“But, Arnie, what about civilian loss of life?”

“Guess that was worrying everyone on 9/11. And that’s why close to three thousand people died in the World Trade Center. If our Air Force pilots had dropped the fuckers straight into the Hudson River with a couple of Sidewinders, it would not have happened.”

“I know, I know. They didn’t get ’em into the air quick enough, right?”

“Not quick enough to nail American Flight 11, or even United 93. Military commanders were not informed of that hijack until four minutes after it crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Basically, everyone was scared shitless of shooting down unarmed passenger jets.”

“I am too.”

“Don’t be, Paul. Get the fighters in the air, and tell them to open fire on sight. The passengers die anyway. But don’t, for the sake of all that’s holy, let that fucking plane ram the Capitol or the White House. That would be absurd, given how much we already know.”

“I guess,” said the president slowly. “There’s no getting away from one simple truth: on 9/11, the only one of the four hijacked aircraft that did not reach and hit its target was the one in the field at Shanksville.”

“Spoken like a naval officer, Paul. And there’s no escaping the fact that on 9/11 the fighters were not ordered into the air in time. They were still on the ground when the Towers were hit, still on the ground when the last terrorist flight hit the field in Pennsylvania. Don’t let that happen again.”

Colonel Rick Morry came out of his desk chair like a Saturn rocket. His computer screen was showing a possible hijack or terrorist takeover of a Boeing 737 passenger jet in the area of Richmond, Virginia, heading north toward the nation’s capital. More importantly, President Bedford had already given clearance for the military to locate, engage, and if necessary shoot it down.

And these orders came straight from the Oval Office, with all commands, as usual, directed through Northeast Air Defense control, way out there in upstate New York, west of Syracuse, about forty-five miles from the freezing shores of Lake Ontario.

“MAJOR FREEMAN!” snapped Colonel Morry. “Right here we got a real-world possible hijack or takeover of a passenger jet over Virginia headed direct to Washington, D.C. We have permission to shoot it down direct from the commander in chief. LET’S GO!”

Scott Freeman picked up his phone and called out: “LANGLEY AND ANDREWS-GO TO BATTLE STATIONS RIGHT NOW-WE GOT A NO-SHIT SITUATION-BATTLE STATIONS RIGHT NOW.”

The control room at Northeast Air Defense went stone silent. Every eye in the room was on Major Scott Freeman. Two minutes went by, and then he spoke.

“Four F-16s Langley. Andrews scrambled. Copy that. In the air eight minutes. Copy that. Takeoff 1241. Will advise precise location of Boeing 737. No other passenger jets in the area, flights grounded since Logan incident 0800. Rome control over and out.”

Colonel Morry walked over to the command console on Major Freeman’s desk and informed him that the civilian flight controller monitoring the Boeing was Steve Farrell at Herndon Flight Control.

“ Langley naval fighters 160 miles to ops area south of Washington 14 minutes. Steve, give me an approximate on Flight 62 at 1255?”

“She’s already losing height and speed, sir. She’s projected over Wood-bridge, Virginia, fifteen miles south of the city at that time-that’s 38.38 North, 77.16 West. Right now she’s making 260 knots through 28,000 feet. We have her over King William County right now, approx twelve miles north of Richmond.”

“Thank you, Herndon. Copy that.”

Colonel Morry: “Rick, we got three F-16s in the air at Langley 1239-headed 335, speed 685-projected ops area 1249.”

“Roger that.”

“Herndon to ADCC Rome-we have a Navy aircraft returning Norfolk moving southeast across Virginia-just picked up a real weird transmission… foreign voice background only passenger jet-something about executing will of Allah-on you I depend. There’s a lot of screaming in the background. No visual. Suspect traveling north.”

“Copy National Security Agency. Langley Birds moving in.”

“This is Herndon-this is Herndon. All tracking techs on full alert-we got Flight 62 on scope-no course change on primary target-but he’s descending rapidly-right now 21,000 feet still descending. Not responding.”

“Langley Birds closing. Andrews fighters in the air headed directly for the city.”

“This is Herndon-emergency, emergency-Flight 62 is descending rapidly below 15,000 feet-no clearance-repeat no clearance-descending all on its own.”

“Langley-Langley to Northeast Command: leading F-16 pilots have Flight 62 on visual now heading north across Charles County, Maryland.”

“Herndon to Northeast Command: we just got another report from that Naval aircraft-picking up sounds of screams and panic on board Flight 62-someone shouted something about the will of Allah.”

“Copy that, Herndon. Ordering F-16s to close one mile astern Flight 62-port and starboard wing. F-16s reporting 11,000 feet-confirm, please.”

The president replaced the receiver. “Arnie,” he said, “we got a couple of F-16s right on ’em heading north up Charles County…”

“Both armed?”

“Yup. Air-to-air missiles. That was Langley, I guess checking once and for all that I wanted the aircraft obliterated…”

“Before it obliterates the government of the United States, right?”

“You really think it will?”

“Either that, or it’ll take a swerve at the White House, and I gotta say that doesn’t have much appeal. At least, not right now.”

“Arnie, I followed your advice. Almost three thousand people died on 9/11 because of indecisiveness. That’s not going to happen again. You heard me just say affirmative?”

“I did.”

“That was in answer to the question, Do we have your absolute permission to shoot down Flight 62, if it refuses to obey commands from the tower?”

“That’s a good decision, Paul. You may get some flak about being a little hasty. But nothing like the flak you’ll get if that sonofabitch drives straight through those ten-ton bronze doors to the Capitol and blows up the largest legislative chamber in the world.”

President Bedford shook his head half in bewilderment, half in disbelief.

“C’mon, Paul,” said Admiral Morgan. “Our first president, General Washington, laid the foundation stone for the Capitol over two hundred years ago. It’s your privilege to be the president who saved it.”

“Northeast Air Defense Rome to Air Force North: Combat Command, Florida, we’re tracking Flight 62 right now-two F-16s out of Langley, one mile astern and closing, positioned port and starboard. Permission requested for pilots to open fire at will?”

“Air Force North Combat Command, Florida, copy that, permission granted.”

“Flight 62 reduces speed to 220 knots, altitude 8,000 feet, still descending, approaching Chicamuxen Creek, appears to be following Potomac River. She’s not squawking, repeat not squawking, ignores all communications from U.S. Air Traffic Control.”

“Northeast Air Defense to Herndon: did Flight 62 just make a slight course adjustment?”

“Affirmative, Northeast: Flight 62 came three degrees left toward Wood-bridge. Speed remains 220 knots, still descending rapidly, we’re projecting 5,000 feet over city of Woodbridge-that’s 38.38 North, 77.16 West.”