Those dollars then found their way into the campaign coffers of the current Senate Majority Leader, House Speaker, and the President of the United States.
So this is what got Riker so spooked. Can’t say I blame him. These are some mighty powerful sacred cows who sure as hell don’t want to look as if they have anything to do with the people who might have hijacked that missing plane.
As good as this information from Riker was, it still left Tilley without any idea as to what Atlantis Flight 444’s flight crew intended to do with the plane, if in fact they did take it over. Where would they go? And more importantly, why?
Ray Tilley heard his phone vibrating on the diner table, its screen indicating a number he had never seen before. It was his Project Icon phone, and normally the only call that ever came in on it was from Stephen Mardian.
“This is Tilley – who is this?”
There was a slight pause before a deep, roughened voice answered.
“Mr. Tilley, my name is Father Victor Barnes. I believe it might do us both some good if you and I had ourselves a little talk.”
19.
Captain Rogers and Air Marshal Huskich walked confidently down the just delivered boarding steps, each man looking at the tallest of the four men who stood waiting for them on the ground.
Colonel Imed Mabazza was a serious man undertaking serious business, considered by many in his country of Tunisia to be that nation’s true kingmaker. Colonel Mabazza had, over the last ten years, consolidated his authority over much of the Tunisian military, and provided protection to various international corporations who utilized the nation as an essential money laundering facility. This was done for a price of course, a price that had made the colonel a very wealthy man.
Now nearing his sixtieth year, Colonel Mabazza grew impatient. Beyond the duties of business, were the increasingly urgent spiritual demands that he knew must be promoted. Following the glorious attacks upon the American Satan on 9-11, Allah would be glorified even further by an attack on perhaps humankind’s greatest devil, the Catholic beast whose shadow originated from the cesspool that was the Vatican. It had been nearly twenty years when Mabazza, then a lowly private, had initiated the first of what would be a great many executions of non-Muslims throughout his nation. Since that time, no fewer than eighty such executions had taken place, some of them under his own knife.
Today though, was to be no simple knife across the throat of an infidel, but rather a thunderous retribution long overdue against the Catholic horde. One that would initiate an all too predictable reaction – the panicked need for more weaponry as Muslims killed Christians, and nations then prepared for war. Colonel Mabazza and his Saudi connections would then sell to all sides, as their influence expanded as quickly and greatly as their wealth.
The “peace keepers” would be their most profitable clients of course, that gaping hole that was the United Nations into which the foolish behemoths like the United States poured billions of dollars into. Dollars that would then be used to destroy the behemoth through ever increasing global regulations, trading inequalities, and of course, more wars. It was, at long last, the beginnings of a New United Nations, upon which a conclusion would resolve itself to banish, once and for all, the American experiment that had always been doomed for failure.
“Colonel Mabazza, you honor us with your presence, sir. As you can see, we have delivered the plane, and are ready to deliver the weapon you promised us.”
The colonel dipped his head slightly toward Captain Rogers, and then extended his right hand toward a simple, small wooden structure outside of which two armed Tunisian soldiers stood.
“Right this way, gentlemen. Let us get out of this hot sun and discuss what happens next.”
Reyos Huskich walked behind both the captain and the colonel, noting the colonel’s immaculate, light green military suit and shoes that were polished to a brilliant sheen. Colonel Mabazza appeared to be at least a couple inches over six feet, his lean frame and posture perfectly straight, his walk the movements of a man supremely confident in his control over the world around him. And despite approaching sixty, the colonel’s dark skin was almost completely devoid of lines. He appeared quite capable of living another two decades or more.
Once inside the structure, the colonel sat down at a small metallic desk and instructed the other two men to take make use of the chairs opposite him.
“Welcome to my office abroad. It is here I have conducted some of the most important transactions of my career. Today is perhaps the most important of all of them. What we intend to do with that plane will be spoken of through the ages, long after all of us are gone.”
At that moment the air marshal concluded he had no patience for the preening Tunisian colonel. The man’s self importance annoyed Reyos Huskich, who simply wanted their business concluded so the plane could once again be on its way to the Vatican.
“Where are the weapon and the fuel?”
Captain Roger’s glared at the Huskich, worried the man had offended the colonel. Colonel Mabazza merely smiled, and tilted his head toward the open door of the hut.
“Both are being delivered to the island as we speak. I have a ship 500 yards from this location. You did not expect me to take the risk of moving such a unique weapon until I knew you would be here, did you? And the plane will be refueled, yes, that is being delivered as well, more than enough to complete your journey.”
“There is no rescue operation in the area, correct?”
The colonel nodded, the thin smile remaining on his smooth skinned face.
“All attention has been diverted to the debris field you left a thousand miles from here. The media are making much of the fact the plane’s automated communications system was shut off, but speculation is that the impact of the crash may have caused that, or a significant malfunction. We are, for now, completely hidden from their rescue operation. Plus, should their attention turn to this area, the Tunisian government would of course provide assistance in the search, and since I am much of what constitutes the Tunisian government…”
Colonel Mabazza’s voice trailed off, the man’s overwhelming confidence in himself once again annoying Huskich.
