Page 7 of Air Force One
“Yes.”
“Killed?”
“That’s what Drake said.”
“Don’t move an inch!” He strode away and raised his wrist microphone to his mouth.
“An inch is a very restrictive distance,” Miranda started to look down, then gasped and moved her head back to its former position.
“All he means is, stay here,” Andi told her.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. You can turn to look at me or even move a little. Just don’t go far.”
“How far?” She turned the least amount possible to look at Andi just in case she guessed wrong about how far too far might be.
“Stay here by me,” Andi pointed at the ground, “And we’ll be fine.”
Miranda moved to stand where Andi had pointed, even though it placed them so close together that they were at risk of knocking each other over. Andi hugged her. “If you stand that close to me, you get an automatic hug.”
“Thank you, that’s useful information. But how am I supposed to start investigating his death if I can’t move?”
“I’m thinking there must be some communication mix-up. We should know soon what is actually?—”
The Secret Service agent blasted into them from behind and separated them by the simple expedient of grabbing both of their upper arms without breaking stride. “Apologies, I need you to come with me. We need to hurry.”
In three steps, they were at the side door of the car. Without so much as asking, he shoved them into the back seat and closed the door. Andi pushed the door open long enough for Meg to jump in with them, then closed it again. The agent circled around to the passenger door at a full sprint, slamming the trunk loudly as he passed by.
“Where—” Andi started to ask.
“That means Drake is right. He is dead.” It was confusing to receive a phone call from a dead man. She’d never heard of such a thing.
Wait, she had. Some passengers on the hijacked airliners during the 9/11 attacks had phoned loved ones, knowing they were probably dead. So Drake’s syntax was not precise, they weren’t dead, but in his professional estimation they were going to be. That made much more sense.
Miranda thought about Air Force One’s typical flight level. High enough to take a long time to descend even under disastrous circumstances. Four minutes and thirty-six seconds if they didn’t exceed a parachutist’s terminal velocity, calculating the six seconds to reach terminal speed. That was if she didn’t factor in the coefficient for the wind drag at forty-five thousand feet to reach terminal velocity. However, at that altitude, they were above eighty-four percent of the atmosphere, so the additional drag was hardly worth calculating until they were lower in the atmosphere, especially as she didn’t know their precise cruising altitude, descent angle, or wing configuration.
Miranda stopped her brain, then exhaled slowly.
Rabbit hole. Rabbit hole. Rabbit hole. She whispered it three times to herself to shift her mind away from a pointless calculation or consideration. It always made her think of small rabbits snuggled all warm and cozy in their dens, which was a good thing.
So four and a half minutes minimum descent time—another deep breath—approximately. At a best-practices fifteen-to-one glide slope and a speed of three hundred knots, they’d be aloft for a maximum of thirty minutes with a most-likely first-order approximation of twenty-six.
Either a catastrophic descent or a controlled one would allow Drake time to call his wife to say goodbye. Miranda pulled out her personal notebook.
“What was that note?” Andi leaned over to look as the Beast squealed its tires in a sharp turn outside the airfield’s gate.
“If I’m ever in that situation, I want to make sure I remember to call you.” The car’s motion made it very difficult to write legibly.
Andi grabbed her hand and kissed it before holding it to her cheek, making it even harder to finish the note with her other hand—but she managed.
As the Beast cleared the airport, they picked up a police escort.
Before they reached the White House grounds, an armed helicopter flew low above them.
“What are we doing here? If Drake and Roy are crashing out to sea, that’s where I should be.”
Andi didn’t answer, instead holding her hand tighter.
