[b]80,000 Feet Over the Pacific Ocean
0347 Local Time[/b]


The supersonic jet streaked through the stratosphere at a speed approaching Mach 2. Matte black and lightweight, the craft was designed to be fast and stealthy. It was invisible to radar and could outrun the fastest jets of any government on the face of the planet. It had no weapons systems because it did not need any weapons. Speed was its weapon.

In the pressurized cargo hold, the two Executive Branch agents sat calmly while the jet rocked and swayed through small pockets of turbulence. Theodore Roosevelt read a small paperback book while Abraham Lincoln sharpened a rather large hatchet on a piece of whetstone. Both men wore black wetsuits and rubber shoes. Between them was a large khaki rucksack. 

"What are you reading today, Mr. Roosevelt?" Lincoln asked as he ran a thumb along the hatchet blade. 

"A biography on our man, MacArthur," Theodore said without glancing up. "It's very rare that you find the man you are planning to assassinate has entire volumes of books written about him. I plan to embrace this unique opportunity and do some research."

"A prudent action," Lincoln said as he stood and took practice swings with his hatchet. "I think I have a firm grasp of the man from what I know. He reminds me of an old general of mine." 

"McClellan," Roosevelt stated, pausing the turn the page of his book. "There are similarities in delusions of grandeur and ostentation. If my history readings serve me, your problem with McClellan, Mr. Lincoln, was that he lacked initiative when it came to engaging the enemy. He lacked fighting spirit.  With MacArthur, he has too much initiative. Franklin called him the most dangerous man in America in 1932 for a reason."

Both men looked up when the door to the cockpit opened. Orville Wright stepped into the cargo hold, dressed in khaki pants, a leather bomber jacket, and goggles perched upon his head. He approached the two ex-presidents with a wide grin.

"Gentlemen, we are fast approaching the drop zone. The jet is on automatic pilot for the time being while I help you suit up and prepare for the jump."

The lone Wright Brother helped the two men into their jump gear. Thick thermal garments went over their wetsuits to protect from the intense cold once the cargo door was opened. Roosevelt and Lincoln slipped on oxygen masks and buckled parachutes to their backs while Orville strapped a parachute to the knapsack.

"I will take my leave from you," Wright said with a small bow. "Your supplies are rigged up with a chute as well. One of you must hold on to it and activate the parachute and the flotation device beneath the sack before you pull your own chute."

"That'll be no problem," Lincoln said through his oxygen mask. 

"Good luck, gentlemen. The cargo doors will open in two minutes. When the light above the door goes green, you know what to do."

Orville disappeared back into the cockpit and locked the cabin door with a loud hiss. 

"How old are you, Mr. Roosvelt?" Lincoln asked.

"I shall turn 157 next month," said Theodore, grinning from inside his mask.

"Happy early birthday, you youngster," Lincoln said with a smirk. "I turned 206 earlier this year."

"Well, happy belated birthday. I must say, Mr. Lincoln, that you do not look a day past 110."

"I have been fortunate enough to find adequate physical and mental stimulation here in my twilight years."

The large ramp opened from the back of the jet. A cold wind roared through the cargo hold. A bright light above the ramp flicked on and bathed the dim cargo hold in its glow. Lincoln hefted the knapsack into his arms and walked towards the edge of the ramp with Roosevelt. The two men looked out at the clouds beneath them. Even in the dark, they could see holes in the clouds that showed the vast Pacific Ocean nestled some fifteen miles below the jet. The light went from red to green. Without hesitation, both men leaped from the ramp and plummeted to the water and mission that waited for them below.