V

Jessica rolled over in bed.  What a terrible nightmare! She'd

dreamed the Tristan had been hijacked and she'd teamed up with a weird priest to try and stop the nefarious terrorist plot.

Why is there sheet metal in my bed?

"Hello!" shouted the priest.

Jessica's bed started shaking. Then she realized it wasn't her bed at all. Then she realized that no one was steering the ship.

"Jessica! Please wake up! The helm, the helm!"

Jessica came to and leapt up. "I've got it! I've got it!" she screamed.

"Thank God!" the priest cried.

Jessica grabbed the controls and the shaking stopped. The ship righted itself and continued to fly smoothly.

"Well done, helmsman. Uh, helmswoman. Um, Jessica," the priest babbled.

"Where's the vampire, Father?" Jessica asked nervously.

"He was thrown out the access door when the ship started shaking. It was a miracle."

She knew he was lying, but there was too much to do right now to question him. She picked up the radio. "Rome Air Traffic Control, please respond. This is the Tristan, Albion Airline, flight 007."

"Tristan, what is the status of the hijacker? Are you okay?" the control tower responded instantly.

Jessica thought about the priest's lie. It was all she had to go on. "The hijacker was accidentally thrown from the aircraft. Request guidance from air traffic control. We have several casualties, including the pilots."

"Sorry Tristan, we can't provide a vector for flight! You need to take evasive action!"

"What?!" Jessica didn't understand what was going on.

The instruments indicated that they were about three or four hours from Rome.

"We are not authorized to continue transmission. Please just take evasive action! God be with you. Rome Tower, out."

"Hello? Hello?!"Jessica screamed.

"What's wrong?" Abel asked.

"The control tower stopped responding even though they know we don't have a pilot!"

The Tristan's beeping radar cut Jessica short. She shrugged her shoulders. "The radar must be broken. According to this, three objects are approaching at six hundred miles per hour. Even airplanes don't fly that fast."

Abel ran to the radar to see for himself. "Cut off the engine!"

"Eh?"

"Cut off the engine and drop altitude! Now!" he screamed.

Jessica didn't understand Abel's sudden expertise in piloting aircraft, but she did as he commanded. She cut the engine, and let out some of the helium from the balloon. The craft descended.

"More, more! Get us almost on the ground!" Abel shouted.

"I've already let out too much helium. What's going on? You're freaking out over a radar glitch."

"It's no glitch," he responded. Abel frantically looked back and forth between the map and the radar screen. "Missiles. The objects are missiles, a lost technology of the ancient civilization. The rumors about tests at Assisi were true."

Jessica didn't understand a word of what he was saying, so Abel continued to explain. "Missiles can track the heat trails of engines, even after they are turned off. We're trying to lose them by dipping low and cutting our exhaust. The missiles might hit the ground. That is, before we do."

"How is that possible?" Jessica asked in disbelief.

He wanted her to fly the Tristan low to dodge these missiles. He was asking her to put them in guaranteed danger to avoid possible danger. Jessica started to protest.

"Just get us lower to the ground. I have an idea," the priest said before darting off.

"Where are you going?" she asked after him.

The Tristan entered a thick fog that hovered just above a deep ravine. Jessica consulted the map carefully and steered the ship hard to starboard. A mountain suddenly came into view on the port side. Luckily, Jessica was savvy enough to avoid it and kept the ship in one piece.

One of the approaching objects fell off the radar, just as they dipped low. So, the priest wasn't crazy after all.

"Come on! We've still got some work to do!" Jessica yelled at the Tristan.

As if responding, the Tristan's huge body shivered and sped up. The ship swung past the treacherous terrain as if an ace pilot were at the helm. A whole regiment of guardian angels must have been looking after her.

"Good Lord," Jessica gasped.

The sub-bridge mirrors showed a ball of light approaching on the horizon just behind the Tristan. It was like a rocket-propelled snake, winding through the clouds.

"You won't beat me," Jessica declared.

She put her whole body weight on the wheel and spun it. She bit her lip so hard that it bled, then screamed, "I won't lose to that thing!"

The tips of the wings dipped low and scraped along the tree line, snapping off the tops of tall pines. The trees burst into flames as they fell. Luckily, the missile couldn't make the turn and crashed into the terrain.

But there was still one left.

"We're not going fast enough for another turn! I can't dodge the next one!"

"It's okay. Thanks for buying me time," came Abel's voice from over the intercom.

