Her first act as President of the United States is going to be shooting down Air Force One. The thought explodes in her brain. Much like the plane will over the Pacific. She watches the screen in the Sit Room. She feels Russell on her right. His breathing is heavy. The tension is heavy. For the first time in a while an actual prayer runs through her head. Please God, give us any sign of life. Any at all. But there is nothing. No Morse code signals. No radio communications. No one waving in a window. Nothing.

"Ma'am, I think it time," She turns to the sound of Gordon Becker's voice. His face is pale, and his eyes show the fear his body language is trying hard to hide. He stands at attention the ever-dutiful soldier.

"It's been an hour Madam President," He continues emphasizing her title as if he can feel that she needs the push, "There is no sign of life on the Aircraft. We need to secure it now, before it runs out of fuel and crashes on land."

She turns to Russell, nearly asking him what to do. What is she supposed to do? She thinks about Conrad. Her friend and mentor. What if he isn't dead? What if no one on the aircraft is dead? Is it murder if she tells the Naval Air Force to control crash the Plane carrying the President and the Speaker of the House? Did the cabin depressurize? Is it that simple? Or is it the worst-case scenario. The fact that the Vice President is fighting for his life at GWU Hospital right now, would lead them all to believe that is in fact the worst-case scenario.

"Bess, they would've made contact with the Jets." Russell reasons, "They would've seen the back up and found a way to communicate."

She nods. If Air Force One is in the air. If Mark Delgato is on a ventilator, but alive. She is only the Acting President. She is only merely keeping a chair warm and providing temporary leadership. But as soon as that plane goes down. No survivors. Most likely due to an attack of the worst kind. An attack meant to destabilize the United States Government. An attack that had to have been so well planned to have gotten passed all seventeen US intelligence agencies. An attack that is likely only the first of many. Well, then reality sets in. She will be the President of the United States, during what she can only assume is the beginning of World War Three.

"Ma'am, it is important we make a decision. We have thirsty minutes to have enough room to do this safely" Becker insists.

"I agree. Madam President." Russell adds. She looks from Becker to Russell and then around the room. Eyes are on her. The men wearing the shiny brass and the stars. The men who have trained their whole lives. The men who know war like the back of their hands are leaning on her. They are accepting her as their Commander in Chief and not the Secretary of State. They are awaiting her orders. Her chest gets tight, and she fights the urge to tear off her blazer.

"I want a vote. Who thinks there are no living souls on board that plane?" She asks. Her voice is low, and her tone is even. Her eyes focus on the screen in front of her, so that no one will see her fighting tears. She is scared. Terrified. And slowly all the Joint Chiefs raise their hands. The National Security advisor and the Director of National Intelligence too. And more reluctantly and honestly more devastatingly so do Gordan Becker and Russell Jackson.

"Okay, if we shoot the Plane down over the Ocean, or control crash it as we're referring to it... Can we collect the parts necessary to figure out what happened? Or do we have a better option for that?" Her question is pointed toward Oliver Shaw and the director of the FAA.

"We don't have a good option." Shaw answers, "We have to go through the black box. There are other things that may help us, but the black box is going to be our only real chance to know exactly what happened. Air Force One is equipped with enough cyber security that this would've almost had to have been a mechanical failure."

"Okay," She takes a deep breath, "Control crash Air Force One. And make sure we have the Pacific Naval Fleet prepared to gather as many pieces of the Plane as possible focusing first on any and all top-secret com systems and weapons defense systems. I want us to get the black box. The minute that Plane is in the water."

"Yes Ma'am." She hears the acknowledgement from Ed Parker who is immediately communicating her orders to the Naval Fleet. She looks at Russell once more asking silently for absolution. He gives her a small nod. The praise is simple, it always is with Russell, a nod here and there, sometimes a 'fine'. But knowing he agrees makes her feel slightly more confident in her decision.

"Ma'am we'll need to do an immediate Oval Office address to tell the public and assure them that the government will run smoothly as normal. I've had a couple writer's working on a speech for this outcome. I'll have Matt polish it so we can be sure it sounds like you."

