James Acton 03 - Broken Dove (19 page)

“Bloody hell! What’s this?” asked Reading.

“Secret entrance,” said Giasson. “We rarely use it, but I think today is a good day for it.”

They drove the short distance and came to an interior gate that was opened by a pair of saluting Swiss Guards. Moments later they pulled into a secluded court yard, the driver parking near the entrance of one of the buildings.

Reading climbed out then helped Laura. Giasson said something to his driver then he too exited the vehicle. Screams of delight came from the building, causing them all to spin toward the source. Two small girls came racing from the doors, followed by a striking woman. The two girls raced toward Giasson who knelt down, his arms outstretched, a huge smile spreading ear to ear.

“Jade! Zoé!” he cried as he grabbed them in his arms and picked them up, placing big kisses on both their cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

“We heard the news, and figured we wouldn’t be seeing you for some time,” said the woman as she approached, giving Giasson a tender kiss on the lips, her gloved hand gently touching his cheek. Giasson lowered the children to the ground and introduced his family to Reading and Laura.

“May I present my wife, Marie-Claude, and my children, Jade and Zoé,” said Giasson. “These are my friends, Agent Hugh Reading of Interpol, and Professor Laura Palmer of University College London. They are helping me on”—he paused, then shrugged his shoulders—“the case. I guess it isn’t a secret anymore.”

“No, the entire world knows now,” said his wife. “I brought you a couple of fresh changes of clothes, plus some meals you can reheaten plus some toiletries, just in case you don’t get home tonight.”

“Most likely.”

She pulled both children close, covering one ear with her body, the other with her hands. “Was that gunfire I heard?”

Giasson nodded. “Yes.”

“Were you—”

“Yes. But we’re okay, so don’t worry.”

She gave him a cheek. “Don’t tell me not to worry, it’s my job. You certainly won’t.”

He chuckled and gave her a kiss. “Don’t worry, ma chérie, I’m okay, and with these two crack shots”—he motioned to Reading and Laura—“I have no need to worry about any ambush.”

Marie-Claude’s eyebrows shot up as she looked at Laura. “I thought you were a professor?”

“I am. But I lead a violent social life.”

Everyone burst out laughing except, at first, Marie-Claude, who then joined in, waving her hand in the air. “I don’t want to know! I don’t want to know! As long as my bébé is safe.” She patted the children on their backs. “Now, say goodnight to Papa, and we’ll go home so he can work!”

The two children gave their father hugs and kisses, then were led off by their mother, waving until they were out of sight. Giasson wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, watching them until they disappeared.

“You have a beautiful family,” said Laura.

“Merci,” said Giasson. “They are my most valuable possession.”

Reading found himself thinking of his son, a twinge of regret at not being there for most of his life racking his heart.

A man burst through the door and ran up to Giasson. “Sir, they’ve intercepted the plane!”

“Who?” asked Giasson as they all followed the man through the doors.

“The Turkish Air Force.”

Over Turkish Airspace

“This is Turkish Air Force Flight Izmir Four-Three to Gulf Five Flight out of Rome, you have illegally entered Turkish airspace. Acknowledge, over.”

Again Major Erten was met with nothing but static. He looked over to his wingman. “I’m going to see if I can get a look in the cockpit, over.”

“Roger that, over.”

Erten pushed ahead on the throttle, adding a little speed, and looked over at the cockpit not fifty feet from him.
Is he?
He flipped his F-16C Fighting Falcon on its back, positioning himself so his cockpit was looking directly down and into the unauthorized flight.

“He’s asleep!” he exclaimed.

“Izmir Four-Three, Command. Repeat your last transmission, over.”

“Command, Izmir Four-Three. He’s asleep, the pilot is asleep, over!”

“Izmir Four-Three, Command. Confirm your last transmission, did you say the pilot is asleep, over?”

“Command, Izmir Four-Three. Confirmed, he is asleep. Or dead. There appears to be a hole in the canopy. I will try to get a visual on the passengers, over.”

He righted his plane and took up a position off the left wing, his wingman doing the same on the other side.

“See anything?”

“Negative, I can’t see anything, all the blinds are closed.”

