For an event away from the White House, Agent Bishop stood as usual, roughly thirty feet from President Harwell. Throughout the previous few days he had been back at his post within the oval office, and had heard every discussion associated with the two navy pilots who escaped from Syria. According to reports which were based solely upon the testimony of the men, their adventure had been arduous. They claimed to have experienced multiple occasions during the nearly one hundred day ordeal when it appeared as though they wouldn’t be delivered alive, but once they had managed to make their way to the eastern shores of Italy, the threat level diminished significantly.

As recounted by them, the two pilots landed in a remote area after parachuting from their plane as it began to break apart. That unforeseen circumstance turned out to be fortunate, for if they had come down in a city or village, their fate would have probably been sealed by means of which most civilians didn’t care to discuss or even think about. As two members of the American military forces who at the time were relentlessly attacking Syria, torture would have become a primary daily factor throughout the duration of their captivity. However the remote positioning of their landing enabled the pilots to avoid such a harsh reality, although they had been stripped down to nothing more than t-shirts, boxer shorts, and socks while at gunpoint on the sandy soil.

Their lack of clothing for the upcoming few hours became the lone element of their plight beyond bailing out which could be confirmed by the three rescue helicopters sent from the H.W. Bush. However any trace of evidence which may have been left as to the direction they were then taken was blown away by the rotor blast from the helicopters. The men had been whisked away from the site to a remote village where they were kept in hiding for several days from those that would cause them harm, while also being provided with rations of food and water along with more suitable clothing for the region. Many of the village elders were among those who sought peace on a grand scale, and were both knowledgeable of and sympathetic towards those who had suffered from the attacks within the United States a few months prior. Therefore they didn’t want to see the American pilots hurt or killed in spite of what was currently transpiring within portions of Syria.

With the passing of the next ten days and nights, the elders and those in the village became painfully aware that the United States military would inflict her wrath upon those who they deemed to have attacked her personnel or civilians. Although no damage had occurred at their village, distant rumblings of explosions could often be heard while towering plumes of smoke could be seen during the daylight hours. Conversely, the glow upon the distant horizon told of ragging fires throughout the night. As a result the manhunt for the American pilots intensified with each passing day by those who sought justice of their own, so the quest of the elders to keep the two men safe became more challenging. There was a hope that by treating the airmen with care and returning them to the Americans unharmed, it would be viewed by the United States as a humanitarian gesture. That might provide an opportunity for some much needed leverage, which could then hopefully be used to halt any future bombings. Accordingly, the elders decided to try and make a run for Turkey.

The first step in that run toward freedom would be to smuggle the captives northward via an underground railroad of sorts to a position near the Turkish border. That process, although now proved to be successful, had taken until nearly the end of February. A crossing into the neighboring country was eventually made, but not until after the American pilots had been taken to a secret meeting place only a few miles from the border. At that point they met with a peace envoy which consisted of several men who were members of the Syrian government. At first the airmen felt as if they had been betrayed and believed that they would be taken away for punishment, but that was when a surprise factor entered the equation. Each member of the envoy offered their hand in friendship, while emphasizing that Syria was not the country responsible for the attacks upon the United States.

As a show of good faith the envoy offered to escort the pilots to the border, where they would have safe passage into Turkey. Beyond that point the Syrian officials would have minimal control, but they would contact a network of additional smugglers who could help the pilots move westward toward Greece if so desired. The only price required of the pilots for such an offer was that of conveying to their superiors back in America the hope of peace, as Syria had taken a beating which would require considerable time and resources to recover from. Although this particular group of government officials didn’t harbor any ill will toward the United States for what had transpired, there were others that now did. In closing they once again stressed that Syria had not been the responsible party. Perhaps they could help in the future to discover who was, but they would need to know that the United States would be willing to work together on such an endeavor.

For the pilots there was only one sensible response. Their belief or non-belief in what had just been conveyed to them was irrelevant at the current time, as an offer to escape from Syria had been presented to them without unpalatable strings attached. They promised to pass along the words of the Syrian officials to their superiors, and gladly accepted the offer for a safe crossing. Several weeks later the smuggling underground of Turkey had stealthily moved them westward across the width of the country, before providing sanctuary on a small fishing boat which wound its way through several islands toward the peninsula south of Athens Greece. From there the pilots maintained the cover of being ordinary men of little means, while making their way via scrounging for handouts from American or Canadian tourists toward the western most reaches of Greece. Then they secured passage on another fishing boat which smuggled them safely onto the boot of Italy. Additional handouts of small cash donations helped the cause, and before long the men were on a train bound for the universal neutrality and freedom of Switzerland. After arriving in Zurich, they made their way from the train station to the American Embassy to ask for assistance. Although their tattered clothing didn’t match with the story of their true identity, the two men were escorted inside for a DNA swab. With the search narrowed to active military personnel, the computer then quickly came back with a positive match for both pilots.

Now standing upon the tarmac of Andrews Air Force Base on the afternoon of Sunday April eighteenth, President Harwell was poised to greet the pilots with a heartfelt welcome. Aside from Agent Bishop and a few White House staff members, he was joined by a large entourage of military personnel, civilians, and media representatives who were also eager to see the men deplane. The President had listened in early January to various senior advisors when they claimed that the two pilots were most probably dead, and he was happy in that the consensus of those so-called experts had been incorrect. As for the other side of the equation, the President also felt remorse. He had been the one who ultimately gave up on them and ordered to call off any further searches, so he privately hoped that the two men could find it in their hearts to forgive him.

Agent Bishop had a different take on the situation, which rightfully provided him with a measure of humility. Although he had gone through an interesting ten days to say the least, he had not endured anything close to what either of the two men now walking toward President Harwell had gone through. For Heath there had been the return to the place of his youth which he thought would never be seen by him again. As was then expected, the return created a swirl within his mind of both joyful memories and pain from the past. Thankfully he had attained a level of closure by exercising some of those ghosts, but after meeting a woman whom he could have possibly built something with, another ghost of perhaps greater significance had sadly been created. Domonique had been assassinated of all things, which was ironic in the sense that it happened while Heath was on vacation from providing a portion of the defense against any such attempt on the President. Then he had discussed the matter with the woman’s employer in Texas, before returning to his post in Washington D.C. to learn that the pilots whom he was now watching approach the President had not been killed. Heath realized that he would need more time to process all that lay before him, but his questions of life paled in comparison to those of the two men in starched white uniforms who were now saluting their Commander and Chief.