She nods and swallows, "I need to tell Lydia and Harrison first," Her words edge on tears. The last thing she wants to do is tell Lydia her husband is dead. Her husband is dead, and the US is most likely on a war footing with a still unknown enemy. Conrad is dead. The man who has been a second father to her, who has helped her find passions much greater than private finance. She knows that his death will leave a gaping hole in her heart, but there is a bigger hole in her gut. This is it. Nothing will ever be the same. The world has tilted on its axis, and she is in charge of righting it.

"Yes, ma'am, and you should tell your family as well." Russell reminds her. This isn't the first time Elizabeth has been torn between work and her children, but this is the first-time work has fully won out. She is the Acting President of a country in peril. She can't afford to give her kids a second thought as she knows they sit in the safety of the East Wing bunker.

"Lydia first, And Gordon, take us to Def Con Two. I want everyone on high alert and at the ready until we know more."

"Yes Ma'am." With the Def Con level being raised the world will know that something is wrong. The citizens of the country she has been charged to the care of will be notified that there will be an emergency address from Acting President Elizabeth Adams McCord any minute now as soon as the Press Room breaks has a time she'll be in the Oval.

"Do we have any word on Delgato's condition?" She asks the room. She gets a few blank stares and then a staffer promises to check immediately.

"Find out what caused this ASAP" Her voice is even and measured. Her eyes are focused. Her emotions have been pushed aside. She is ready to act, "If we find out that this was indeed an attack, I want us at the ready to rain Hell." Conrad would be proud, she thinks. Her tone was swift and sure. Even though her mind is still wavering in it's belief that this is really happening.

Her walk with a solemn Russell Jackson up to the Residence is slow and reluctant, "Russell, does she know anything?"

"She knows we lost communication with the plane. That's all."

Elizabeth's eyes flick over to him. She's almost incredulous. She is about to tell one of her oldest friends that her husband is dead. Does she have any other information? "Nothing else?"

"No. Bess, I mean Ma'am... Damnit." He sighs. Elizabeth can tell he's slipping. It's all she feels like doing too. She needs to be the president, but it feels so surreal. She feels like a fraud. Like this is a cruel joke, "Nobody thought this was possible."

"Yeah, I guess we all leaned on our it can't happen to us attitudes," she says quietly before softly knocking on the door that separates the Residence from the rest of the White House. She waits a moment and then opens the door. She is immediately met by Lydia, who is true to her WASPy upbringing. Lydia Dalton is always put together. She never appears worried or frustrated. Lydia is the Perfect First Lady, the perfect politician's wife. She is the epitome of grace under fire, even now, "Lydia,"

"Oh, Elizabeth, you are so pale."

"Lydia, I am so sorry," She starts. She is having a hard time keeping it together. She never wanted this. She never wanted to deliver this news about a man she loves to a woman she loves, "Lydia... As you know, about four hours ago the communication systems on Air Force One went down. We scrambled jets from the Nimitz to gather as to why that may be. The Pilots along with the rest of the Carrier group tried in vain for an hour to confirm life aboard the aircraft. It was determined that,"

"Stop," Lydia's single word is harsh as her body falls heavily but somehow still gracefully onto the couch, "My Connie's gone, isn't he?"

"Lydia, I," Elizabeth tries to find words. How is she supposed to separate her grief from her duty?

"He's gone," Lydia whispers, "Connie's gone."

"I am so sorry." Elizabeth kneels next to her. Lydia shakes her head. Elizabeth sits with her in silence for long moments. She knows better than to think that there is anything she can say that would be a comfort.

"Please just get out Elizabeth," Lydia's words are cold and harsh. Elizabeth nods and rises. As she exits, she reminds orders the staff not to disturb the now former First Lady. It feels like a movie as she walks down the hall, and the Marine guards rise to attention and salute her. She wonders how she's supposed to get used to this. She hopes she doesn't. Mark Delgato can pull through. This can be his mess. His responsibility. His possible war.

But all her hope vanishes the moment she sees a pale faced staffer, the same one who assured her he'd check on the Vice President, "Ma'am!" He yells jogging to her breathlessly.

"Ma'am, Vice President Delgato is dead," His voice is quiet as he delivers the news, "The ICU staff still suspects poisoning,"

"Shit," It's the only word she can muster. It's as if her entire brain goes white all at once. This isn't like any panic attack she's ever experienced. She looks at Russell almost blankly, "Decapitation strike," she breathes. He nods his panic just as evident as hers. What the fuck is she supposed to do now?