The skyscrapers of lower Miami loomed closer into view and Luke thought they were far too close to the airport. What had the city planners been thinking? Had they not anticipated such a drama as they were experiencing? Why take the risk? Then it came to him, of course, the all-powerful dollar, pack more buildings in, meaning millions of dollars passing through greasy palms, all for profit. Still, no point worrying about it now, he thought. He corrected the angle of attack to miss the tall skyscrapers as they looked for visual contact of the runway and the craft lowered farther still.
“Flight 416, do not attempt to land.” Cut in the air traffic controller. “I repeat, do not attempt to land.”
“What the fuck does he want us to do, stay up here all night?!”
“There!” pointed Sheila excitedly, she spotted the runway lit up and lined with fire trucks and other emergency vehicles. Luke let out a huge sigh of relief at the welcoming sight and knew he could get the beast down on the ground, when the lights went out on the runway leaving him literally flying blind.
CHAPTER 13
23:30 PM
In the Oval Office at the White House in Washington, Vice President Hamilton Parker slumped wearily into the most powerful seat in the world. “Now, this is more like it.” He rubbed his hands together in glee. He’d only been the acting President for less than half a day and already he had made decisions that would change history, and goddamn, it felt good!
Hamilton had never doubted that he would one day sit in the Oval Office, as if pre-ordained. His family money, or more precisely his father, had oiled the wheels of the colossal machinery, which led the way to his rise to the top, making sure he was at the right events, dated the right sort of celebrity, and got his name in the papers as much as possible. All he had to do was keep his nose clean, not such an easy task considering he had such a wayward streak. Although, it was mostly misdemeanors that had in fact boosted his appeal with some of the voters. No one wanted a squeaky-clean candidate, as long as it was the ‘right’ sort of trouble. A night in the tank through too much booze and not drugs was fine. A brawl with immigrants was also fine, but nothing untoward involving the gentler sex. Although there had even been one or two occasions of that, and, once again his father had stepped in and made the right donations to the right sort of police benevolent fund and the trouble went away.
He knew he lived a charmed life; he sailed through college, and had a natural aptitude for history he studied at Harvard, scraping through as he only applied minimal effort, then onto Oxford, where he scraped through again with an acceptable grade.
From Oxford to foreign climes, he volunteered with the ‘right’ sort of charity organization. He’d help to re-build houses for the homeless after a hurricane, always a fantastic photographic opportunity, and not doing anything remotely dangerous.
His silver-spoon upbringing had given him a love of the ocean and he'd sail the family yacht whenever possible, or speed in one of their fleet of luxury cars.
Too young for the first Gulf War, he busied himself at Oxford during the second. However, he did make a name for himself as a flyer for the National Guard, with tons of photos of him in his smart uniform, or in the pilot seat, had the national press drooling for more. In fact, his career boiled down to that one set of photos, that and his boyish grin, and a passing resemblance to JFK, had him firmly in the right place at the right time for the presidency nomination.
Each event he attended forthrightly promoted, as he preached for a new America, an America to be proud of, and an America that could hold its head up on the world stage. Moreover, he was the man that would regain America’s place as the world leader in every field, without exception. He advocated a new America, a time for the old regime to admit it had failed and step aside. The media lapped up his sound bites and they got behind him on his campaign for a brighter future, and rallied behind him as the man to lead the way. He was far ahead in the polls and about to accept the nomination, when the aging old guard sprung their choice for Presidential candidate in the form of James Burgess. He was staid, casual, sensible, like an elderly uncle, or even a granddad with his silver fox hair, and old style movie star looks, a latter day Cary Grant. He instantly appealed to the older taxpayer and the swaying voter. He even delivered his speeches from a rocking chair! His slow, thoughtful style of delivery, reminded the voters of better times. Of old America, a safe America, of an America that cared, and he breezed though for the nomination of the Republican party, he accepted that a young voter wanted what Hamilton had to deliver, and offered him to join him as his running mate.
At first, Hamilton refused, furious at the turncoat American electorate. How could the voters be so fickle? One minute fawning over him like a rock star, the next treating him like last weeks’ news. How dare they? They wanted him for their second choice? Second choice? Hamilton had never been second to anything or anyone.
His father pointed out he would be the second most powerful man in the western hemisphere, and that he would be in the thick of it in Washington, listening, learning and waiting, because as his father told him, President Burgess was very old. Older than that old fool Regan when he took office. His father had it on good authority that the President was suffering with a dodgy ticker that he covered up and hid from the good American public. The information was gold, and they decided to sit on it until the right time. He would wait and be ready for the fateful day, or if it didn’t happen quickly enough, then who knew . . . accidents can happen.
23:40 PM
“Maaan!” Luke exclaimed. “Those bastards!” He strained his eyes to where the runway and their safety had been.
“We’re all going to die!” yelled the Asian man, assuming the crash position.
Sheila nervously asked. “What are you going to do?”
Luke kept to the pre-arranged descent. He scanned the area in front of them as they passed close to the first of the skyscrapers, he then had an idea and smirked. “Well, luckily they haven’t thought to turn off the fire-trucks lights, I’ll aim alongside them.”
