Shepherd One (20 page)

In reaction the pilot grabbed the crucifix and turned it
around, the eyes of Christ looking away, the feeling of self-shame for what he
was about to do too great. Keeping his thumb in position, he looked directly at
the tail end of Shepherd One and silently pled for clemency.
Please forgive
me for what I’m about to do
, he thought.

And then he pressed the button.

#

A high, piercing
beeping
noise went off in the cockpit of Shepherd One, prompting Enzio’s hands to move
with zip-like quickness around the neighboring panels and engaging certain toggles
and switches—his sense of self-preservation now governing his actions. 

Hakam grabbed the edges of the navigator’s table, his palms
greased with sweat. “What’s that?” he asked. “What does that mean?”

Enzio’s hands continued to move with unbelievable speed and
flash. “It means they’ve locked onto Shepherd One,” he said. “They’re about to
fire off a missile.”

The beeping became louder, faster, like a heartbeat about to
surrender its final beat due to cardiac arrest.

“But we are equipped for defense, yes?”

Enzio could hear the desperation in the small Arab’s voice—could
detect the man fishing for something positive from the pilot. “This plane is
equipped with certain devices to ward off certain weapons—like ground-to-air,
maybe some air-to-air, but we’re no match for F-16’s. And I can’t outmaneuver
them because this plane wasn’t built for aerial gymnastics.”

Hakam could feel his scrotum crawl, could feel it inching
its way up toward a belly that was threatening to convulse. “Los Angeles isn’t
too far away. You need to get us there.”

“Don’t you think I’m trying?”

Just then the beeping turned into a constant and steady
whine of a flat line.

“What’s that?”

Enzio placed his forefinger on a button on the defense pad.
“It means there’s a missile heading our way.”

And then he pressed the button, sending out decoys.

#

The missile flew
from the
undercarriage of the flight commander’s Fighting Falcon, the missile itself
moving through the air in corkscrew fashion before lining up and flying a
straight path toward its target.

Its heat-seeking homing device locked in to the outer engine
of the left wing, making a beeline, the little red light on top of the
missile’s mini-antennae blinking, as it detected its kill point.

The Flight Commander locked on for a second time, the
guidance system finding its mark of the outer engine of the right wing and
pressed the firing button. Like its forerunner, the second missile flew in
corkscrewing motion before veering off to the right of Shepherd One, the
missiles now flanking the aircraft and pressing for the kill.

It was like a pack of wolves against a lone sheep; a
squadron of four, heavily armed, and taking on a vessel hardly capable of
defending itself.

There was simply no sport to it. But nobody in the team felt
elated, either.

The Flight Commander eased back in his seat and saw no need
to fire off a third. Nor did he see the need to order anyone from his team to
engage and subject themselves to the same self-conflict as he. The two missiles
fired were more than adequate to send the jumbo jet plummeting from the sky.
Anything else would have been overkill.

As the missiles drove closer to Shepherd One, the Flight
Commander simply watched and waited for the endgame.

#

Enzio quickly rammed
the yolk
forward and upward, going into evasive maneuvers, then drove the helm hard to
the right, banking steeply at a sixty degree angle.

In the cabin area the overhead bins popped opened, spewing
their contents. And anybody not secured in their seats became airborne. In a
flash the Garrote Assassin took flight as well as the webcam, both caroming off
the wall and into the aisle, the assassin stunned—his eyes distant, yet looking
for anything that made sense. Wounded Arm and Wounded Leg also took flight, the
men crying out as they rebounded off the wall and against the floor, hard,
their cries heightened by the agonizing pains of their wounds. In the
midsection, the body of the dead bishop garroted by the assassin was tossed
about as a boneless heap, his limbs appearing gelatinous and loose as he
bounced and rolled down the aisles of the fuselage, uncontained. All of a
sudden everything was chaotic and without rule, the plane in an apparent death
throe as Shepherd One suddenly banked hard to the left, the plane vacillating
hard from the right, the left wing now dipping in a sixty degree angle.

More screams.

Inside the cockpit Enzio drove hard to the left, the yolk
nearly at its full leftward steering capacity, the world beyond the window
suddenly a kaleidoscopic image of white clouds and blue sky that coalesced into
a swirling, Milky Way design of confusion.

And then the explosions, the concussion sending Shepherd One
earthbound. 

#

The decoys spent
by Shepherd
One are blender-sized automatons when deployed rotate in blinding revolutions
allowing the device to hover for a period of twenty seconds. The mechanism also
reacts in two ways: It sets off a jamming frequency for missiles with laser
lock-on to lure it from its intended target, and emit a flare from its bottom
carriage with temperatures reaching 700 degrees Fahrenheit, which draws the
heat seekers. 

