applause was deafening and sincere. Even those in the opposition party recognized that Durling had kept his promise to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States, and as powerful a force as politics was, there was also still honor and patriotism in the room, especially at times like this. Durling reached the well, then climbed up to his place on the podium, and it was time for the Speaker of the House to do his ceremonial duty:
'Members of the Congress, I have the distinct privilege, and high honor, to introduce the President of the United States.' And the applause began afresh. This time there was the usual contest between the parties to see who could clap and cheer the loudest and the longest.
'Okay, remember what happens—'
'Okay, Al! I go in, the Chief Justice swears me in, and I take my seat. All I have to do is repeat it all back.' Ryan sipped a glass of Coke and wiped sweaty hands on his trousers. A Secret Service agent fetched him a towel.
'Washington Center, this is KLM Six-Five-Niner. We have an onboard emergency, sir.' The voice was in clipped aviatorese, the sort of speech that people used when everything was going to hell.
The air-traffic controller outside Washington noted the alpha-numeric icon had just tripled in size on his scope and keyed his own microphone. The display gave course, speed, and altitude. His first impression was that the aircraft was making a rapid descent.
'Six-Five-Niner, this is Washington Center. State your intentions, sir.'
'Center, Six-Five-Niner, number-one engine has exploded, engines one and two lost. Structural integrity in doubt. So is controllability. Request radar vector direct Baltimore.'
The controller waved sharply to his supervisor, who came over at once. 'Wait a minute. Who is this?' He interrogated the computer and found no 'strip' information for KLM-659.
The controller keyed his radio. 'Six-Five-Niner, please identify, over.'
This reply was more urgent.
'Washington Center, this is KLM-Six-Five-Niner, we are 747 charter inbound Orlando, three hundred pax,' the voice replied. 'Repeating: we have two engines out and structural damage to port wing and fuselage. I am descending one-zero thousand now. Request immediate radar vector direct Baltimore, over!'
'We can't dick around with this,' the supervisor thought. 'Take him. Get him down.'
'Very well, sir. Six-Five-Niner Heavy. Radar contact. I read you one-four thousand descending and three hundred knots. Recommend left turn two-niner-zero and continue descent and maintain one-zero-thousand.'
'Six-Five-Niner, descending one-zero thousand, turning left two-niner-zero,' Sato said in reply. English was the language on international air travel, and his was excellent. So far so good. He had more than half of his fuel still aboard, and was barely a hundred miles out, according to his satellite-navigation system.
At Baltimore-Washington International Airport, the fire station located near the main terminal was immediately alerted. Airport employees who ordinarily had other jobs ran or drove to the building, while controllers decided quickly which aircraft they could continue to land before the wounded 747 got close and which they would have to stack. The emergency plan was already written here, as for every major airport. Police and other services were alerted, and literally hundreds of people were snatched away from TV sets.
'I want to tell you the story of an American citizen, the son of a police officer, a former Marine officer crippled in a training accident, a teacher of history, a member of America's financial community, a husband and father, a patriot and public servant, and a genuine American hero,' the President said on the TV. Ryan cringed to hear it all, especially when followed by applause. The cameras panned over Secretary of the Treasury Fiedler, who had leaked Jack's role in the Wall Street recovery to a group of financial reporters. Even Brett Hanson was clapping, and rather graciously.
'It's always embarrassing, Jack,' Trent said with a laugh.
'Many of you know him, many of you have worked with him. I have spoken today with the members of the Senate.' Durling motioned to the Majority and Minority leaders, both of whom smiled and nodded for the C-SPAN cameras. 'And with your approval, I wish now to submit the name of John Patrick Ryan to fill the post of Vice President of the United States. I further request the members of the Senate to approve this nomination by voice vote.'
'That's pretty irregular,' a commentator observed while the two senators stood to walk down to the well.
'President Durling has done his homework well on this,' the political expert replied. 'Jack Ryan is about as non-controversial as people can be in this town, and the bipartisan—'
'Mr. President, Mr. Speaker, members of the Senate, and our friends and colleagues of the House,' the Majority Leader began. 'It is with great satisfaction that the Minority Leader and I…'
'Are we sure this is legal?' Jack wondered aloud.
'The Constitution says that the Senate has to approve you. It doesn't say how,' Sam Fellows said.
'Baltimore Approach, this is Six-Five-Niner. I have a problem here.'
'Six-Five-Niner Heavy, what is the problem, sir?' the tower controller asked. He could already see part of it on his scope. The inbound 747 hadn't turned to his most recent command as sharply as he had ordered a minute earlier. The controller wiped his hands together and wondered if they'd be able to get this one down.
'My controls are not responding well…not sure I can…Baltimore, I see runway lights at my one o'clock…I don't know this area well…busy here…losing power…'
The controller checked the direction vector on his scope, extending it to—
'Six-Five-Niner Heavy, that is Andrews Air Force Base. They have two nice runways. Can you make the turn for Andrews?'
'Six-Five-Niner, I think so, I think so.'
'Stand by.' The controller had a hot line to the Air Force base. 'Andrews, do you—'
'We've been following it,' the senior officer in that tower said. 'Washington Center clued us in. Do you need help?'
'Can you take him?'
'Affirmative.'
'Six-Five-Niner Heavy, Baltimore. I am going to hand you off to Andrews Approach. Recommend turn right three-five-zero…can you do that, sir?' the controller asked.
'I think I can. I think I can. The fire's out, I think, but hydraulics are bottoming out on me, I think the engine must have…'
'KLM Six-Five-Niner Heavy, this is Andrews Approach Control. Radar Contact. Two five miles out, heading three-four-zero at four thousand feet descending. Runway Zero-One-Left is clear, and our fire trucks are already moving,' the Air Force captain said. He'd already punched the base panic button, and his trained people were moving out smartly. 'Recommend turn right zero one zero and continue descent.'
'Six-Five-Niner,' was the only acknowledgment.
The irony of the situation was something Sato would never learn. Though there were numerous fighter aircraft based at Andrews, at Langley Air Force Base, at Patuxent River Naval Air Test Center, and at Oceana NAS, all within a hundred miles of Washington, it had never occurred to anyone to have fighter aircraft aloft over the capital on any other night like this one. His elaborate lies and maneuvers were hardly necessary at all. Sato brought his aircraft around at a painfully slow rate to simulate a crippled jumbo, couched every degree of the way by a very concerned and professional American controller. And that, he thought, was too bad.
'Aye!'
'Opposed?' There was silence after that, followed a moment later by applause. Then the Speaker stood.
'The Doorkeeper of the House will escort the Vice President into the chamber so that he can be properly sworn.'
'That's your cue. Break a leg,' Trent said, standing and heading for the door. The Secret Service agents fanned out along the corridor, leading the procession to the tunnel connecting this building with the Capitol. Entering it, Ryan looked along the curving structure, painted an awful off-yellow and lined, oddly enough, mostly with pictures done by schoolchildren.
'I don't see any obvious problem, no smoke or fire.' The tower controller had his binoculars on the incoming aircraft. It was only a mile out now. 'No gear, no gear!'
'Six-Five-Niner, your gear is up, say again your gear is up!'
