Air Force One was slicing through the atmosphere somewhere over the Atlantic, returning the President of the United States to New York City. Disheartened by the summit with European leaders in France to seek aid and support for the quagmire that was still Iraq, even in the year 2014, the mood on board was somber indeed.

Allies and enemies alike felt it was a quicksand of America’s own design, and they had their own problems. Little more than lip service was given to the U.S. request for troops, money and supplies, because world opinion had long ago abandoned this cause that was so recklessly pursued by American hubris.

The skies around Air Force One did not match the mood of its occupants. It was a glorious spectacle; dazzling, with a blue so chiseled and bright that it made one’s eyes water to gaze out the window for too long. Ignoring the beauty outside, President Yardley rubbed thumbs to forehead in a seemingly unconscious effort to bring forth a solution.

Suddenly, the plane shuddered, dropped five hundred feet, and began to gyrate. In an instant, the gorgeous blue sky had turned a dark metallic gray, with what looked to be swirling storm clouds. This was highly unlikely, however, given their seven-mile altitude. The president was thrown across the conference table nearby, landing halfway underneath a row of chairs.

Pandemonium filled the fuselage, and near panic gripped the cockpit as the captain and co-captain struggled to regain control. Secret servicemen scooped up the president, half dragging, half carrying their precious cargo down one level, to the rear of the aircraft, with the intention of placing the president in the escape pod, where it would be tossed into the Atlantic. Rescue operators who had been exhaustively trained for such an event, would locate the pod with global positioning and retrieve a bobbing but breathing Commander-in-Chief from out of the chilly waters.

What seemed like minutes was actually only nineteen seconds. As suddenly as the shift in atmosphere occurred, just as swiftly did all return to normal. The plane leveled off, stopped its nauseating barreling, and the storm-like clouds vanished as quickly as they appeared, revealing once again that glorious azure sky.

But all was not quite normal in the cockpit. The captain could not make radio contact - at all. No radar. Nothing. It was as if they were tossed into another planet’s orbit, and they were as insulated and as isolated as if they were on board a moon rocket.  The only guide they had was to stay the course upon which they were already embarked. If they did nothing to alter their path, they should at least sight land in 72 minutes, hopefully finding the New York City skyline to guide them in the rest of the way.

Indeed, 72 minutes later, they could spot the coastline, and made their way toward JFK. Upon closer approach, however, the pilots stared, trying to make sense out of what lay beneath them. Instead of towering skyscrapers, there were a few low-lying buildings amid mostly rural outlying areas of brush and trees. With panic rising in their throats, they continued circling overhead for nearly thirty minutes, until the president made the decision to touch down in a field adjacent to a building that seemed oddly familiar, yet newer than it was remembered to be. The coordinates in the cockpit indicated that they were probably closer to Philadelphia than to New York City.

Peering out of their windows, allowing for a soupy mist to momentarily clear, a vision appeared that rendered all aboard Air Force One speechless. From that familiar, but as yet unidentifiable building, emerged men wearing what could only be costumes for some period movie that must be on location nearby. The makeup was so authentic and the attire so in keeping with the obvious story line of life in 1700's America, that they could swear they were looking at real life versions of Washington, Adams and Jefferson. How coincidental that the latest president should encounter a re-enactment of a time from that of the first three presidents? And behind them followed a score of men who had practically tumbled out of that eerily familiar building.

Still, something clearly was not right. As they opened the door, the air smelled different, and the sound of utter silence from any traffic, aircraft, or machinery of any kind was downright deafening, causing their ears to ring.

If they were shocked, their disbelief was nothing compared to those approaching the aircraft. At least those on board could conjure up a plausible explanation - a movie shoot - that could allow them a few seconds more to digest what lay outside. Those approaching had no such luxury. Because nothing, since time began, had there ever been such a gargantuan vessel gliding down to earth from out of the sky. And with "United States of America" emblazoned on its glistening surface, several men seemed close to becoming textbook examples of shock-induced cardiac arrest.

Approaching Air Force One with the caution of those who feared they were about to be sucked into a fourth dimension, men adorned in white powdered wigs walked with a gait that sensed doom but were powerless to turn away. The tallest man, at over 6 foot 2 inches, had the presence of mind to speak.  Not exactly eloquent, but to the point, he asked who they were and from where they came.

The press secretary yelled back, "That’s what we were wondering about you!"

Standing stock still, not sure what anything meant anymore, the man simply said, "I am George Washington, former President of the United States of America. We have just inaugurated our second president, John Adams, and our vice president, Thomas Jefferson."

It was as if a sudden gust had blown toward the plane. Everyone physically reeled from this reply. Surely, surely, this was just a joke, a reality show - SOMETHING that could explain away everything that was growing more and more ominous as those on board started putting together pieces of this horrifying puzzle.

The head speech writer and amateur historian whispered hoarsely, "If this insanity is true, then we are at Congress Hall in Philadelphia, in 1797. Please God, wake me from this nightmare!"