by Jason Letts
Before shutting his eyes, he took one more long glance around the shadows and dark forms in his dismal apartment, sure that this would be the last day of his life before it became what it always should’ve been. These shabby conditions were unbecoming, degrading even, and a prison cell would be an upgrade considering the purpose of it.
When Oliver left early the next morning for his trip with boom mic case and briefcase in hand, he cared so little about what happened to his apartment that he didn’t bother to close the door on his way out. His first stop was back at the office to meet up with Heath, similarly shedding a black Kia Forte in embarrassing condition that he would never need to drive again.
Prior to entering, Oliver went to the van he knew they’d be taking and switched out the microphone case with his special one. When he saw Heath coming his way, Oliver hastily dumped the original case into the garage’s corner. Like a good placated yeoman, Heath had a happy-go-lucky bounce in his step and a smile under his bald head that seemed disturbingly akin to the Buddha.
“Looks like another day of living the dream flying on Air Force One,” Heath said. Oliver smiled and nodded.
“I thought I’d save you the trouble of checking over the truck. We’re one hundred percent ready,” Oliver said. Heath appeared surprised.
“That’s nice. What’d you do that for?”
Oliver hadn’t been prepared for this question, but he’d never had a moment in his life when he opened his mouth and wasn’t able to produce a passable lie.
“Nobody likes having to work on their birthday, so I thought the least I could do was save you the trouble.”
“It’s not my birthday,” Heath said, laughing.
“Oh, really? I thought that it was. Anyway, consider it a downpayment then.”
“I just want to grab an extra battery pack for the camera. It seems to be sucking juice faster and faster lately. I’d hate for it to cut out on us in the middle of your recap.”
“Good point,” Oliver said, stifling a grumble at an annoying additional wait. “But I could probably shoot it now if we wanted. Today at Dayton Municipal Courthouse, President Alex Morrin and First Lady Bethany Morrin successfully received a judgment of divorce. Since it was a childless marriage, the only points of contention consisted of property accrued by the couple that included the president’s baseball card collection and a nearby farmhouse used as a rental property. President Morrin will be required to equitably pay the former First Lady fifty percent of the value in addition to alimony consisting of a percentage of his presidential salary.”
Heath chuckled as he grabbed the battery pack off the shelf in the garage and came back out to the truck in the lot.
“This job would be a ton easier if we could always predict the news like that. You may be right, but I have a sneaking suspicion this whole thing will spin sideways one way or another,” he said, tossing the pack into the back of the tall news truck and slamming closed the rear door.
“You’ve got quite a sense of intuition,” Oliver said, hiding a grin as he turned to the truck’s passenger door.
Soon they were off traveling across the streets of D.C. and toward Joint Base Andrews, where Air Force One would be leaving from. Getting into the base was a simple matter of Heath waving his Washington Post badge out the window at the checkpoint, then they were free to head to the terminal.
Unlike the carousels for whatever other flights were arriving or departing from the base, baggage collection for Air Force One consisted of a cart outside of the plane that would be hoisted into the storage compartment underneath, and all Oliver and his special equipment needed to do to get to it was to pass through a screening point with an x-ray scanner inside.
Other journalists and members of the presidential entourage were lining up, filing through as quickly as possible. Oliver glanced at a doltish-looking man seated by the monitor on the side of the scanner. This low-paid grunt was the president’s last line of defense, and he appeared ready to nod off despite an empty coffee cup perched on the station’s surface.
When their turn came around, Heath tossed the boom mic case onto the conveyor belt with all of the care of a kid flinging toys into bins when it was cleanup time. The case rattled around as it settled, drawing an uncomfortable look from Oliver as he thought about how the explosives it contained might react to being shaken like that. The last thing they needed to do was blow themselves up at the security checkpoint.
“Let’s take it easy with the equipment,” Oliver said. Heath glanced back at him and laughed.
“One shot at prep work and you’re already starting to sound like a technician!” Heath said. Oliver wasn’t going to miss Heath at all.
But the case was immediately jammed in on each side with other containers full of equipment that moved along on a conveyor belt in order to be scanned. Oliver felt a legitimate note of trepidation as the plastic case shifted into the x-ray chamber, and all he could do was step through the metal detector with his wrist held over his head to signal his watch.
The thought that something would go wrong or that he’d made a mistake started to metastasize in his head, and he was sure alarms would go off any second. Surely someone would catch him considering what he was trying to do.
Heath coughed and Oliver nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Get a glass of water before you choke on your own phlegm,” he said. Heath winced at him.
“Sorry. Throat’s a little dry. I hope they have seltzer on the flight again.”
But there was nothing from the x-ray scanner, and their bags came through on the conveyor belt. Oliver took a relieved breath as he saw the plain black plastic case roll down toward them. His momentary scare had been foolish and unnecessary. Of course he’d done a perfect job of disguising his work.
