Where Freedom Reigns

Chapter 93

The Skies Over Washington, D.C.

The helicopter carrying Alexander Webster, President of the United States, and Maddun Gordon, his chief of staff, righted itself and returned to straight and level flight. Before either man could regain his composure, and before the expert military flight crew could reassure them that everything was all right, it suddenly wasn't. The helicopter shook violently two more times, first to one side and then the other, as if it were a rat in the mouth of some celestial pit bull. And then, with a loud whining sound from the engines, it nosed over and plunged toward the earth. 

"Oh Christ!" exclaimed Gordon, as the G-forces pushed him back into his seat. 

In contrast, the President was silent. There was a strange calmness about him, as if he was somehow accepting of his fate. For what seemed like an eternity, the aircraft plummeted toward the earth. Later, one of the Marine pilots would say that he felt like the gates of hell had been opened wide, and it was sucking them into its gaping maw. 

Gordon began to recite a Hail Mary, but he couldn't remember the words, so he simply repeated the first line over and over again in a pathetic little plea.

Hail Mary, full of grace, 

the Lord is with thee. 

Hail Mary full of grace, 

the Lord is with thee.

His prayer was drowned out by the roar of the turbines as the flight crew struggled to regain control of the aircraft. And then, mere seconds before the helicopter would have been smashed into a thousand tiny pieces of twisted metal and charred flesh, it suddenly pulled out of its dive and returned to straight and level flight. For a long time, the cabin was deathly silent save for the steady drone of the engines. Then, the door between the President's compartment and the flight deck opened, and the pilot stepped into the cabin. His skin was pale but his voice was strong and clear. At the same moment, the rear door opened, and Randy Wiseman, the head of the President's Secret Service detail entered.  

"Are you all right, Mr. President?" asked the agent. 

"I'm fine," replied Webster, looking remarkably composed, given what they had just experienced. 

"How about you, Mr. Gordon?" 

Gordon couldn't speak. He struggled to keep dinner down and simply nodded. 

The agent then made eye contact with the Marine pilot. The look on his face was a mixture of relief and puzzlement. "What happened, Colonel?" 

"We're not sure. It must have been wind shear but there had been no reports of it in the area. We do seem to be out of danger now." 

In a sympathetic tone that caught the other three men by surprise, the President looked at the pilot and said, "Thank-you, Colonel, for saving our lives. That was an incredible act of courage and competence that I will not forget." 

The pilot beamed in response to the President's words. It was the first time in nearly two years of flying the President that he had said anything more than a simple hello. "Thank-you, Mr. President. We'll have you at the Fortress in a few minutes." 

"No, Colonel, you won't." The President's sharp change in tone startled the colonel and the agent. 

"I beg your pardon, sir?" 

"Take us back to the White House." 

"What?" said Gordon blurting out the word. 

The Secret Service agent was more diplomatic. "Mr. President, that would be ill-advised." 

In the past, the President would have reacted in a sharply negative way to anyone questioning his decisions. But for Webster, the past was dead, and there was only the future to attend to. "I appreciate your concern, Randy, but I have made the decision, and it is final." He looked at the colonel and said, "Colonel, I can't lead this nation by hiding in a cave. Take me back to the White House. Now. We have a war to win." 

He said it with such strength of purpose, such presence of command, that immediately, a smile spread across the colonel's face. He snapped to attention and saluted. "Yes, Mr. President." He spun on his feet and disappeared through the door to the cockpit.  

The President turned his attention to Wiseman. "It will be all right, Randy." 

The seasoned veteran of months of violent battle and years of vigilant peace nodded and said softly, "Yes, sir." He returned to the rear cabin, leaving the President alone with Gordon. 

Before Gordon could say anything, the President said sharply, "I will expect your letter of resignation on my desk one hour after we land, and not one second longer." Gordon's eyes grew wide. He started to say something, but the President continued. "You will then travel immediately to California, where you will be admitted to the Beverly Hills Clinic, as we have discussed previously." 

Gordon was stunned. "But you said that could wait until after your bill was passed." 

"I've changed my mind. I've got to repair the damage that I have done to this nation. Damage made worse by your treachery. And quite frankly, Maddun, I don't want you around anymore. I can't even stand the sight of you." 

Gordon collapsed back into his seat. It was all that he could do not to vomit, as waves of bile rose up into his gorge. A myriad of thoughts and fears broke into a race across his mind, a race toward the unknown. "Oh my God," he moaned, over and over again. "Oh my God." But God wasn't listening. He sat there for a long while, and then slowly, his expression changed from retreat to retaliation. His eyes narrowed, and he said, "I'm sorry, Alex, but that simply won't do." 

It was the President's turn not to believe his ears. "What did you say?" 

"You heard me. I said that I won't resign, and I certainly won't commit myself to a nut house, where you can have them throw away the key. We are in this together for better or for worse, until the bitter end." 

"And if I don't agree?" 

"Then I will blow the whistle on us both. You will be impeached, or worse, and your legacy will be trashed, if it has not already been." 

The President glared at his chief of staff and then he sat back in his chair. He thought about it for a long moment and then replied, "Very well, Maddun. We'll do it your way." 

A half-witted grin spread across Gordon's face. "Good answer. I'm glad that's settled." 

"Yes," added the President. "Me too." And it was. But not the way Gordon thought. He had made one fatal error. Alexander Webster was the most powerful man on earth, and he was not.