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tram with another disturbing thud. The boom mic case got further rattled around as those behind them slammed other heavy pieces down on top of it, and soon Oliver’s handiwork was on its way to being loaded into the plane’s lower storage areas.

That left them with nothing to do but board, and after passing some stern Secret Service members and a few of Air Force One’s crew they took to the tarmac and followed the path up onto the plane. The interior cabin adjacent to the stairwell was not too different than what was on any commercial flight, with its cream-colored paneling surrounding rows of cushy black seats underneath storage compartments for carry-on bags.

Oliver always bristled at being confined to this relatively tiny section on a plane stuffed with goodies. The plane’s nose had a special suite with a dressing room, shower, and gym that he’d feel right at home in. The offices were as luxurious as could be imagined, a place to really get important stuff done. And of course there was the executive entrance up front, allowing the president to avoid being shunted in like cattle.

The guy from the BBC practically knocking Oliver into his seat. Straightening up and brushing himself off, he nudged Heath in first so that the aisle seat was his. That way he’d be able to hear a little more, see more, and would be less confined during the flight. Heath was a bigger guy, but he never complained.

Once they’d sat down, more members of the press and others traveling with the president filed in and took seats around them. Some Secret Service agents passed through on their way to a section closer to the rear where they had seats. Among the tall, muscly guys was a pretty woman wearing dark glasses and with her brown hair tied back in a tight knot. Oliver had to laugh. She looked like she couldn’t protect the president from anything other than a fifty-percent off sale at the mall.

Having instantly concluded that she’d gotten her job because of her looks, Oliver had to reason that becoming president would afford him other perks as well. Women in the Secret Service would have to do anything he told them, and they’d be happy about it because it was their job. A few well-earned comforts and a little companionship weren’t much to ask in exchange for saving the world.

“Hey, Olly, a little hard to muck through Facebook posts in here, isn’t it?” laughed Ed Ferrero from CNN from the other side of the aisle. Oliver sneered back.

“There’s in-flight Wi-Fi,” Oliver said through his teeth. “Makes it easier than hanging off the president’s every word when your face is lodged in his anus.”

Satisfied with his remark, Oliver lifted his chin at the guy and faced forward, refusing to give the cretins all around him any more of his attention. Guys like Ferrero would be treated very differently coming up as well. And those in the press who didn’t cooperate would find themselves begging for scraps of news on the street.

The worst part about riding on Air Force One, of course, was that once they were all on board they had to sit there and wait for the president to arrive and board. Alex Morrin had a habit of showing up whenever he pleased, but at least this time with a firm court appointment a few states over there was no way he could be that late.

But it was still long enough for a stewardess to come through with a tray full of little trail mix bags that she handed out to all of the cattle jammed in their seats. She had red lipstick on and her hair up around a little blue cap. She handed Heath a bag of trail mix and then looked at Oliver without really focusing on him.

“Trail mix?”

“Yeah, can I get five or six of them? You’ve got a million, right? I don’t know what we’re doing for lunch today,” Oliver said, though in his mind there was a chance that this would be the last thing he’d eat as a free man until his imprisonment was overturned due to popular uprising.

The stewardess rolled her eyes and gave him two bags before moving on to those behind him. That left Oliver seething at the lack of respect, another little slight that said so much about how people didn’t feel they had to listen to him or accommodate his wishes, even when it cost them nothing.

He shoveled down the bite-size snacks, which were good and made him sorry he only had one more bag.

A moment later he heard a voice come through over the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I’ve just gotten word the president is arriving at the terminal, so we’ll be on our way shortly. Flight time will be just under two hours, and we anticipate clear skies and a smooth ride.”

Oliver glanced at Heath in a search to find someone to share his derision with, but the technician just sat there like a dolt without any indication that he was annoyed with being at the mercy of the president’s schedule. Looking past Heath through the window, Oliver could see a small crowd that had gathered to see the president off, including some other members of the press. Not one of those people was aware that the person they should be caring about was already on board.

Flipping through things on his phone consumed another couple of minutes, and then some noise outside brought his attention again to the window. The president in a crisp blue suit and accompanied by Arundhati Singh, his chief of staff, waved to the crowd as he ascended the steps and boarded the plane.

They were finally ready for takeoff, but Oliver’s sense of impatience only grew. Even as the plane started rolling away from the gate and toward the runway, he felt like where he was really going was to his proper place. It was basically already all over

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