The President's Shadow by Brad Meltzer Page A

better believe he was bringing it here.
    He was supposed to be sitting in the window seat on the left. Instead, th e Irish kid known as Timothy Lusk slid into Alby’s seat, taking the prime spot next to his newfound friend, the all-American boy whose black hair was already buzzed in a perfect crew cut. In the game of life, there were winners and losers. Alby knew the crew cut kid was a winner. He read the name on his envelope. Nicholas Hadrian.
    “Call me Nico,” All-American said, extending a confident handshake to Alby. “Am I in your seat?”
    “He’s actually over there ,” the Irish kid—Timothy—interrupted, pointing Alby across the aisle, to the window seat by himself.
    Alby was about to argue. He wanted to argue.
    But he didn’t.
    “Sorry, can I squeeze past?” the fourth and final recruit—a pale redhead with faint freckles and a worried face—whispered as he took the window seat in the row behind Alby. According to his folder, the redhead’s name was Julian, though when the plane eventually burst into flames, Alby would barely be able to remember it.
    “Once again, thank you for choosing to fly with us,” the pilot added two hours later as the plane began its final descent. “We appreciate having you on board. We’ll be on the ground momentarily.”
    Still feeling the novelty of his stomach lurching and his ears popping, Alby pressed his forehead against the window, mesmerized by the approaching Oklahoma landscape.
    “ JesusMaryandJoseph ,” Timothy said across the aisle. Like Alby, he had a flat midwestern accent. And like Alby, he had a young son. Named Marshall. “ Our new home ,” Timothy added.
    As Alby glanced over, Timothy was staring out his own window. But his seatmate—Nico—was just sitting there, perfect posture…shoulders back…his arms draped across the armrests like they were part of his throne. At first, Alb y wasn’t sure what Nico was doing. What was he looking at? Nico was staring straight ahead, a gold cross dangling from his neck and a satisfied grin on his face.
    It was a grin Alby would never forget.
    On any plane, most people need to keep themselves busy. They read a book, flip through a magazine, or do something . But as Alby looked across at Nico… Nico’s chest was out, his chin was raised, his lips curled into that contented grin. Some people are so self-assured, they don’t need anything. They can just…be. Nico’s grin was a grin of thankfulness. Of eagerness. Of confidence .
    No question, Nico was a winner. And no question, as Alby stared across the aisle, he couldn’t help but sit up straight and stick out his own chest. In high school, Alby’ s history teacher had told him that every life is built like a monument. Alby had hoped that in the army, he’d put down his first piece of granite. But as his shoulders and posture sagged back down, Alby knew—he could feel it: Like his marriage, like parenthood, like everything else in his mess of a life, there’s no magical transformative moment that turns you into the person you want to—
    Ka-duuunk. The plane shook and jerked as its wheels met the runway. Alby glanced outside. The plane lurched forward, brakes biting. Bumpy landing.
    Nico opened his eyes and the Irish kid next to him offered a soft high-five. “Welcome to the rest of your life,” Nico said, whispering to himse lf.
    Twisting around, Alby peeked through the gap between seats, trying to make eye contact with the redheaded recruit—Julian—behind him. No luck. Julian was staring out the window. Instead, the only welcome Alby got was a cordial nod from the elderly couple sitting across the aisle diagonally behind him. Besides the four recruits, they were the only passengers in first class.
    As he smiled weakly at the couple, Alby couldn’t see what was just outside his window, off the runway. Indeed, with the plane rolling toward its gate, he never saw the silver gasoline truck—being driven at high speed by a man in the midst of an