Erten leaned over and squinted, trying to see the windows, but with the position of the sun, he kept getting a glare. He descended slightly and for a moment had a clear view of the windows, and one passenger, head slumped against the window, then nothing as the glare returned.

“I’ve got one, asleep or dead. Let me call it in,” he said, flipping his comm. “Command, Izmir Four-Three. We’ve confirmed at least one passenger asleep or dead, no other activity detected, over.”

“Flight Izmir Four-Three, Command. Continue surveillance and await further instructions, over.”

“Command, Flight Izmir Four-Three, acknowledged, over.”

Erten advanced for another view of the cockpit, to see if there had been any change, but he could feel in the pit of his stomach there wouldn’t be. Obviously something had gone terribly wrong, and the plane was without oxygen.

And all aboard were doomed.

Corpo della Gendarmeria Office

Palazzo del Governatorato, Vatican City

Reading held the door open for Laura then nodded at Giasson. All had showered and changed after their ordeal, but were still sore and tired. Reading glanced at his watch.
3:37am
. Giasson was on the phone, speaking in Italian, then slammed the receiver down, the vein near his temple throbbing.

“What’s wrong?” asked Reading.

Giasson sighed, his hands clasped over his head. His eyes rolled up to look at Reading, his chin remaining down, only inches from the desk his elbows rested on. “The plane is not responding.”

“Well, that’s not exactly unexpected, is it?” asked Laura as she sat down.

Giasson shook his head as he leaned back into his chair. “No, you don’t understand, the Turkish Air Force challenged them, and there was no response. So they took a closer look and it appears the pilot is passed out or dead, along with the passengers.”

“James!” cried Laura, her hand darting to her mouth, tears filling her eyes.

Reading reached out and squeezed her arm. “You mean they depressurized?” he said softly.

“Most likely.” Giasson rose and rounded the desk, kneeling in front of Laura. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing they can do but let the plane continue until it runs out of fuel.” He glanced at Reading. “And hope that they survive the crash.”

“You mean there’s still a chance?”

“They’re at about twenty thousand feet. They could have just passed out from the thin air if they depressurized. The human body can survive in that state for a while, but with no one to fly the plane…” Giasson clearly didn’t want to finish the thought.

“But why wouldn’t the pilot have gone on oxygen?” asked Reading.

Giasson rose and returned to his desk. “I don’t know. Apparently there’s a hole in the canopy, which may explain it.”

Reading felt his chest tighten. “It’s my fault.”

Giasson and Laura looked at him. “What do you mean?” asked Giasson.

“I took a few shots at the cockpit before they took off. I must have damaged it.”

Laura patted his arm. “You were trying to save him. Don’t blame yourself.”

Reading put his hand over hers and squeezed. “I know, but still…”
I killed my friend.
He took a deep breath and looked at Laura, giving her a weak smile. “Quite the day we’ve had.”

Giasson cleared his throat. “You do know that with Professor Acton confirmed on board, in all likelihood DI Chaney and His Holiness are aboard as well.”

Reading frowned. “I realize that. And I grieve with you at your loss, at the world’s loss, but forgive me if I focus on my friends, first.”

Giasson dropped his head in acknowledgement, closing his eyes. He yawned then glanced at the clock on the wall. “I need sleep. We all do.” He rose. “I’ll have you shown to quarters, and wake you as soon as I hear any more news. They think it will only be a couple of hours. Apparently the plane wasn’t fully fueled. I guess they were expecting a short run.”

Laura said nothing, still in shock. Reading rose and helped her up by the elbow, then they both followed Giasson into the outer office, where there wasn’t a dry eye in the place. Reading knew what was going through their minds. He had been on enough kidnapping cases during his career that had ended with the death of the victim. You felt helpless, you felt sick.

You felt like a failure.

Vatican Guest Quarters

Apostolic Palace, The Vatican

Reading woke with a start, his ears straining to hear what had disturbed him. There was a knock at the door. “One moment!” he called as he rolled out of bed, throwing his shirt on and shoving his legs in his pants. He walked to the door in bare feet then opened it.

Giasson stood there, subdued. “It is time.”

Reading nodded. “I’ll get Laura and meet you in your office.”

