“It has to be a nickname for somebody on the list,” said CIA Director Craner.
The president stood up, his eyes fixed on the screen, his mind in full throttle. “He’s expecting the cardinal to contact him, which means he’s keeping the line active.” He waved his hand as a gesture to gain the attention of everyone at the table. “Send an email immediately,” he said. “Ask this guy who he is and inform him that we need to establish contact. Can we do that with this screen?”
Craner nodded. “We can.”
“Then get to it. I want this guy online in three minutes.”
“Yes, sir. I can have a technician here in less than a minute.”
The president stepped closer to the viewing monitor. Then: “I want to know who this guy is,” he said. “And I want to know why Hakam locked this guy below level to run free rather than to send a team down to eliminate him.”
“Perhaps he did,” said Thornton. “Which may be why one is dead and two others disabled.”
The president nodded incredulously. “I don’t see a priest doing something like that.”
“Maybe he’s not a priest, which is why his name is not on the passenger list.”
The president faced his Chief Advisor. How wonderful it would be to have such an ally on board with the martial skills to take control. “That would be a nice concept, wouldn’t it?”
Thornton shrugged, the gesture denoting an existing possibility.
The president turned back to the screen with his arms folded. “Another thing,” he began. “This Kimball mentions the pilot’s family being held in Perugia. Is there any validity to that?”
“All we know at this point, Mr. President, is the family hasn’t been seen or heard from in the past few days by neighbors or relatives. So there is a possibility of that, yes.”
“And he mentions the Ponte Felcino Mosque.” Everybody at the table knew the mosque and Italy’s crackdown on the rising insurgency there a few years back. “And who are these Knights that he’s referring to?”
“There’s no record of any group called the Knights,” reported Thornton. “We can only assume they’re some type of specialized law enforcement group akin to our own SWAT units.”
“And I assume we tried the Vatican, since Cardinal Vessucci received the same email. Perhaps he can shed some light on the matter.”
“He could,” said Thornton. “But he won’t. An emissary from the Church stated this was a Vatican issue.”
The president turned to Al. “You’d think they’d want our help in this matter.”
“Apparently, they believe the matter to be in God’s hands.”
“Typical Vatican response,” he remarked, then turned back to the screen.
He looked at the signature.
Who are you, Kimball? Why are you there?
“Mr. President.”
Burroughs never turned away from the screen. “Yes.”
“We’re ready to go online with Shepherd One,” said a technician, who sat in a vacant seat with a wireless keyboard in front of him.
“Then type exactly what I tell you,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
The president began to dictate.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Inside the Avionics Room there was a slight ping, the sound of an email received. Kimball had taken a message from Bonasero Vessucci, who informed him that Leviticus was leading the team to Perugia on behalf of Enzio’s family. And just as he was about to leave the room the chime of the laptop drew him back.
Although the message was addressed to him, the sender made him cock his head. It was from the Commander-in-Chief of the United States, President James Emerson Burroughs. After double-clicking on the email, Kimball read the message.
MR. KIMBALL,
As you well know, Shepherd One is flying above Los Angeles with the attempt to destroy the city and its populace. Demands have been made by Hakam, the leader of the Muslim Revolutionary Front, which may, regrettably, have to be met with dire consequences whether we commit ourselves to the order or not. You stated in your last message that ‘one has been terminated and two disabled.’ Can you expound on this? Has the group been reduced to three? Who exactly are you since the passenger list does not bear the name Kimball?
Below you will find a link provided by our technician for Instant Messaging. Please utilize this method of communication, which may take a minute to load directly to your laptop. Direct communication is a must at this point, since we have exhausted all avenues and nothing appears positive. You’re our only hope, Mr. Kimball.
President James Burroughs, Commander-in-Chief of the United States of America.
Between the mild jarring of the flight Kimball reread the email three times. Enzio commented that his message might be intercepted, which it apparently was… And in a very big way.
After downloading the link as requested, Kimball was capable of instant messaging after it took the laptop three minutes to download the data. But he had to be careful. Communicating with the government for which he was once employed as their primary assassin now considered dead by the brass who directed him, he had to remain as furtive as humanly possible. He could never afford to allow the present regime to know he was still alive after he absconded years ago. The sudden illumination of him resurfacing after all this time might make him a target for all the nefarious secrets he held — of all the people he killed on behalf of past presidents. Yet he could not ignore them either. Their input might prove valuable.
But for the moment he would refer to himself as Father Kimball, a former soldier who is now seeking his salvation through God. No further explanation was needed. Nor would he give it if asked. His responses would be curt, short, and to the point. And he would serve them now as he served them in the past, all the time wondering if he had no other destiny. Was his fate written in stone after all? Would he ever be allowed to seek redemption? Or would God not permit it?
In the quasi-darkness he fell back against the wall, the light of the laptop’s screen and the blinking lights on the Avionics panel drawing odd lines against his face. I kill people. It’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at.
“It’s my life,” he murmured.
There would be no salvation.
He leaned forward, poised his fingers, and began to type. Redemption or not, his primary goal was to save the life of the pope using whatever means available.
I kill people. It’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at. And he recited this as he typed, the words bouncing across his mind over… and over… and over again.
SHEPHERD ONE: Mr. President.
RAVEN ROCK: Who are you?
SHEPHERD ONE: I am Father Kimball.
RAVEN ROCK: There is no Father Kimball on the passenger list.
SHEPHERD ONE: I’m the pope’s personal valet.
RAVEN ROCK: You stated that Shepherd One was commandeered by a faction of six with one terminated and two others disabled. Is this correct?
SHEPHERD ONE: Yes.
RAVEN ROCK: So Hakam’s team is reduced to three?
SHEPHERD ONE: Yes.
RAVEN ROCK: How were they reduced?
There was a long hesitation, long enough for the president to inquire if they had lost communication unticlass="underline"
SHEPHERD ONE: I reduced it.
RAVEN ROCK: How?
SHEPHERD ONE: I am the pope’s personal valet who possesses a very particular set of skills.
RAVEN ROCK: Are you his bodyguard?
SHEPHERD ONE: You could say that.
RAVEN ROCK: Are you a soldier of the Swiss Guard?
SHEPHERD ONE: Not of the Swiss Guard.