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.