RAVEN ROCK: Understood, Father Kimball. Access coordinates coming in from Dr. Simone. Good luck.
The bishops had found necessary garments, clothing and additional blankets to keep them warm as they huddled together and watched Kimball remove one of the two knives strapped to his leg. They had seen the man use the weapons against their captors and use them proficiently well. The bishops realizing the pope’s personal valet was much more than that, but dared not question him.
However, Kimball was oblivious of his audience as he took one of his specialized knives and followed Dr. Simone’s precise measurements on where to cut the case. With the keen tip of his KA-BAR, he pierced the aluminum shell and began to saw the case by pumping the blade across its surface, cutting a ragged line. Once he cut the hole to Dr. Simone’s specs he popped the aluminum piece out, which gave him access to the altimeter’s port. When he looked inside he saw darkness and little else, which told him the security features could only be seen with an aided eye. Either by using a special set of lenses or by spraying a mist into the gap that would briefly illuminate the laser beams.
Using one of the bishop’s laptops he set up separately from the one used in the Avionics Room, Kimball forwarded the program from one unit to another.
All he had to do was connect the devices with surgical precision, not an easy task.
Holding the connecting end of the feed cord of the laptop, Kimball inserted it into the hole and carefully managed the end toward the receiving port. His fingers, however, were too large as the razor-sharp aluminum edges tore slices along his fingers. Gritting and fighting his way through it, with blood running along the outer side of the shell case, Kimball found the female opening of the port and punched the end home.
The moment Kimball completed the job he fell back unaware that he had been sweating profusely, even with the bay as cold as it was.
On the laptop, the language of Hexadecimal values began to scroll up and down with the odd columns running north to south, the even rolls from south to north. And then the numbers began to race in blinding revolutions like the rows in a slot machine, never knowing how or when the figures will stop. After a few moments the symbols began to slow and lock themselves in place, the computer talking to the altimeter and vice versa, the locked figures having been read and accepted, the other numbers looking for the memory to lock into place. The more data the altimeter accepted, the more the numbers would freeze until the screen no longer scrolled a single digit, ultimately signifying a complete and successful download of the entire program.
More numbers froze in place, at least thirty percent, while other numbers leapfrogged over the stilled ones and continued to scroll either up or down, or down to up.
And then the display screen in both altimeters began to roll downward in perfect unison.
The numeric readings quickly went from 10,000 to 9,500 in less than five seconds, the numbers mere blurs.
… 9,000…
… 8,500…
… 8,000…
Kimball couldn’t help himself and smiled — a well-deserved reward, as far as he was concerned.
… 7,500…
… 7,000…
… 6,500…
And then the numeric speed within the display windows began the slow down at 6,000 feet, the pace slowing to a crawl at 5,000 feet, until it stopped altogether at 4,893 feet.
About sixty-five percent of the values on the laptop locked into position, while other digits continued to leapfrog over the set ones and continued on. The readings in both altimeters were secured, the numeric setting apparently locked. As things now stood, Shepherd One will now detonate at a level of 4,893 feet.
“No! No! NO!” Kimball tapped the ‘ENTER’ button numerous times, but the values on the laptop’s screen continued to scroll, not a single number locking in place. And then he eased himself away from the computer and sat down, bringing his knees up in acute angles in order to rest his elbows on them. In the ensuing moments he allowed his fingers to bleed on the floor between his legs as he stared at the payload.
The altimeters would only accept one half of the disabling programming.
There was nothing more he could do.
SHEPHERD ONE: Program has failed. Altimeters locked in at 4893 feet.
RAVEN ROCK: Did you clear and rerun the program?
SHEPHERD ONE: Twice.
RAVEN ROCK: We’ll have our engineer look into it immediately.
SHEPHERD ONE: Plane beginning to vibrate badly. The pilot believes the air rushing into the fuselage is getting caught in the tail cone, which is acting like a parachute and causing drag. Says body will eventually give under pressure — fuel being consumed at rate more than usual… Time is running out.
RAVEN ROCK: Dr. Simone would like direct contact with you, Father Kimball. We will dispatch him through on three-way communication.
RAY SIMONE: Father Kimball?
SHEPHERD ONE: Altimeters accepted a little over 50 % of the program. The numbers on the laptop continue to scroll but refuse to lock in values.
RAY SIMONE: The same exact program worked for the matching unit here.
SHEPHERD ONE: What do you want me to say? It’s not working here.
RAY SIMONE: I’m sorry, Father Kimball. I don’t know what more I can do. One can only write a program so many different ways to achieve the same result. Numbers are numbers with no gray area. I don’t know why the units are not accepting the values… I’m sorry.
SHEPHERD ONE: Not your fault. You’ve done the best you could.
RAY SIMONE: Will continue to work on solution — black wall, white wall; white wall, black wall.”
SHEPHERD ONE: What?
RAY SIMONE: It means there’s a solution to everything, Father Kimball. It means look at the problem from every angle, viewpoint and flipside, and there you shall find the answer.
SHEPHERD ONE: Don’t forget one thing, Dr. Simone: You’re on the clock just as much as we are. Find that answer.
… COMMUNICATION TERMINATED…
The media was having a heyday reporting the current news regarding Pope Pius XIII. The reported state of affairs granted by the White House Press Secretary was that Shepherd One was no longer under hostile control and the aircraft retaken. The action, however, unfortunately did not come without the loss of life. But the pope was reported to be well and among the living.
There was no mention of the nuclear weapons since there was no longer a need. But there was mention of the substantial damage to Shepherd One’s fuselage, the plane now flying over the Pacific to burn off fuel for an attempted landing.
Of course, this latter part of the news was unequivocally doctored.
Ray Simone’s Comfort Zone was never inside the lab or his dorm room, but the locker room where he kept the photo of Tia-Marie hanging inside his locker. The room always smelled like dirty laundry. But it was here he felt most comfortable.
Sitting on a wooden bench positioned between rows of lockers with his locker open, he placed the flat of his palm over the creased photo of Tia-Marie and spoke in hushed tones as if in prayer.
With his head bowed and eyes closed, Simone tapped his left foot to the beat of an unheard melody. “Black wall… white wall… white wall… black wall… There’s a solution to everything… There’s a solution to everything… The word impossible doesn’t mean it can’t be done, it simply measures the degree of difficulty. White wall… black wall…” He snapped his eyes wide. “White… wall…”
After kissing the tips of his fingers and pressing them against the photo, Simone raced his way to the Comm Center to contact President Burroughs.