The missile was too close. It was going to hit them any second.

Just then, the rear hatch of the sub-bridge opened and the messenger aircraft dropped out of the back, its engines already running. It bobbed in the air, then spun to the side. The ignition fired, leaving a trail of burning jet fuel. The missile adjusted course, latching onto roaring engines even hotter than the Tristan.

Jessica gasped.

The explosion stole her breath. What did the priest do? Did he pilot that plane just to lure the missiles away? She stared at the remnants of the airborne explosion. "Oh no, Father! You did that just to save us." She wept; her tiny frame wracked with sobs.

Then she stopped suddenly. Remembering his words, she gripped the wheel firmly in her grasp. "I'll do my job; you've done yours." Her hot tears fell onto the console. "I never even gave him the sandwich," she realized.

"That's why I'm extremely hungry right now," he whispered.

Jessica turned to see the priest leaning against the console, holding his ribs.

"Father! You're alive?"

"It took a lot of energy to get that plane off and still jump out before the missile reached us. I really am hungry."

Jessica plowed into him, hugging him tightly. She buried her face into his chest and cried.

Abel fell backward, exhausted but happy. "Um, you're choking me, Jessica. And the ship is going to crash."

Like before, Jessica straightened up and chastely collected herself. She took the wheel, restarted the Tristan's engines, and gained altitude.

Abel put his hand on her shoulder and gently stroked her hair. "You did your job well."

"As you did yours, Father."

Abel's expression darkened. The Tristan was safe, but he had some unfinished business. He pulled the piece of balloon from his coat pocket. Somewhere on this ship, a father is looking for his son.

Reluctantly, Abel removed his hand from Jessica's shoulder. "Take care of flying the ship. I need to go check on the other passengers."

Jessica exchanged longing glances with him. Then she remembered that she was staring deeply into the eyes of a priest. She turned her head, embarrassed by her own thoughts.

Just then: BEEP BEEP BEEP!

The radar showed an unidentified object hurtling toward the Tristan.

"The third missile!" Jessica exclaimed. "It's back! We can't dodge it; we can't cut the engines at this angle!"

"Duck!" Abel yelled as he grabbed Jessica to him. They fell to the floor just as the missile detonated. It blew out the windows of the sub-bridge and sent shards of glass raining down all around them. The Tristan heaved to one side.

Jessica screamed, but she couldn't hear her own voice over the deafening explosion. She clung to the blood-soaked priest as they tumbled across the floor. Jessica said a prayer, thinking this was the last moment of her life. She prayed for Abel, and silently told her mother she was sorry.

Then she heard Abel's voice, but he sounded like he was talking into a can. His words were garbled; she had to read his lips.

"Let go of me, please," Abel said.

"What?" Jessica asked. She could barely hear the sound of her own voice.

The smell of gunpowder and smoke at least proved that she was still alive. She looked around, seeing that the sub-bridge's floor had tilted, and she was now on top of Abel.

"Are you okay, Jessica?" he asked, sincerely worried.

"What happened?"

"Tristan, can you hear us?" asked a soft female voice over the intercom. "This is the Vatican Papal State AX Air Battleship Iron Maiden. We will guide you to Rome. Please follow our directions."

"What the hell does that mean?" Jessica asked, before she remembered she was in the company of a priest. She couldn't face him she was so embarrassed, so she kept her gaze on the window. The clouds parted and the largest airship she'd ever seen jutted through. "Lord Almighty, it's so huge!" she exclaimed.

It was bigger than life. It made the Tristan look like a toy.

The battleship passed between the Tristan and the twin moons, momentarily blotting out the sky. Jessica could just barely make out its design. The ship, with beautiful curves of sleek steel, had a distinct Roman cross painted on its side.

"Good evening, Sister Kate. Sorry to bother you. Again." Abel chuckled.

"I'm used to it, Father Nightroad. But I didn't take care of the missiles. It was Gunslinger. He says you owe him one," replied the radio.

"Tell him I'll buy him a drink," Abel joked.

"That's a negative, Abel. Iron Maiden, over and out," replied the radio.

Jessica heard a faint giggle over the radio before it fell silent. She cast a sideways glance at Abel.

"Those are my friends from work," he said nonchalantly.

Abel finally had time to take stock of his own appearance. His robe was soaked in blood: his, the duke's, and the crew's. One sleeve was missing from where he'd lost an arm. All in all, he didn't resemble an ordinary priest.