“Terrific!” Sheila said.
“Read off the dials for me please.”
“Altitude, one hundred feet. Airspeed, one hundred and thirty knots.”
He lowered the craft, and almost immediately, a synthetic voice blared around the cockpit. “Landing gear! Landing gear!”
He frantically searched for the control, and saw the giant lever and grabbed for it, “Here goes,” he said and lowered the wheels, which locked noisily into place. “Good luck everyone.” The runway was just below the front of the Boeing. He gritted his teeth as the Boeing 777 bounced with a painful screech of the tires, onto the tarmac, then surprisingly the aircraft took off again, Luke pulled on the controls and lowered the nose and the wheels bounced once again. This time the landing was so hard that luggage fell from the overhead lockers behind them, until finally they were down.
However, they were still hurtling towards the perimeter fence at a breakneck speed. Luke threw the engines into reverse, which screamed in protest, throwing them forward, as the aircraft slowed, but they were still too fast.
With a gut-wrenching, deathly squawk the wheel assembly below them snapped. The front of the airplane hit the runway with a horrific squealing of metal, sparks flew from the impact and Luke feared that the aircraft might ignite and explode.
Sheila copied the Asian man and took up a crash position. The Boeing 777 lurched to the right, the wing tip dragging along the tarmac slowing them further. Sparks ignited the engines on the starboard wing. The glow from the flames illuminated their way. Luke no longer had the ability to steer but struggled with the controls anyway. The noise of the metal screeching along the tarmac filled the cockpit adding to the feeling that they had descended into hell as four hundred tons of twisted metal hurtled along the runway at over one hundred miles an hour, with the rescue vehicles trying to keep pace with them. It shot off the runway into a sand bank at the end of the tarmac purposefully built for this scenario, and
over the ditch and into the perimeter fence. The hulking great metallic beast snapped through the perimeter fence with ease and into the grass field beyond, cutting a semicircular groove into the grass until it lost its momentum and finally ground to a halt.
Sheila drew on her years’ of experience and decades of practice and engaged the emergency exit hatch, which in turn banged loudly as it ignited the emergency chute. She stood back and indicated for the Asian man to go first. He gratefully took her up on her offer and jumped onto the chute. “Cross your arms,” she shouted after him. He screwed up his eyes, as he whooshed down the cute to the safety of the ground.
Luke nodded for Sheila to go next, she wasted no time arguing with him and she hurtled effortlessly down the chute. He waited for her to clear the bottom, then launched himself after her and moments later he hit the ground hard and tumbled over and over. Sheila helped him up from the tarmac, and he brushed himself down and checked for bruises.
The Asian hugged him. I knew you’d do it! Bless you! Bless you!”
Sheila held out her arms to him, and then stopped remembering that she had the dreadful disease.
Luke grinned at her. “Don’t worry about it, not after all we’ve been through.” He hugged her with all his might.
The Asian man gave her a perfunctory handshake. “Madam, it’s been a pleasure,” he said politely, then quickly wiped his hand down his leg.
Luke saw the emergency vehicles sprinting toward them and let out a sigh of relief as they were finally, thankfully, unbelievably, safely on the ground. Despite the odds and despite the ATC’s attempt to destroy him and he took a few moments to enjoy the feeling, when suddenly he heard a boom and saw a surface-to-air missile blast an airplane from the night sky. The airplane disintegrated mid-air and the raging fireball fell harmlessly into the ocean. His mouth dropped open in horror, and he watched stunned as the debris fell from the heavens.
He slowly turned his eyes from the god-awful scene to the arriving vehicles and his heart sank further. They were not ambulances to take them to the safety of a hospital, but military vehicles, each with a soldier standing with a rifle trained upon them.
CHAPTER 14
12:00 MIDNIGHT
President Hamilton Parker slouched back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk, behind him the Washington skyline. He offered a Cuban cigar to General Malloy who took it gratefully. He lit the Cohiba and puffed on it lustily. “Outstanding!” He blew out a plume of blue smoke when a thought struck him.”You sure we’re allowed to smoke in the White House?”
“Hey, I’m the acting President; I can do what I like!” he grinned from ear-to-ear. “Now, to business, we’ve implemented road-blocks, we’ve blockaded the ports and grounded all aircraft. Nothing’s coming in and nothing’s going out. That’s the official line. But we’re still getting reports of people trying to escape and even some half-wits trying to enter the exclusion zone.”
General Malloy said. “What else can we do?”
“I’m going to escalate this mission, we going to be proactive, take control and wipe out this pestilence.”
“What are you suggesting?” the general asked slyly.
“The medical reports are claiming a ninety-nine percent death toll, so let’s speed that up to stop the disease spreading. We go in, kill the contagious, save the healthy.”
“That won’t go down well with the voters.”
“That’s why we’re not going to tell them. We’ve declared martial law, we can pretty much do what we what.”
The general slapped the desk. “Now you’re talking my language. This is what I’ve been waiting my entire life to hear. But logistically it’ll be problematic.”