“Oh, and what of the passengers, gentlemen? I want no bloodshed on my island, so if you intend to kill them, please do so on the plane. I am happy to provide you weapons, as I assume the only armed member of your crew is the air marshal here, and he could not have afforded to waste ammunition so soon in the mission, correct?”
Captain Rogers nodded his head in gratitude.
“Yes, we’d be grateful for more weapons Colonel, though I intend to keep the passengers alive to the very end of our journey. I want the infidels’ fears to be another gift to Allah, as they realize where we are going, and what we intend to do.”
Colonel Mabazza stared intently at the captain for a moment before rising from behind the desk.
“Very well then, I believe I hear the arrival of the weapon and your fuel.”
Once again the captain and air marshal followed behind the colonel as he strode toward the surrounding beach in the direction of a single, steel hulled military transport boat that had beached itself. Despite his annoyance with the Tunisian military peacock named Mabazza, Reyos Huskich could barely contain his anticipation over the completion of the mission. Soon, the world would know his name. Soon, the world would be forever changed.
The air marshal looked over to the hangar structure, confident the gun he had left with Milla would be enough to keep the cowardly passengers in line until he returned to the plane. Just before departing with the captain, Danika had informed him the American army boy remained bound in one of the bathrooms to the homosexual, both men still unconscious.
All was going according to Allah’s divine plan.
20.
“Go ahead, Father Barnes, you have my full attention.”
Ray Tilley kept his voice low, not wanting anyone else in the nearly empty diner to overhear the phone conversation.
>
“Mackenzie Walker, Mr. Tilley – why was he on Atlantis Flight 444?”
Tilley glanced over at the diner entrance and then leaned down toward the table, his voice lowering even further.
“How about you start by telling me why Stasia Wellington was on that same flight?”
Tilley was surprised at the absence of hesitation from Father Barnes, thinking his mentioning of Wellington would catch the priest by surprise.
“I don’t know Mr. Tilley, I haven’t had a say in Stasia’s whereabouts for a very long time. I don’t believe that same fact applies regarding you and Mr. Walker though.”
Ray Tilley stood up and made his way quickly toward the exit, wanting to continue the conversation outside.
“He’s not one of ours, if that’s what you’re thinking Father Barnes, at least, not yet. So tell me, are you calling on behalf of Vatican Intelligence, because I was told they’d already struck a deal with the American government, and representatives for the airline – that officially, Mac Walker and Stasia Wellington were never on that plane.”
Tilley grinned as he realized this time he did catch the priest off guard.
“Is that right? And who told you that?”
“Probably the same people who allowed you to get this number Father Barnes. How about we cut to the chase here – what do you want?”
“I want some goddamn answers, Mr. Tilley. Whatever happened to that missing plane has some very important people around here worried, and they’re chewing on my ass to find out what your man was doing on that flight. Now the way I figure it, you have the same kind of self important assholes on your end of things, pushing you to give them answers too, am I right?”
This is one angrily aggressive, foul mouthed priest.
“Yeah, Father that sounds about right.”
During the next ten minutes, each man shared the information the other had regarding the missing plane, the connections among the flight crew, the links to and the possibility the plane had been hijacked and was being hidden at an unknown location somewhere. There was little that one man knew that wasn’t already known by the other, with the sole exception of the priest indicating high ranking officials in Rome believed an attack might be imminent on the Vatican itself.
Tilley assumed then those same officials believed the missing 767 was to be used as some kind of delivery device, similar to what took place so recently in New York on September 11th, 2001.
The debris pile off the coast of France could be an intentional distraction.
“Father Barnes, if a plane were hijacked from France, to later be used as a weapon against the Vatican, what area would provide the hijackers the greatest opportunity for success?”
Tilley could hear the priest clearing his throat before responding.
“They wouldn’t fly over the European continent, far too many surveillance systems in place to go undetected, anti missile defense systems, etc.”
Tilley nodded his head.
“That’s right – they’d be coming from across the Mediterranean. Now with that in mind, are there any other governments in the area that come to mind who would want to initiate such an aggressive attack on the Vatican?”
The priest grunted on the other end.
“Take your pick, Mr. Tilley, as you well know, it’s a dangerous world. There are factions within Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, Egypt…”
“I’m not asking you about groups of militants or dissidents who dislike Rome, Father. I’m asking what governments in the area could, and would, be willing to pull something like this off? Eliminate both Morocco and Egypt. Both are too far from a direct flight line into Rome. That leaves Algeria, Tunisia, and Libya. Libya is too obvious, and for as unbalanced as he appears, Gaddafi knows that. He wouldn’t involve himself in this, at least not directly.
“So that leaves us with Algeria and Tunisia. Both offer the possibility of a direct flight path into Rome without having to cross land to get there, with Tunisia being both the shortest, and most direct. Both nations suffer from radical Islamic elements that are rampant throughout all levels of their government. I suggest we focus on those two countries to see if we can uncover anything that might indicate where the plane could have been taken, if it was in fact taken. I also suggest we be very quick about it Father Barnes, because if Atlantis Flight 444 is being used as a weapon, it would take that craft no more than an hour to fly from North Africa to Rome, and I have a distinct feeling we are running out of time.”
