Skyhook

THIRTY NINE SATURDAY, DAY 6 ELMDORF AFB, ALASKA 12 NOON

The cell phone had barely succeeded in ringing when Mac MacAdams yanked it to his ear, momentarily puzzled that there was no one there.

“Oh, yeah,” he mumbled to himself, realizing the electronic ringer that had gone off heralded incoming e-mail messages.

He maneuvered the screen around and grabbed for his reading glasses, spotting the series of numbers he’d expected, and launched himself out of the den chair he’d been in for the past half hour.

“I’m going out for a while, Linda,” he called, aware that his wife had been judiciously steering clear of him all morning.

Mac slid behind the wheel of the restored 1963 Corvair Spyder he’d had since pilot training more than thirty-six years ago and headed off the base into the downtown area. He parked around the block from the Hilton and went inside, zeroing in on one of the pay phones. He dialed a number and waited for an interminable number of rings and clicks before a voice came on the other end.

“Hello?”

“This is… ah…” Mac fumbled with a piece of paper, looking for the code name he was supposed to use. “Ed.”

“Of course it is! So, Ed, are you ready to receive some information?”

“Yeah, after I get an explanation of why you selected ‘Ed’ as my code name.”

He heard a hearty chuckle on the other end. “You remember that old TV show about a talking horse, Mr. Ed? Well, you have a lot of horsepower. It fit.”

“I never knew covert ops could be so much fun.”

“Yes, you did. Anyway… bottom line? You were correct that there was damage to the right winglet. It was discovered late Monday night on a postflight walkaround in the hangar, and it was quietly repaired during the wee hours and the paint touched up the following night.”

“Then, that sonofabitch flight test manager was lying.”

“I don’t think so. I doubt he knew a thing. I decided to target the maintenance lead who was on that night instead of him, and it was a good decision. The guy crumbled under the weight of my badge, so to speak.”

“You have a badge?”

“You’d be surprised what I get to carry.”

“You… didn’t beat the man up or anything, did you?” Mac asked.

“Of course not. I merely made it clear what would happen to him if he ever discussed my visit, and he elected to retain the use and possession of his favorite body appendage.”

“You’re all heart. What did he tell you?”

“It was a towing accident, or so he thought. He’d been threatened with termination before because that very aircraft had been damaged by a poorly trained member of his night crew six months back when they shoved the tail into the back of the hangar. He reported that damage, he told me, but his boss made a huge deal out of it and tried to hang him. He said when he did the walkaround Monday night and saw the ding on the right winglet, he about expired right there.”

“Figured they’d fire him, huh?”

“Exactly. Managers never learn how little it takes to drive people to lie.”

“He didn’t understand it was midair damage?”

“Still doesn’t. He said two of his guys weren’t paying close enough attention as they towed the plane back in and clipped the edge of a parked maintenance stand.”

“Is he sure? Did he inspect the stand?”

“No. He said the stand was gone when he went back out to inspect it, and he spent the next two hours threatening to kill his tow team, then marshaled them all together to work the rest of the night hiding the evidence.”

“And it worked? Well, of course it worked.”

“You bet. No one noticed during the day Tuesday, and Tuesday night they repainted that section using some portable device to bake the paint on.”

“And by Friday, when I inspected it, it looked fine.”

“You got it.”

“You think he’s telling the truth?”

“Hell, I know he’s telling what he thinks is the truth. That’s why you called me, remember? To get the truth?”

“Yeah, okay. So it might have been the maintenance stand, and then again it might not have been.”

“That’s right. Clear as mud. Was there damage? Yes. Was it secretly repaired in a little hangar conspiracy? Yes. Did anyone see, hear, feel, observe, or inspect the results of the impact from the maintenance stand’s point of view? No. Has any maintenance stand turned up with corresponding damage? Well, not yet. You only called me a few hours ago so I haven’t surveyed the flight line, but you might want to do that. Or I’ll do it.”

“I would appreciate your doing it, Jerry.”

“Oops! Name! Ouch!”

“Sorry! But that’s just your alias, right?”

“Yes. Not to worry. Oh, by the way, two other things.”

“Tell me.”

“First, regarding the beautiful Miss Rosen. Following her was a distinct pleasure. And thanks to the cell phone calls she just made today, I’ve got some information you definitely need to know. Somehow, she returned to the crash site and is telling her family and a lawyer named Gracie O’Brien back in Seattle that the wreckage of her dad’s aircraft has been stolen.”

“What?”

“Not only that, the lawyer intends to file a new complaint this afternoon in federal court to include the FAA and the Navy, and she’s demanding return of the wreckage. She said she intends to, and I quote, ‘smoke out’ whoever else is involved.”

“Wonderful,” Mac said. “That will eventually lead right back to our hangar.”

“Judging from what she was broadcasting on that call, Miss Rosen’s had a bit of an odyssey.”

“I knew she wouldn’t quit.”

“Also, I have some really interesting insight into our FAA friend Harrison, and why he seems to want Miss Rosen’s father on the ground.”

“Good. Why?”

“You recall a major cargo airline crash in Anchorage quite a few years back in the seventies?”

“I think so. Remotely.”

