Page 46 of The Presidents Shadow

Suddenly, finally, my jumpy, crazy-nervous brain is able to create a plan, a real one this time.

It will, of course, be dangerous.

But the Shadow prefers things that way.

CHAPTER 64

I ASSUME THAT the Earth is still turning. But if so, that’s the only thing that has kept moving during this lockdown. As we make our ascent in the stolen airplane, I look down at the highways and byways below.

No cars are driving. No trains are moving. No planes are flying. I take that comment back. There isoneplane flying, and it has quite a lot going for it—fold-down cots for napping, microwavable food, and about fifteen bottles of a decent burgundy, to name a few.

We’ve been in flight twenty minutes when I ask Burbank, “How do you think we’re doing? Are you feeling sure of yourself?”

He answers calmly. “Number one, I’m doing fine. Number two, I’d feel more sure of myself if I could see the friggin’ fuel gauge. We’ve either got a full tank or we’re going to have to call an audible for a landing in Greenland.”

My own flying ability is practically nonexistent. I try to conjure up some hidden brain power that could help. I’mcoming up with nothing. We’re traveling too far over open ocean for me to chance using my mind powers to give the engine a boost.

Tapper and Margo are buckled into the swivel pods behind us. In case they couldn’t hear our conversation above the engine’s roar, I turn to reassure them. “Everything is going fine.”

Margo, resting on her cot, rolls her eyes. “No, it’s not, Lamont. I heard Burbank say that the fuel indicator is out.”

Caught. In a lie.

“Let me look,” she says, unlocking her safety belt.

The lights all over the control panel make it look like the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center to me. But Margo stoops over, looks back and forth, up and down, and says, “Burbank, this is a ‘partner control’ fuel indicator. You’ve got to press the Vision Clarification button at the same time you press the Current Allotment Fuel switch.”

And that’s exactly what she does.

“Almost totally full,” she says.

Unable to embrace humility, I say, “Ah, yes. I forgot about that. I must be tired.”

Margo gives the tiniest smirk and says, “Despite having slept most of the time we were trapped in our hotel?”

“Yes, despite that,” I say.

CHAPTER 65

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 toland 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.”

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