The priest went silent for several seconds before his baritone growl resumed the conversation.
“Perhaps we need to see if there are any links between the cleric Torgal Al-Muhamed and anyone within the Algerian or Tunisian governments? That could be the thread that ties all of this together.”
Ray Tilley’s eyes widened as he stood outside the diner with the Project Icon phone to his ear, sensing the priest’s suggestion held merit, while also disappointed he had not come more quickly to that same conclusion himself.
“I’m on it, Father Barnes. Check in again within the hour. Oh, and one more thing. You mind telling me how you came to have this number?”
The priest ended the call without an answer.
It took both men no more than forty minutes to locate the link between the radical Muslim cleric Torgal Al-Muhamed and the Tunisian government, though in Tilley’s defense, half that time was devoted to his returning back from the roadside diner to his home office in the D.C. suburbs. This link centered on the same June 2001 Allah’s Children Group fundraiser that Bradley Riker had included in his intelligence report to Ray Tilley earlier that day, based off of a New York Times article of the event, an article Tilley was now looking at on his computer. Among the dignitaries at that event was one Colonel
Imed Mabazza, a military strongman who had long been a fixture in the upper echelons of Tunisian government.
Tilley’s phone rang. Before he had a chance to speak, the priest’s voice cut across the thousands of miles that separated them.
“Tunisia. If that plane was taken, it’s in Tunisia. You see the New York Times story on the fundraiser from last year, the picture of the cleric and Colonel Mabazza standing together?”
Ray Tilley clicked on the image so that it covered his entire screen.
“Yeah, looking at it right now.”
Tilley looked down at the photograph and found himself staring into the eyes of the colonel, noting how dark and devoid of emotion they were. They were certainly the eyes of a man capable of inflicting great pain onto others.
“So what now, Mr. Tilley?”
Ray Tilley clicked off the New York Times link.
“I’m gonna see if I can get some one of our ships located in the Mediterranean to scramble a couple fighter jets along the Tunisian coast, try and locate the plane. We’ll pull up satellite data, make unofficial inquiries into the Tunisian government, and hope to god our hunch is wrong. What about you, Father? Can the Vatican get the Italian military to be put on alert status?”
“Probably, but they still want to believe the plane is most likely under a thousand feet of water off the French coast. And…there’s something else to consider too.”
Tilley already knew what the priest was referring to.
“There’s the matter of Stasia and your Mr. Walker. If that plane was hijacked, and they’ve managed to stay alive, they’re gonna fight back. At least, I know Stasia will. If there’s any way possible to keep that plane from being used as a weapon, she’ll make it happen.”
Ray Tilley was nodding to himself. He had already thought that very thing regarding Mac Walker’s own seemingly limitless determination to never give up, and never give in.
21.
“So that’s it? I expected something more…imposing.”
Colonel Imed Mabazza lifted the small metallic tube from the transport box and held it up in his hands.
“I assure you captain, just this one canister is enough to wipe out every living thing within a half mile
of the detonation point. We are delivering twenty-two such canisters for your flight to Rome. No-one within the Vatican will survive this attack, and their suffering will be excruciating.”
“What is it?”
The air marshal was even more dubious of the colonel’s claim than was the captain, his eyes looking over the rows of identical canisters lined up inside of the transport bin.
Colonel Mabazza returned the canister with the others and then smiled down at Reyos Huskich.
“It is a v-series nerve agent more commonly called Purple Possum, Mr. Huskich. Developed by the British in the 1950’s, and quickly banned by international authorities shortly thereafter. I have a scientist who has been modifying it, enhancing its properties to allow it to be more easily spread, and thus, giving it an even greater dispersion. It kills both by skin contact, and even more quickly, via intrusion into the lungs. The victim effectively drowns in their own fluids. Normally it would take nearly ten milligrams to kill a human being. We have lowered that amount to just five. All of these canisters combined will deliver over ten thousand milligrams. Your plane is being refueled, and with Rome being just an hour’s flight away, will remain nearly full of fuel upon its arrival, thus ensuring a rather significant detonation, which in turn will allow the nerve agent to be spread several miles around that detonation point. All you need do is place this box as close to the fuselage as possible. It will make the Twin Towers attack in America look like child’s play compared to the tens of thousands who will die at your hand, and those thousands will of course be inhabitants of that den of sin – the Vatican itself. We shall remove the head from the Christian blight that darkens this world.”
Huskich was now smiling as his eyes looked over the canisters with near manic hunger, his initial annoyance toward the colonel now forgotten as his mind filled itself with the imagined images of the death and destruction he would deliver to Rome. Allah would most certainly reward him well in the afterlife for such a deed.
Military Fiction: THE MAC WALKER COLLECTION: A special ops military fiction collection... Page 9