Desert Passing

The President was fifty-six years old but still looked to be in his forties. Matt had always wondered how his friend and President had accomplished this. Not a gray hair on his head, well maybe a few, trophies of the office. President Hennernan allowed his blond hair to dip just enough in a loosely combed back style; perching it, above his piercing blue eyes which in turn were set within a chiseled face. The man was sitting with  grace and power, evident, in his back erect, head held high as if cords of steel where within his powerful neck. Matt Prestion shook his head to clear the thoughts of awe he felt for his President it was distracting him. Once able to speak, he spoke to the person who could have easily been an illustrated superhero within a coveted graphic novel.

    “Mr. President, Sir, the pilot suggest, Uh-were going to have to set down. I would suggest… ‘The Cavern of the Holy Grail’ within the Sinkhole Lowlands Base It’s only five minutes away.”

     “Wouldn’t that old base, the historic one, be just as close?”

     “Yes Sir, but its deserted, closed after the initial evacuation, if you wish a different base of operations it can be set up from the Base S.L. upon our retrieval.”  

      President Hennernan stood up to his full six foot ten inches of height and stood over his subordinate, still in his seat saying nothing, walking to his right he came to a sink that was mismatched to his towering form. Reaching for a cup he seemed to effortlessly pour coffee into it as the plane shook around him. Matt Prestion was amazed, the man seemed one with the plane moving with ease as it bucked and slithered through the sky. All Mathew wanted to do was be sick. Finally the President spoke as he brought the coffee part way to his lips and caught Prestion eyes.

     “Mr. Prestion, I have every confidence in your decision carry it out.”

     “Yes, Mr. President!”

     Immediately jumping up, his body rebelled; Matt wished he hadn’t moved so quickly.

     Prestion don’t be sick! He thought willing the weakness away. Having focused on it he was really feeling sick now. Leaning against the chair, he was horrified that his President was still watching him, intently drinking in both the coffee and his aides’ predicament.

     Prestion straightened up and gathered himself; looking up he saw Harold Hennernan finish his coffee in the pose of an animated Greek statue. With surprise Matthew noticed a tiny spill on the Presidents Shirt. President Hennernan followed his aides’ gaze seeming momentarily surprised but unmoved by the spill, which Prestion felt extremely unlikely, he’d just made the coffee; it was hot!

      “Looks like I’ll have to change before we set down.”  Hennernan said as he began to remove the tie and unbutton his shirt, turning to the entrance of a private room.

Smiling the President turned.

     “You better run along to the Pilot Matt; better yet have a seat give him a call, that’s an order from your Commander and Chief.”

     “Yes, Mr. President.”

     Alone in the cabin now, Matt Prestion was trying to gather his wits, hoping that the stain on the Presidents’ shirt wasn’t symbolic to become blood spilled, specifically his own. Matt took that moment to look directly behind his seat across the walkway and out the planes window. A bolt of lightning took that moment to flash across the slant of the planes wing to strike the clock atop an abandoned Hotel it had a horseshoe above it, rectangular in shape the clock fell to its side sitting straight up. The building below it said California Hotel. Prestion hadn’t realized that the pilot was even getting that close to the buildings. Matt recoiled as the large clock severed from its support rocked upon its side like a great dragon submitting to its fate before a slayer. Visibly shaken Matt took this moment to call the pilot and inform him of the Presidents decision; to set down and then proceeded to the urinal to loose his meal of the last hour. It was fortunate he missed the second bolt of lightning to strike the building.