“I’ve thought of that, we’re designating sports-grounds and other such venues as refugee camps, for the diseased to go to voluntarily, we’ll step that up and give the troops orders to round up undesirables, take them to the camps and we will take care of them in one fell swoop.”
“You, sir, are a genius,” said General Malloy. “What about President Burgess?”
“What about him?”
“He’d never go for it. If he gets better and comes back . . .?”
“Then we will stop him from getting better, won’t we?” The vice President grinned.
“We?"
“Well, you actually. There’s a helicopter waiting for you.”
He grinned slyly. “I would enjoy that very much, Mister Vice Pres - or should I say Mister President?”
00:15 AM
Quinn Martell stomped down the echoing corridor from the war room, entered his temporary office and slammed the door. He searched through the papers on his oak desk, found his i-pad and connected with President Burgess.
James Burgess’s pale face filled the screen almost immediately. “Good evening, Quinn, what can I do for you?” The President heaved himself up into a sitting position in his bed, the effort tiring him.
“It’s Hamilton, sir. He’s drunk on power and making all sorts of crazy decisions.”
“Aw, he’ll get over it. It’s all new to him. I’ll soon be better and when the Bubonic Plague has blown over, I’ll be back.”
“That’s just it, Jim, word has reached me that he’ll do everything in his power to stop you ever coming back. He has extended the exclusion zone further north to include your summer residence. Effectively you are now trapped in the Bubonic Plague exclusion zone.”
“What! That’s outrageous! I’m the President and -”
“You gave him the power, sir, to make such commands.”
“But we’re twenty miles north of the previous zone.”
“It’s legitimate, Jim, I’ve checked.”
“Goddamn him, that slippery snake. I’ll get him for this you see if I don’t,” he raged, his face flushed red, he clutched his heart and flopped back on his bed,
The surgeon general leaned forward towards the screen, reaching towards it wanting to help somehow from his great distance. “Jim! Jim, are you alright?” He watched his life-long friend clutching at the sheets in agony. The monitors beside his bed went haywire, alerting the crash-team who rushed in to attend him. “I’m OK, I‘m OK, stop fussing me,” He waved the medical staff away. “I thought about this, there’s no one here at my compound that’s disloyal to me. Not one person would try to confine me here if I chose to return.”
“He’s thought of that, Jim. He’s sending General Malloy down there to enforce the quarantine.”
“Jumpin’ Jack, that sonofabitch? I’ll sort him out don’t you worry.” His face flushed an angry red.
“I thought you two had history?” Quinn reminded his friend.
“Don’t sweat it. That’s old news,” the President said, then calmed. “I blocked his promotion to a four star General a couple of times, but he got there despite me. That’s water under the bridge.”
“My information is, and I quote, ‘he’s going to make you see the error of your ways’ should you make an effort to return to DC.”
“Ha! What’s he going to do – shoot me?”
Quinn switched off his i-pad. He turned to look out of his office window at the pitch-black sky above the Washington skyline. He sighed heavily with a sense of foreboding. He would not put anything past General Malloy.
CHAPTER 15
00:30 AM
Sophie slowed the Jeep and approached the guardhouse at the President’s summer residence north of Palm Beach. She could see that the two young guards were staring at her incredulously. One rapidly raised his rifle to his shoulder and aimed at her as she approached, driving what was clearly a military vehicle.
She showed her identification and the documents the sergeant had been carrying and after a few telephone calls was permitted into the compound.
It was still a stiflingly hot night and Sophie found herself feeling anxious as she prepared to meet the President of the United States. She composed herself, and breathed deeply. It seemed so surreal to her, that she, of all people, should be having an au
dience with the President! She swallowed down her anxiety, when the guard accompanying her, knocked on the door and after being granted access, opened the door for her. “Doctor Sophie Garcia, Mister President.”
Sophie’s mouth dropped open when she saw the President lying in bed wired to monitors. “It’s erm, I had no idea . . .”
President Burgess waved his arm around the room as if it was nothing. “Don’t let all this high tech gadgetry fool you, I’m fighting fit, and fit as a fiddle. This stuff is my doctor over-reacting, as usual.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, Mister President.”
“Doctor, the honor’s all mine, I’ve heard nothing but high praise from the surgeon general of you and of your work. He tells me that you are an expert in the field of the plague this great country is facing. Now, please sit.”
“Thank you,” she sat next to the bed and quickly scanned his medication, noting the drip in his arm and knew that he was far from all right, and was indeed, an extremely sick man.
“Is it bad out there, doctor?” he asked her.
“Both of my escorts succumbed to the plague on the journey here,” she said gravely. She remembered them and shuddered.
“My god. . .” he said deeply worried. “I thought they were wearing protective suits?”
“They had each taken off their helmets momentarily -”
“It’s that quick?”
“They must’ve passed a carrier while their helmets were off. Just unlucky, I guess.”
“There’s no time to lose,” he said. “Bring me up to speed. I need to know everything you know about the Black Death.” He pointed to solemn men hovering nearby. “These are my advisors and are privy to everything you have to tell me. I can’t be shocked, so hold nothing back and be as candid as you like. Let’s see what we are up against. Take us back to the beginning I’m a little rusty on my medieval European history.”
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