Page 28 of Air Force One
Wang Daiyu’s bravery overwhelmed him, She could be tortured and executed for such a statement, and yet she spoke it for him so that he didn’t have to. Then he noted that she didn’t even add, should the need arise. Like the warrior she was, she had no tolerance for waste—at any level.
He considered…and agreed with her assessment. Thankfully, Zuocheng was too old to be tempted into grasping for power himself. Regrettably, China had only ever accepted a single female ruler, which had been thirteen centuries ago as an aberration in the midst of the Tang Dynasty. Besides, he would never wish such a burden on Wang Daiyu. She was too competent and too much the warrior. Not a political player, she would never be more than the fearsome weapon she had honed herself into.
But what a weapon she’d made. That she’d gifted it to him to wield was beyond price.
“Hei Yù,” he whispered and held out his hand to her over the twice-renewed tea service.
His Black Jade took his old hand in her strong one and rose from her chair. Once she stood between his feet, she turned away and lowered herself ever so slowly. The black silk of her green dragon cover slid above her hips until she sat upon his lap so that together they might enjoy the Black Woman’s Seventh Method combined with Daiyu’s Utkatasana chair pose—the first advanced variation they had created and perfected themselves.
Yes, there must be some way to use this unique moment in history—unless it had been China’s doing. If it had, Zuocheng would take the American President’s advice; he and Daiyu would run fast and hide deep. None would look for them at the abandoned hunting cabin high in the central mountains.
23
Sarah Feldman’s speech and swearing in went into full-on Fourth Estate replay. Every journo in the world had a theory and insisted on airing it as much as possible between replays of that thirty-second speech she’d made after becoming President.
“Well that sure as shit didn’t go as planned.” There was no one to respond because there was no one to hear.
It was going to make the next move a hundred times harder.
But, as those Navy SEALs kept saying on TV and in books, The only easy day was yesterday.
24
Miranda discovered that it was nearly as hard to get out of a crashed White House as it had been to get in. Again, the Secret Service had to escort them, except this time the various guards didn’t want to open doors at all. It didn’t matter that the other side of each door reported all was quiet.
Andi had whispered that they were still in shock from the President’s death.
“Are you in shock? Am I supposed to be in shock? I don’t feel like I am.”
Andi paused, causing a ripple of upset in their escort. They hurried along together. “I’m trained to deal with shock. When my copilot Ken was killed in mid-flight, I finished the flight first before allowing myself to feel the horror. That’s what I’m doing now, I suppose. It will catch up with me later. There’s only so long that suppressing something like this works.”
“What about me? Will it catch up with me?”
“Uh, when I was reading up on autistics… You know I did that, right?”
Miranda shook her head. “I didn’t, but it makes sense that you would if you’re dating one.”
“Married to one.” Andi held up her beringed hand.
“Oh, right.” Miranda held up her own hand and then nodded. “Why is it that the biggest changes are the hardest to remember?”
“Let’s take that question up later. My reading said that there’s no way to predict how you will handle loss. Grief or not. Gently when the time allows or a catastrophic blast to your psyche. No way to really know, though I’d like to place a strong vote against the latter option.”
Miranda nodded. She’d second that vote. “Actually, the way I dealt with my parents’ loss was to study airplanes.”
“Sure, the first time, when they died. But when you found out about who they really were and how they really died?” Andi made an explosion noise and moved her fingers up past her head like…like…the top of her head blowing off.
“Oh, I got that one!”
“Well done you!” They traded high-fives.
“You’re right. Let’s not do that one either.”
Finally, they escaped onto the South Lawn, and the world seemed normal again. It was still unseasonably warm for January. The weather driven north by the Georgia hurricane that had spread high cirrus horsetail clouds across the early morning sky, presaging a change, had delivered though it wasn’t even noon yet. Now an overcast of high-level altostratus was moving in. Rain was predicted, but nothing nasty. At least not by onshore standards.
But a sunken plane at sea—one that reached high enough to experience wave action—could quickly turn problematic. They must hurry.
Freed from the crashed White House, the grounds team was setting out the three two-meter aluminum disks to support the Marine Corps HMX-1 aircraft that President Feldman had authorized for Miranda’s use.
