matter the degree of difficulty!”
“Mr. President, at the time I truly believed I could tap into the altimeter and use it as a conduit to send a virus to the central processing unit.”
“But?”
“But the altimeter is simply a device to measure a certain altitude point, and may have already served its purpose,” he said. “Once the altimeter reaches a level of twenty-five thousand feet, it will initiate a one-time signal to the CPU as additional memory space in use. The moment the computer recognizes this, then the program activates the units and a lock-out command bars the CPU from receiving any further input, including a virus. At this point it becomes totally shut off to the outside world.”
“And once the sequence becomes activated, does that mean it’s on a timer?”
“There is no timer,” he said. “The altimeter is programmed to terminate when it reaches a descending altitude of ten thousand feet. The moment the altimeter shuts itself off, the weapon’s CPU system will recognize the sudden loss of memory… and will detonate.”
On screen Simone could see the president rising from his seat and lean forward with his knuckles resting on the tabletop in simian manner. “Are you telling me, no matter what, the moment this plane reaches a level of ten thousand feet, those weapons are going to go off?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” said Simone. “He can fly that plane forever and choose his target as long as he doesn’t descend to ten thousand feet.”
The president fell back into his seat, hard. On the monitor screen, however, it appeared to Simone that the president’s knees buckled and gave way. The chair just happened to be there to catch him.