As Heath grabbed their bags, Oliver realized that snapping over a cough had also been an error borne out of some momentary jitters, and it wasn’t going to gel with the need to keep Heath’s attention preoccupied during setup in Dayton. Since his hands were free, he set one on Heath’s shoulder.
“I had a late night and was hoping to get a little shut-eye during the flight, but once we land there’s really something I need to get your opinion on. It’s definitely time for me to get a new car, but I have no idea at all what would be a good one.”
Although Heath glanced at the hand on his shoulder like it was a tarantula, the question did predictably catch his interest.
“Oh, really? What kind you looking for? A compact, SUV, pickup, crossover?”
Oliver laughed.
“Let’s wait till we land. Looks like I’ll need to think about it a little more to handle grilling questions like those.”
Joint Base Andrews didn’t have a particularly large terminal, and now that they’d passed through security they didn’t have far to go to reach the wing where Air Force One resided. Through the large windows they could see the colossal flying fortress with its blue stripe and American flag on the vertical stabilizer. A modified Boeing 747-200 with all manner of modifications for everything from office space to extensive security and safety measures, it was as close to a castle in the clouds as the human race had.
“Doesn’t get old, does it? My wife never believes me when I describe it to her,” Heath said, and Oliver only then realized he’d stopped to stare out the window.
“I’d spice up the paint job if it were up to me,” Oliver said.
When they reached the gate, Heath dropped the cases he was carrying onto the luggage tram with another disturbing thud. The boom mic case got further rattled around as those behind them slammed other heavy pieces down on top of it, and soon Oliver’s handiwork was on its way to being loaded into the plane’s lower storage areas.
That left them with nothing to do but board, and after passing some stern Secret Service members and a few of Air Force One’s crew they took to the tarmac and followed the path up onto the plane. The interior cabin adjacent to the stairwell was not too different than what was on any com
mercial flight, with its cream-colored paneling surrounding rows of cushy black seats underneath storage compartments for carry-on bags.
Oliver always bristled at being confined to this relatively tiny section on a plane stuffed with goodies. The plane’s nose had a special suite with a dressing room, shower, and gym that he’d feel right at home in. The offices were as luxurious as could be imagined, a place to really get important stuff done. And of course there was the executive entrance up front, allowing the president to avoid being shunted in like cattle.
The guy from the BBC practically knocking Oliver into his seat. Straightening up and brushing himself off, he nudged Heath in first so that the aisle seat was his. That way he’d be able to hear a little more, see more, and would be less confined during the flight. Heath was a bigger guy, but he never complained.
Once they’d sat down, more members of the press and others traveling with the president filed in and took seats around them. Some Secret Service agents passed through on their way to a section closer to the rear where they had seats. Among the tall, muscly guys was a pretty woman wearing dark glasses and with her brown hair tied back in a tight knot. Oliver had to laugh. She looked like she couldn’t protect the president from anything other than a fifty-percent off sale at the mall.
Having instantly concluded that she’d gotten her job because of her looks, Oliver had to reason that becoming president would afford him other perks as well. Women in the Secret Service would have to do anything he told them, and they’d be happy about it because it was their job. A few well-earned comforts and a little companionship weren’t much to ask in exchange for saving the world.
“Hey, Olly, a little hard to muck through Facebook posts in here, isn’t it?” laughed Ed Ferrero from CNN from the other side of the aisle. Oliver sneered back.
“There’s in-flight Wi-Fi,” Oliver said through his teeth. “Makes it easier than hanging off the president’s every word when your face is lodged in his anus.”
Satisfied with his remark, Oliver lifted his chin at the guy and faced forward, refusing to give the cretins all around him any more of his attention. Guys like Ferrero would be treated very differently coming up as well. And those in the press who didn’t cooperate would find themselves begging for scraps of news on the street.
The worst part about riding on Air Force One, of course, was that once they were all on board they had to sit there and wait for the president to arrive and board. Alex Morrin had a habit of showing up whenever he pleased, but at least this time with a firm court appointment a few states over there was no way he could be that late.
But it was still long enough for a stewardess to come through with a tray full of little trail mix bags that she handed out to all of the cattle jammed in their seats. She had red lipstick on and her hair up around a little blue cap. She handed Heath a bag of trail mix and then looked at Oliver without really focusing on him.
“Trail mix?”
“Yeah, can I get five or six of them? You’ve got a million, right? I don’t know what we’re doing for lunch today,” Oliver said, though in his mind there was a chance that this would be the last thing he’d eat as a free man until his imprisonment was overturned due to popular uprising.
The stewardess rolled her eyes and gave him two bags before moving on to those behind him. That left Oliver seething at the lack of respect, another little slight that said so much about how people didn’t feel they had to listen to him or accommodate his wishes, even when it cost them nothing.
He shoveled down the bite-size snacks, which were good and made him sorry he only had one more bag.
A moment later he heard a voice come through over the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I’ve just gotten word the president is arriving at the terminal, so we’ll be on our way shortly. Flight time will be just under two hours, and we anticipate clear skies and a smooth ride.”