He looked at Jessica's wide eyes and smiled. "We're safe now, Jessica. Nothing in the world can get within ten thousand miles of us," Abel reassured her.

It was hard for Jessica to believe it. She looked out the window again, marveling at the Iron Maiden. It was just too big to comprehend. Between the duke and the missiles, she was still quite unnerved.

The clouds thinned and the first light of dawn broke over the horizon. For a moment, a strange calm came over her. "Beautiful" was the only word she could muster. Beautiful to behold. Beautiful to be alive.

The windows had been blown out, so the smell of wet earth and flowers wafted on the breeze. The skies gradually turned golden.

Jessica held a firm grip on the helm and rolled the words over in her head a few times before she spoke. "Abel? Can I ask you something?" Jessica turned to look into his eyes, ready to pour out her feelings, wanting to see his face when she did.

But he was nowhere to be found. She looked around the sub-bridge, but the only other thing she could see was her shadow.

"Father?" she asked.

†

Palazzio Spada buzzed with activity in the predawn light. No one had slept the previous night.

Cardinal Caterina Sforza was taking a break after working the whole night through. The streets below her office bustled with laborers and office workers; the noise comforted her. She wasn't alone in her crusade for peace and safety. She knew that everyone down below would give their all for the Vatican. She smiled and sipped her tea.

"Renewal of Albion Trade Agreement Passes" read the morning headline. The Vatican Public Affairs office had outdone themselves. There was no mention of the hijacking in the news at all that week. The deaths of the crew were attributed to a bizarre food poisoning. That also explained the erratic flying to the passengers. All in all, it was wrapped up rather neatly thanks to her agents.

Cardinal Caterina gazed down at the newspapers through her monocle, resting her teacup gently to the side. She delicately wiped the corners of her mouth and carefully folded her napkin before replacing it on her desk. Inhaling the tea's pleasant aroma, she closed her eyes.

"Something's different about the tea. Him . . . Chamomile, lemon grass, honey . . . and peppermint?"

"A wonderful guess, Cardinal Sforza. I added the peppermint and a drop of quince," replied the hologram on the cardinal's desk. The holographic image was of an elderly nun with a mole on her cheek. She was pleasant in the most comforting way. Her smile could calm a raging bull.

"I noticed that you were tired lately, so I made a recipe that would be gentle for your throat. Does it suit your tastes?" the hologram asked.

"Quite delightful, Sister Kate. Thank you," the cardinal replied.

Cardinal Caterina neatly folded the newspaper when she was finished. She drained the last of her tea and rested her chin in her hand. Last week's events weighed heavily on the cardinal's mind. It was a victory for the young pope, but that didn't make it sting any less.

"Sister Kate, about the hijacking, when can  I  expect a detailed analysis report?" the cardinal asked.

"Intel is putting the finishing touches on the in-flight report as we speak. In fact, I expect it within the hour. The background report is taking longer than expected. I'm sorry for that," the hologram apologized.

It had been a week since the hijacking. The incident and the cover up operations were kept quiet, but as far as solving the actual crime was concerned, there were too many unanswered questions. The cardinal's head felt very heavy.

It was daunting: motive, accomplices, access to the ship, the disc, the murder of one of the crew member's family, all of it. The lone hijacker had committed suicide when he was asked who put him up to the crime. There was too much going on; the plot ran too deep. Were the terrorist's demands real or a sham?

Caterina mulled it over again and again. The Vatican was the most powerful human organization on the planet. So many people looked to them for safety and support. She needed answers in the worst way. The hologram spoke again and broke Caterina's train of thought.

"We have confirmed the hijacker boarded the Tristan at the supply port in Matheliah Airport. Yesterday, Father Nightroad went there to investigate. We'll have his report shortly."

"They haven't left any other evidence for us. Why would Matheliah be any different?" the cardinal asked rhetorically.

It felt like they were chasing a ghost. There were so many intangible factors at work. The plot was so big that there had to be something, somewhere she could latch on to.

All they really had was the hijacker's confession before his suicide. Alfredo, Duke of Meinz, had named the Rosenkreuz Orden as his employers.

Is this some kind of ruse as well? It can't be the Rosenkreuz Orden. They've been gone for ten years, and they never had the will or means to pull off something like hijacking the Tristan.

At this point, Cardinal Caterina Sforza was positively swimming in doubt.