"How many dead?" he muttered-in English so the pilot would not understand. "The following special broadcast is a tape of a message pre-recorded in the Oval Office just minutes ago. The president of the United States."
Sarah Rourke walked past the television set and sat down. Michael and Ann were asking questions. "Hey, Mom, why is he on? It's supposed to be-"
"Shh-let me hear this," she said, holding up her hand to silence the boy. "I want to sit on your lap," Ann, said.
"Fine," Sarah whispered, as if by talking aloud she would lose her grasp of the moment.
"Good evening, my fellow Americans," the familiar voice began. Silently, Sarah Rourke looked at the president's face and thought how old he had gotten in the years since he had assumed the office. She had met him once and remembered him as looking twenty years younger.
"If you are now hearing this message, it is because something of vital concern to the American people has just taken place. We are all aware of the heightening world tensions in these past few days and weeks-these past few hours. It would appear now that the possibility exists of Soviet military action to some degree or another against the United States. If you are now hearing this message, it simply means that we have elected to take the precautionary action of placing you, the American people, on alert to this possibility. It does not mean that war has been declared, or that attack is imminent. It does mean that it would be prudent to tune to your local Civil Defense-"
Sarah Rourke stood up, slipping Ann from her lap.
"Mommy!"
"Quiet-please," she said, going to the stereo and punching the AM button and turning the dial to 640. The president's voice was coming through on the radio as well. "-their directions. The American people have endured many hardships over the past in the defense of liberty, and their response has been one in which future generations of Americans have always taken great pride. Let whatever events transpire be so recorded as well. And let us pray that these few simple precautions will be required for only a brief period. By keeping tuned to either 640 or 1240, by following the simple advice broadcast by Civil Defense, we shall all endure the events which are taking shape in as peaceful and secure a manner as conditions allow. I am ordering, for the protection of all Americans, that martial law be in effect in areas of high population density; that all sales of liquor, firearms, ammunition, explosives, and other controlled substances-with the exception of medication-be curtailed. To heighten the effectiveness of Civil Defense measures-"
Sarah Rourke put her hands over her ears. She wanted to scream. Tears welled in her eyes. She looked at Michael and Ann-Michael looked so much like John. Ann was crying, Michael looked afraid.
"Come here, children," she said. She looked at the digital clock on top of the TV set, hearing the president's voice again, telling her not to be afraid. She stared at the clock. "Maybe Daddy's plane has landed already," she whispered.
Michael, his voice low for a boy his age, said, "Don't cry, Mommy," then put his arms around her neck. She leaned her head against her son's chest and cried anyway.
Chapter Nineteen
"This is the captain speaking, ladies and gentlemen. I-ah-I don't quite know how to say this, but according to Atlanta tower, for reasons of national security, our flight and other flights stacked currently at the field are being diverted inland. I'll ask that you check your seat belts once again. We'll be moving out of our holding pattern here and taking a new flight plan. Our projected landing is in Phoenix, Arizona. I want to apologize, on behalf of the airline, for any inconvenience this may cause you, but also assure you that transportation back into the Atlanta area as soon as such can be arranged will be taken care of, as will accommodations for you in the Phoenix area. The reason behind this rerouting, as best as we can determine, is a currently unsubstantiated report that the Soviet Union and the United States, fifteen minutes ago, officially broke off diplomatic relations."
"What the hell is going on?" Rourke said, his voice low. His right hand stretched across the florid-faced businessman beside him and held onto the arm of a stewardess.
"Sir, I really can't add anymore to what the captain has said." Her well practiced airline hostess smile had vanished. He looked at her, released her arm, and turned back toward the window.
The captain's voice came on the speaker again. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Stewart again. I'm picking up something cutting across our frequency with Atlanta tower. It indicates that Civil Defense is alerting the Atlanta area that approximately fifteen minutes ago satellites indicated a massive Soviet Intercontinental Ballistic Missile launch against the U.S. mainland and western Europe."
The intercom system was still on-Rourke could hear it humming. But beyond that and the engine vibration noise as the aircraft climbed into the higher, thinner air-the lights of Atlanta vanishing in the distance below-all was silent.
Then he heard a scream. The woman sitting across the aisle screamed again, grasping at her throat with both hands. Rourke ripped open his seat belt, pushed rudely past the man in the seat beside him.
Other passengers started screaming. In the aisle now, Rourke shouted, "Quiet down! This woman is having a heart attack-what's your excuse?"
He bent over her and loosened the tight pearl choker at her throat. The old woman was starting to gag. Forcing her mouth open, Rourke reached two fingers inside and got her tongue back up out of her throat. A stewardess was at his elbow. "Are you a doctor?" she said.
"I trained as one. See if there's another doctor aboard. Hurry!"
As Rourke started to bend toward the old woman to give her resuscitation, he stopped. The fluttering of the pulse at her neck had stopped. She was no longer breathing, and her eyes were fixed and staring. Leaning over her Rourke hammered his fists down over her chest. He could hear the stewardess's voice behind him, "What are you doing?"
Without looking at her, Rourke rasped, "I'm trying to get her heart started again."
He kept at it for several seconds-and nothing happened. "Stewardess!" he shouted.
"Yes, sir. There wasn't another doctor aboard. Can I help?"
Rourke glanced at the young woman over his shoulder. "Yeah. Find me a hair dryer and something to plug it into-hurry."
"A hair dryer?"
"Yeah," he rasped. "A hair dryer, electric razor-something like that."
In a moment, the stewardess was back beside him, a gun-shaped hair dryer in her hands.
Snatching the appliance, Rourke ripped out the cord, then using a small pocket knife, split the cord and stripped away the insulation, exposing an inch of wire. "Plug this in when I tell you to-but don't touch these ends or let them drag against anything."
Putting both hands on the neck of the older woman's dress, he ripped the garment down the front. "Okay-plug it in," he said. Then, turning to the stewardess, he took the electrical cord and gingerly touched both exposed ends together until they sparked.
"Now," he whispered, "don't let anybody touch her." He touched both ends to the woman's chest. Her body bounced half off the seat. Leaning forward, he listened for her heart. Taking the electrical cord again, he touched the ends once more to the woman's still chest. Her body lurched up, then back down into the seat.
"She's breathing!" the stewardess cried.
Rourke wrapped the electrical cord around his fingers and yanked it from the socket. "Try to make her comfortable," he said, leaning down and listening to the woman's heart, then holding her wrist for the pulse. "Keep her mouth clear. Have one of the passengers watch her to make sure her chest is rising and failing. And you better go tell the captain to set us down as soon as he can. This lady here needs a hospital."