Nobody could disagree with his assessment. But nobody concurred, either.
“We press on,” he finally added. “And would somebody please shut off that damn siren!”
The media was all over the live feed of Shepherd One’s evasive tactics. Evidently an advanced order of commencement to fire upon Shepherd One was issued by the White House command, the international spotlight now focusing on the Burroughs’ administration.
Chaotic scenes of the plane were viewed by every major media worldwide, the images intercepted and appropriated by every international news source, including Aljazeera. Although choppy, the images showed the plane in upheaval. People were screaming as they were carried across the fuselage in flight, hitting the walls hard before the webcam took flight. The eye remained alive, however, and caught images of what appeared to be a dead man, a bishop by dress, rolling down the aisle along with pillows, blankets and other debris. Shouts in Arabic could be heard and summarily interpreted, the claims that they were being fired upon by American fighter jets.
And the media could not have been happier after receiving their pound of flesh which was quickly turning to gold.
The Flight Commander’s team was ready and in position, their guidance systems already locked onto Shepherd One. The problem was that Shepherd One had reached the vicinity of the Danger Zone, the landscapes of minor communities seen from their vantage point.
“Two-Six-Four-Three to Base Command… Come in.”
“… Go ahead, Two-Six-Four-Three…”
“Base Command, our coordinates are reporting entry over populated areas. Do you still want to continue with the engagement?”
“… That’s affirmative, Two-Six-Four-Three. You are to continue until further notice
…”
“Copy that.” The pilot positioned his thumb over the firing button. No matter how many devices Shepherd One had on board, it would never be enough to counter the incoming volley from his entire team.
The information hit the president’s table like a tsunami wave. Everything had been swept aside, including the current agenda.
International news sources were tagging the Burroughs’ administration as the executioner of the world’s most recognized religious icon. Of course there had to be a reason why, there had to be a reason why. Nevertheless, that reason continued to elude the media when questions were asked without recompense.
The Burroughs’ group could not expound for the fact it had not confirmed whether or not the weapons were actually on board. Or that the idea of taking down Shepherd One was based on a simple whim.
They had taken action when nothing had yet to be proven.
Unknowingly, the media had come to serve as a public relations nightmare and became an unwitting ally to the terrorists on board Shepherd One. And because they had the art of deception, they could no longer be employed as a tactical advantage in the scheme of things, since the world was now watching.
“Abort!” The president hollered at Spaatz. “Abort the mission!”
The Chief Commander of the Air Force nodded. “If it’s not too late,” he said, and then he promptly ordered his mission team to abandon all prior orders and fall back.
The response was an overwhelming resonance of static.
The Flight Commander laid his thumb on the button, the moment to conclude the matter coming in a sudden rush of horrible and overwhelming regret for what he was about to do, but a situation that had to be accomplished, nevertheless. Forgive me…
“Two-Six-Four-Three, you are to abort your mission immediately!… Do you copy, Two-Six-Four-Three?… Abort… Your… Mission…”
He quickly pulled his thumb back as if the button pricked his flesh. Relief washed over him, an incredible weight lifted from his shoulders. Let somebody else bear the responsibility of terminating the life of the pope, he told himself. And then he flipped the crucifix over and looked into the forlorn eyes of Christ. Thank you.
“… Two-Six-Four-Three, did you copy?…”
He tapped his mike. “I copy,” he said, and then he pulled back along with his team. But they continued to maintain a visual of Shepherd One, which was now flying over L.A. proper.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
As a very young man, Cardinal Bonasero Vessucci led the crusade against Nazi Germany who touted neutrality with the Church when, in fact, the pope protested profound sorrow with Germany’s state of religion that proposed the renewal of Catholic persecution. The Nazi’s even went as far as to declare a new Church in Germany entirely independent from Rome with a denunciation of Roman Catholicism as a "Mediterranean Jewish myth." In reprisal the Vatican broadcasted that all Germans expressing a desire to become priests were liable to internment, and that all convents and monasteries would be closed all over Germany with the priests falling liable to expulsion from their parishes at the slightest cause.
In an effort to challenge the outcome of these charges, the Nazi regime turned around and answered with an assertion by suggesting that a new Catholic prayer book include special war prayers such as "Victory in the German Struggle for Liberty." But Goebbels' Propaganda Ministry missed an obvious deduction, which was that Germany's Catholics were praying for peace, not victory.
Nevertheless, a spiked increase of tension remained between the Nazi regime and Rome. And fearing that Pope Pius XIII may be assassinated for political and religious motives, created a clandestine force of elite commandos known as the Vatican Knights, a special group of fighters who possessed a very particular set of skills.
For the past half century the cardinal recruited waifs and those with minimal family ties, but those who also possessed the traits, skills and learning abilities to uphold the dictum of ‘Loyalty Above All Else, Except Honor.’ He had taken them as young men and gave them the need for purpose and significance. He also gave them pride, but not so much where it became a crippling vanity. And in time he assembled and developed a team whose members were from all over the globe, their devotion to the pope above the sanctity of their own life — the best in the world.
And then there was Kimball Hayden — an assassin for the American government who killed without any set of principles or ethics, but with cold fortitude. Yet there was something deep inside the man that Cardinal Vessucci saw with his keen and unaided eye. He saw Kimball as someone who was more than just a man without conscience or core, but a person who let his pride lead him until the very moment of his epiphany when he killed two boys for the sake of duty. And it was then that the cardinal saw Kimball for what he really was: the fulcrum between sinner and saint.
For years his covert connections within the American political hierarchy kept a watchful eye on the man who was allegedly without soul, a killing machine, and knew everything he did from afar.
In 1991 he knew of Kimball’s mission into Iraq, and sent two of his elite Knights to trail him through the desert. It was a test for all three: one to see if his Knights would be spotted by Kimball, which they were not; and a test for himself, a measurement of his own insight to see if he was right about Kimball Hayden possessing a measure of decency, or if he was someone truly soulless. Everyone passed on all accounts.
When he learned about what Kimball did — when he buried the boys and mourned their loss — he saw a gateway open and took the opportunity to offer Kimball what he believed to be missing, which was his soul. When Kimball decided to abscond from service and leave the Iraqi desert, the cardinal continued his surveillance up to the moment Kimball Hayden showed up in a little tavern in Venice.