Oliver glanced at Heath in a search to find someone to share his derision with, but the technician just sat there like a dolt without any indication that he was annoyed with being at the mercy of the president’s schedule. Looking past Heath through the window, Oliver could see a small crowd that had gathered to see the president off, including some other members of the press. Not one of those people was aware that the person they should be caring about was already on board.
Flipping through things on his phone consumed another couple of minutes, and then some noise outside brought his attention again to the window. The president in a crisp blue suit and accompanied by Arundhati Singh, his chief of staff, waved to the crowd as he ascended the steps and boarded the plane.
They were finally ready for takeoff, but Oliver’s sense of impatience only grew. Even as the plane started rolling away from the gate and toward the runway, he felt like where he was really going was to his proper place. It was basically already all over with at this point. The president would have his hearing, step out for a statement with the boom mic hanging barely a foot from his head, and then justice would be delivered.
While lifting off and gaining altitude was generally something Oliver found unpleasant, Air Force One made it as comfortable as it could possibly be. No worse than taking an elevator up a few floors. It was the only way to fly. He was ready to while away the time with his phone but could barely get it out of his pocket before the front door to the cabin they were in opened.
And who had decided to grace them with his presence? Alex Morrin stepped into their compartment with a congenial smile and a raised hand like he was approaching to sell them a used car. He didn’t need to open his mouth for Oliver’s blood pressure to shoot through the roof. To think that someone so undeserving could be the recipient of everything Oliver had worked so hard to attain.
After whispering and laughing with one of the journalists close by, Morrin leaned against the side of her seat and looked over the crowd, his eyes passing over Oliver like he wasn’t even there.
“I know everyone’s looking for drama today, but I’ll have to disappoint. The agreement has already been ironed out and we just need the judge to rubber-stamp it. Then Bethany and I will be moving on with our lives, and I ask all of you to give her as much privacy and respect as you can. Otherwise, we’ll get to enjoy the fabulous sights in Dayton. The National Museum of the US Air Force in particular is excellent,” he said as comfortably as if he were talking to friends at dinner.
One of the journalists in front of Oliver stood up, blocking his view of the imposter in chief.
“Mr. President, any comment on what your personal life will be like moving forward?”
Morrin gave him a sidelong glance, making evident an ounce of displeasure at the question.
“I appreciate your interest in how I manage my family life, but what we really need to be talking about is my Family Benefits Plan and what a difference it can make for families all across the country. As for my relationships, I don’t think it’ll surprise anyone if I say I have a lot of work to do and don’t plan to be rushing into anything,” he said.
As resentful as Oliver was about the president, he found these softball questions particularly egregious now that news of the divorce had spread and been baked into his poll numbers. As the man in front of him sat down, Oliver saw another reporter begin to rise and decided to cut her off with a question of infinitely more substance.
Raising his index finger as he stood up, he got the president’s attention, though noticeably not any kind of an expression.
“On a different note, is there anything you can tell us about the reports that the federal government is conducting human trials for medications and supplements outside of the FDA?”
The convivial demeanor on Morrin’s face vanished instantly, a testament to the power of Oliver Ip and his words.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about. The FDA is the testing and regulatory authority for the federal government, and unsubstantiatedassertions suggesting otherwise ar
en’t helpful to anyone,” he said.
Oliver was about to follow up that they were substantiated and that there was proof of not just drug trials but experimentation, but Morrin quickly pointed to the other journalist by the window on the other side of the plane.
“Would you care to tell us if there are any women you’re interested in dating?”
The laughter the president produced appeared forced.
“I’ve been fortunate enough to know a number of phenomenal women in my life, but finding someone special to be with is a process that takes time and effort. But if you know anyone, let me know? Magic can strike at any time. Thanks everyone and enjoy the flight.”
As Morrin turned away to exit the cabin, his final comments seemed much more revealing than those at the beginning. Oliver could only imagine that he’d rattled the man into providing more fodder for the gossip hounds in order to divert attention from his more significant inquiry.
The sense of satisfaction he’d gotten from influencing the conversation was fleeting, and Oliver regretted not being able to have a recording of Morrin’s last denial for his web exposé.
The next hour and a half of the flight passed like any other, with Heath occasionally mumbling to himself and Oliver keeping tabs on what everyone around them was saying. At one point he got up to walk around and use the lavatory, anything to temporarily satiate the building anticipation inside of him. The facade he wore of a journalist lapping at the heels of inferior men was beyond unbearable.
He hadn’t sat back down for more than thirty seconds when a loud cracking sound and jump in the airplane accompanied a flicker of lights. Oliver’s eyes widened as screams erupted around him.
The plane stabilized and breathless tension replaced the noisy cries. The Secret Service agents erupted from the rear room, and Oliver couldn’t help but recoil in his seat, sure they were coming for him. But they raced through the cabin to the front sections of the plane.