Giasson turned and left as Reading walked down the hall and knocked on Laura’s door. There was no response. He knocked a little harder, and he heard a faint, “Come in.”

He turned the knob and opened the door slightly. “It’s me, can I come in?”

“Yes.”

He stepped inside and found Laura still lying under the covers.

“It’s time,” he said.

She nodded without saying anything.

“Five minutes in the hall?”

She nodded.

Reading closed the door and returned to his room, making a rapid toilette, then hurriedly dressed. He stepped out into the hallway to find Laura already waiting for him.
How the bloody hell did she finish before me, and look that good?

“How are you holding up?”

She shrugged her shoulders as they walked toward Security. “As good as can be expected, I suppose. It’s not every day you know when and how the one you love is going to die.” Her voice cracked and a tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed the back of her hand across her face, ridding it of her heartbreak. They hurried through the corridors and finally to the Security Office, Giasson standing in the pit, a large television screen surrounded by most of the staff. Reading looked at the screen and saw they were watching a CNN feed showing a plane, and a banner highlighted in red:
Plane About To Enter Iranian Airspace
.

“What’s the status?” asked Reading.

“They’re about to enter Iranian airspace, so the Turkish escort is about to break off.”

“Any estimate on fuel?”

“No more than an hour left, maybe minutes.”

They all returned their attention to the screen.

“For those of you just joining us, you’re watching live footage of a Gulfstream Five plane, allegedly stolen from the Rome international airport late last night. It entered Turkish airspace approximately two hours ago and has not responded to repeated hails. The Turkish Air Force has issued a statement indicating they believe there has been a depressurization of the cockpit and cabin, leaving the passengers and flight crew, including the pilot, unconscious. Some of you may remember the tragic loss of golfer Payne Stewart in a similar incident in 1999. As this is a stolen plane, we have no idea who is on board, however with news that the Pope, the head of the Roman Catholic Church, has been kidnapped, it is feared he may be on board, and this is a kidnapping gone terribly wrong.”

“What have the Iranians said?”

Giasson motioned for them to follow him into his office, and closing his door, took a seat on the edge of his desk. “They’re threatening to shoot it down as soon as it crosses the border.”

“What?” Reading looked at Laura, her face flush with anger. “Don’t they know who could be on that plane?”

“They’re claiming it’s a CIA plane, and the story of it being out of control, and possibly having His Holiness on board, is Western propaganda, designed to make Iran look bad if they defend their sovereign airspace.”

Laura shook her head. “That’s just ridiculous. God help us all if nutters like that get the bomb.”

“Agreed,” said Reading. He never really concerned himself that the Iranian’s would use the bomb officially. They knew they’d be wiped off the map, and though millions of them believed they’d be heading straight to Paradise, their leadership was most likely to hedge their bets and try to remain on Mother Earth as long as they could. But that was the problem, as he saw it. There were enough of them that
were
nutters, and what would
they
do with the bomb? Would it be “stolen”, and given to the likes of Hezbollah who were certifiable? Would the terrorist groups they supported be supplied with weapons to wreak havoc on the West, on Israel? People point to Pakistan as being an example of a Muslim nation with the bomb that didn’t use it. But what happened? The scientist who gave them the bomb then promptly sold the information to Iran, North Korea, Libya, and others. And the only reason the bomb hasn’t been used by Pakistan was that the military still essentially controlled that country. Why else would the United States send billions of dollars a year to a country that was providing safe haven to the Taliban? Because they couldn’t risk the country collapsing, and nuclear weapons falling into the hands of the fanatics that make up a significant portion of the population.

Reading sighed.

What a fucked up world we live in.

A round of cheers rose from the other side of the glass.

Iranian Airspace

“This is Angelfire One to Iranian aircraft. Break off or we will be forced to open fire, over.”

There was no response, not that Lieutenant Colonel Braddock was expecting any. At least not at first. Scrambled from the USS Abraham Lincoln Aircraft Carrier two hours ago, and refueled over Iraq for possible extended combat, they were on a Hail Mary mission, a name he found kind of ironic if the reports were true, if indeed the Pope were on this plane about to be shot down.