Several were deployed.

As the missiles drew closer, they suddenly registered an
anomaly. Their programming became jammed, their courses erratic until their
alternate programming reconnoitered the new heat signatures, and drew a new
itinerary by heading for the beacons.

In quick succession the missiles found their marks, the
decoys setting them off, which caused a vast wall of air movement that forced
Shepherd One into a downward trajectory.

#

Kimball Hayden had
taken the
Lord’s name in vain at least a half dozen times as he flew about the Avionics
Room.
What the hell was Enzio doing
? In a span of fifteen seconds he
bounced off the side walls at least three times—one time hitting his head so
hard he saw internal stars. And then he held on to something fixed, a
protrusion from the wall, something connected to the bank of computers for
which he did not know its purpose.

At first the plane banked hard to the left, then to the
right, and then the sound of dual explosions . . . and then the sudden plummet
to Earth.

#

The Flight Commander
could
hardly believe his eyes. Two incredible flashes of fire and light lit up the
sky in rolling balls of flame. Yet Shepherd One remained intact, but was
heading in a steep trajectory toward the ground. There was no doubt in his mind
Shepherd One possessed defensive devices, although he could not see them from
his distance he readily surmised. If Shepherd One was able to regain control,
then he would have to reengage. And this time he would have to see it through
with a second sortie.

Taking an angle in a downward direction, the Flight
Commander and the rest of the Fighting Falcons gave chase.

#

President Burroughs and
the
rest of his political team watched the screen adamantly. All five images
remained in their westward trajectory; however, their flying patterns became
erratic.

What the hell is taking so long
? thought Burroughs.

The Danger Zone was nearing. 

#

Enzio pulled back
on the
throttle with the muscles in his arms straining, his teeth clenching, his will
and strength working in collusion to straddle this behemoth in the sky.

In the navigator’s seat Hakam felt dizzy, his heart racing,
all color from his face draining as Allah was no longer a thought on his mind—only
self-preservation. “Have we been hit?” he cried.

But Enzio focused his attentions elsewhere, Hakam’s words
nothing more than a distant drone of syllables.

Then, as if to answer Hakam’s question, Fate appeared to be
making a statement for him.   

Shepherd One began to shudder, the stress on the flaps and
wings too much, the pressure too great. On the flight panel the altimeter was
in free fall, having dropped below the 30,000 foot mark in less than a minute.

And then the plane began to cant further to the left, the
wing tipping toward a ninety degree angle, the beginning of a spiraling
downfall.

Enzio applied his strength and faculties from everything he
knew as a fighter pilot with the
Aeronautica Milatare
to set things
right. He pulled back on the yolk and to the right, forced the throttle forward
and increased the speed. Slightly, the nose began to lift and the left wing
began to stabilize, the plane starting to level off, but only by inches. The
tail rudder and flaps began to respond, the tension easing—the intense
trembling becoming mere vibrations.

And Shepherd One began to rise once again.

#

The entire squadron
observed
Shepherd One regain itself and begin its ascent, climbing to the 28,000 foot
level before the team positioned itself once again in a flanking maneuver. The
Flight Commander took the lead with two missiles left in his arsenal.

“Alpha Command to Beta, Delta and Omega, come in . . .”

His team responded.

“All right, listen up,” he said. “The target apparently has
some defense mechanisms on board. I will initiate a second sortie. Teams Beta
and Delta, I want you to attack from the sides; Omega, from above. After I fire
off my remaining payload, I want you to fire off in succession from every
possible approach. Do you copy?”

They did. 

Without anything additional they peeled off and took
position, this time surrounding Shepherd One from every possible angle.

#

Inside the cavern
of the Raven
Rock a siren went off, and, as all sirens do, signaled a dire warning. In this
case it alerted the president’s team that Shepherd One had finally entered the
Danger Zone, putting the masses at risk.

For the moment it appeared that Burroughs was ignoring the
call, his intense look of rapt attention captured by the images on the screen.
Apparently the Fighting Falcons regrouped, the first sortie failing, the team
reorganizing for a second run.

“Mr. President.” Al Thornton also kept his eyes to the
screen. “If we keep this up, then lives will be lost at this point. We need to
abort and come up with a different position.”

“Normally I’d agree with you, Al. But it’s best to bring her
down in an area sparsely populated than over a city of four million. I’m afraid
that whatever happens at this point will have to be regarded as collateral
damage.”

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.