Page 66 of The Presidents Shadow

I HAVE EVEN more time to rest during our entirely automated eight-hour flight, but I can’t. I’m way too nervous about the last, most problematic part of my plan—which is how to land this damn thing…

Burbank, as our captain pro tempore, calls the three of us to attention.

He cups both his hands to his mouth, and, pretending to be an announcer on a loudspeaker he says, “This is your captain speaking. For your information, we are approximately thirty minutes from our destination.”

Then he adds, “I hope.”

His joke is far from funny, and I might be the only one who knows exactly how far. I’ve had a plan jumping around in my head for the entire flight, but it’s risky—and I have just thirty minutes to share and execute it with Margo, Burbank, and Tapper.

“I also have an announcement to make,” I say.

“Does it have something to do with how we’re going to land at a deserted John F. Kennedy Airport without any air traffic controllers?” says Tapper.

“Well, funny you should ask,” I say. “While I’ve been sitting here next to Burbank on this flight, I’ve thoroughly examined the self-landing capacities on the board.

I believe that everything I’ve calculated is ready to go.

We’ve all got to work together if my plan is going to be successful, and”—I pause here, perhaps a bit too dramatically—“if we’re all going to survive. ”

I try as hard as I can to ignore the mixture of dread and confusion on all three of my friends’ faces. I talk some more.

“As Burbank has already informed us, we will soon be over land. I have set all phases of the computer’s self-navigation mode to route our flight, as much as possible, over Cape May, the last land location on that little peninsula on the southern tip of New Jersey.”

Margo stands up. “At which point I assume we’ll still be at least ten thousand feet in the air. Is there a plan for getting us the rest of the way down?”

I look down at the floor. I stop talking for a moment. I brace myself. Then I speak.

“The four of us will evacuate the plane when I give the signal.”

Tapper speaks loudly, his voice quivering. “What the hell?”

“Let me finish. There is a ram-air parachute under every seat and cot. Please take yours out and—”

It will be a scene of interruptions.

“No,” says Tapper. “I can’t do it. I won’t do it.”

Margo’s voice quivers as she says, “I don’t know if that’s actually a plan, Lamont. That’s just jumping.”

“And crossing our fingers when we do,” says Burbank.

“Just keep one hand free to pull the chute,” Tapper says.

Then I say, as firmly as I can without sounding panicky, “Yes, you will do it. It’s what we must do. Surely what’s happening to the rest of the world is more important than our individual fears.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Lamont. You have capabilities we don’t have,” says Margo.

“I understand that. But this is what we must do,” I say. “It’s the only viable plan.”

“And what about this plane? It’ll just crash into Cape May, killing people?” Burbank asks.

“Of course not. I would never allow that. The plane is programmed to continue beyond the peninsula and dive sharply into Delaware Bay, which will, I assume, be deserted at this time.”

I tell them that the ram-air design of the parachutes is the safest launch-and-landing gear that exists. Of course, that does absolutely nothing to calm anyone.

Then I add, “I will use my mind strength to try to build a power connection between the four of us as we fall. But I make no guarantees.”

My team has lived a life of no guarantees for a long time. Still, I can’t help but sense a growing feeling of resentment as they slip into their gear. If anyone is hurt. If I lose anyone…

“Cape May is coming up in a few minutes,” says Burbank. “I’m bringing the flight height down. Down. Down. No further adjustment needed.”

Margo unfastens the three security bars on the door.

“Get ready!” I shout. “On my signal!”

Mentally I add— And God help us.