“At this point, Mr. President,” began Attorney General Hamilton, his eyes also viewing the screen, “all we have are circumstantial indications and calculated guesses, albeit strong ones, but guesses nonetheless. ”
“You know what I’m looking for, Dean. You all know what I’m looking for. That plane is getting close to a populated area with the high probability of carrying a nuclear payload. And we can’t afford Shepherd One any more distance. You know what has to be done, pope or no pope.” The president waited for suggestions, not wanting to play Devil’s Advocate alone.
“And what if we’re wrong in our assessment?’ asked CIA Director Craner. “Right now we have a lot of ‘ifs’ to consider before considering the takedown of Shepherd One.”
“True,” said Burroughs. “But if we don’t make a decision soon, then we allow the plane to fly over Los Angeles with a payload bearing half the explosive yield that took out Hiroshima. Is that something we can really afford?”
Hamilton leaned forward, his voice holding somewhat of a contrite measure to it. “But it’s the pope,” he said.
Burroughs nodded his understanding of religious conviction over duty. “You’re right, Dean — absolutely. And I understand how all of you feel about the man who represents your faith, my faith. But we’re also talking about the lives of four million people at stake here as well. If we’re wrong about the payload, then the lives on board Shepherd One will be lost and this country will come under heavy backlash from the worldwide community. If the payload is on board, then we at least save the lives of a million people, maybe more.”
“And we would still come under the heavy backlash from the worldwide community,” said Thornton. The Chief Advisor interlaced his fingers and placed his folded his hands on the tabletop before him. “It’s a lose-lose situation, Mr. President. But there are always alternatives.”
Senator Wyman piped up; his seasoned statesmanship proving this was not his first time at the rodeo. “You’re talking about deception,” he said.
“I’m talking about going with the advantages that are available to us.”
“And that’s deception. Say what you mean, Al.”
Thornton appeared uncomfortable, his demeanor reflecting the warring vacillation between his political responsibilities against his spiritual ties. “This is hard for me to say, Mr. President.”
“I know, Al. It’s hard for everybody at this table… But—” He pointed to the screen. Shepherd One was getting dangerously close to the hot zone. “We have to act quickly.”
Thornton pitched a sigh. “We can doctor the facts,” he said repentantly. “Shepherd One could go down due to the alleged mechanical malfunction as the pilot has stated. We just need to make it happen.”
There was a momentary silence at the table, a period of deliberation.
“We could use the pilot’s recordings to support… the theory of an accident,” he added, then lowered his eyes in deep personal conflict. He was not alone in this matter.
President Burroughs took another glance at the screen.
The time was now.
“I want the Flight Commander of the Fighting Falcons to contact Shepherd One one last time, and have him redirect Shepherd One to the specified coordinates. If they refuse, then I want the pilot to inform the captain of Shepherd One that they will be shot down.”
Nobody at the table was stunned; the option proffered the only one available — not much of a choice at all. But everyone was clearly somber as a tragic cast hunkered over them like a cloudburst.
“I’m sorry, people. But I don’t see any other approach to this.” He turned to Henry Spaatz, the current Chief of Staff of the Air Force to deliver the command. “Please, Henry… Issue the command.”
The senior uniformed officer nodded with a half-hearted gesture. “Two-Six-Four-Three, this is Base Command… Do you copy?”
The response was not as quick as expected.
“… This is Two-Six-Four-Three… Go…”
“Two-Six-Four-Three, you are too immediately—”
“—engage Shepherd One and propose a final action that they either comply with the order of diversion… or be subjected to military recourse and be shot down… Do you copy?”
The Flight Commander could feel his heart gallop with the speed of a thoroughbred, the order a simplistic syntax of words aligned in such a way it caused him physical distress. Many times he had gone into battle feeling the same way, always proposing a few words to God with the crucifix held tightly within the grasp of his hand. But this time he found no solace. This time he felt an overwhelming sense of self-conflict.
“… Do you copy, Two-Six-Four-Three?…”
“Two-Six-Four-Three… I copy…”
The message was broadcast to all pilots who maintained formation while the Flight Commander flew forward in an attempt a reconnect with the pilot of Shepherd One. After positioning himself within twenty meters of the jumbo jet’s cockpit, the Flight Commander made eye contact with Enzio and tapped his helmet, a gesture to reopen communication.
But Enzio turned away.
“What does he want?” asked Hakam.
“He wants me to reopen communication,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed and forward.
Hakam observed the fighter pilot to be tapping his helmet with heightened agitation, the approach in itself beseeching in his attempt to make open contact. “Reestablish communication,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s best to know what your enemy is proposing. And no doubt the enemy has a proposal they wish to inform us of. Open the link so that I can hear.”
Enzio reached up and flipped the toggle, the air now open. “This is Shepherd One.”
“… Shepherd One, can you communicate openly?…”
Enzio gave Hakam a side-long glance before responding. “That’s negative, Two-Six-Four-Three.”
“… Are you flying with hostile intent?…”
Enzio was hoping his silence was answer enough.
“Shepherd One, you are to proceed directly to the given set of coordinates and reroute your direction, do you understand? If you do not comply immediately, then we have orders to shoot you down. Do you copy, Shepherd One? Redirect your course immediately…”
“Do you believe him?” Hakam asked him, maintaining calm.
“Yes.”
Hakam released a short, unsettling sigh. “Remind him that the Pope Pius is on board.”
Enzio tapped a button on his lip mike. “Two-Six-Four-Three, do I need to remind you that Pope Pius—”
“Shepherd One, this command comes from the highest authority. Either you change your course to the given heading, or we will terminate your flight immediately, is that understood?”
Clearly. There was no doubt in Enzio’s mind that his life was about to come to an earnest end.
“… You have less than thirty seconds, Shepherd One…”
In a quick and fluid motion the jet fighter peeled back and disappeared from view, taking position in the rear.
And in a matter of a single moment Hakam could feel his nerves tense to the tautness of steel cables, the overwhelming and sustaining pressure threatening to snap in a volley of lashes geared to do irreparable harm to his forced composure, if not his sanity. Death was coming for him much too quickly as his hands shook with all the fervor of physiological nerve disorder. “I know this plane,” he finally said, hiding his hands from Enzio. “It possesses some very special features unlike other airliners, yes?”
“We’re no match for F-16 fighter jets,” he responded.