“Foreign airline and a contract American captain who was drunk as a skunk. Well, there was an FAA inspector who had tried to ground that very individual sometime before the accident because he suspected the man was flying under the influence. He tried to get his bosses to let him take action, but because there was supposed to be an FAA-approved alcohol rehabilitation program and this guy was supposed to have been a part of it, they refused and ordered him to sit down and shut up.”

“And his name was Harrison, right?”

“None other. But it gets better. Mr. Harrison not only knew the contract captain, they were bitter rivals during their Air Force years. They both got out after Vietnam, the accident captain got a job with this airline and immediately blackballed Harrison, who was applying there, too. Harrison has been death on wheels to airline pilots since then whenever there’s the slightest hint of a drinking problem, and he’s been officially sanctioned twice by his bosses for trying to thwart airline alcohol program graduates’ return to the cockpit.”

“And our Ms. Rosen’s father flew into his crosshairs?”

“Captain Rosen took the cure ten years back. Zero record of a repeat. Solid history as a pilot, but the moment Harrison saw that on his record this week, it was a foregone conclusion.”

“Which, of course, Washington was never told.”

“You got it.”

“Can you get me hard copy of this report?”

“Yes, master. You ready for the last item? The one you really wanted?”

“You know I hate to do it this way.”

“I know. But sometimes it’s necessary. The answer is yes, I’ve got a file on the guy who rattled your cage. He’s not terribly interesting and there’s nothing felonious, but he’s got some very embarrassing charges on his company credit card that, if you so desired, would be grounds for termination.”

Mac sighed. “Okay. You have the documentation?”

“They’ll be with the package. He’ll be more than willing to apologize.”

“I hate this sort of thing. You have a file on me, too?”

“No, see… you’re one of the squeaky ones that spooks like me hate. I haven’t seen you take so much as a paper clip or evince an extracurricular interest in the opposite sex yet. And before you’re tempted to ask, same thing goes for your wife. You’re both squeaky.”

“Thank heavens. By the way, I counted six clicks on the line when I called you,” Mac chuckled. “Somehow I got the impression that my call was being rerouted several different places.”

“How clever of you to notice. Yeah, I have a lot of fun with false call-routing games. You may even be talking through a Pentagon line piped through the Anchorage police department switchboard and two drug dealers’ headquarters before being routed through a local whorehouse into my phone.”

“We have whorehouses in Anchorage?” Mac asked. “No, wait. I have no need to know.”

“I would think not. Your wife really is a lovely woman.”.

“How would you… never mind. Of course you’d know.”

“My job, Ed. Plus, you two had me over for dinner last year. Am I that forgettable? I even recited ancient Alaskan poetry for you.”

“Bullshit. You recited Robert Service’s Shooting of Dan McGrew. Hardly ancient. And no, you’re not forgettable. Anything but.”

“Thank you.”

“Look, please let me know when you’ve surveyed all the maintenance stands at Elmendorf, will you?”

“I shall go and do that, oh great one with shoulder stars.”

“Lord, what I have to put up with.”

“Next time you and the missus feed me, I’ll recite the poem of the perpetually perturbed polar bear. Provided there’s a Guinness in it.”

“You’re on. And… if I haven’t said so in the last few months, I just want you to know how much I appreciate having your help on this project.”

“You’re welcome, big guy. You remember what I told you. As long as I don’t have to march or wear a uniform, I’m happy to help.”

When the call ended, the man on other end began unplugging the communications equipment he’d used as he thought over what had to be done and how to best deliver the package MacAdams needed.

And then there’s the matter of Dr. Benjamin Cole, he thought to himself. I’m glad Mac didn’t ask. Best to leave that subject completely undiscussed.

Gracie popped open the main cabin door of the Cessna 310 light twin before the propellers had stopped rotating. The man in the left seat finished the last few checklist items and killed the master switch as she reached around to shake his hand.

“Thank you very much, Captain Larson.”

“Please call me Jimmy.” He smiled, enfolding her hand in a huge paw and shaking it gently. “Anything to help out Arlie.”

“Well, two hundred miles per hour really beats the Cherokee’s hundred and fifteen. Please forgive my dashing off. You going back immediately?”

He was pulling his headset off. “After fueling and eating some of Galvin’s popcorn,” he said, gesturing to the main lobby of the flying service whose ramp they were on. “Or, I could stay over.”

She climbed out on the right wing and stood up as he leaned over.

“Gracie, any chance you’d accompany an old retired airline birdman to dinner tonight?”

She put her hands on her hips. “Are you trying to date me, Captain?” she teased.

He looked startled. “Hey, now there’s a concept. I could use a new trophy wife. I wore out the last one.”

She began backing down the folding steps to the ground. “Okay, now I’m frightened. I’ll take a rain check, if you don’t mind. Besides, I’m going to be amazingly busy working on this thing.”

“Gracie, you do know I’m only kidding, right?”

She looked hurt. “You don’t want to date me?”

He waved and smiled. “In a few years, perhaps. When I grow up. Good luck with that judge.”

She hurried back to her Corvette in the parking lot and moved into traffic, heading for the office.

The lure of diverting to a nearby Starbucks after parking her car was strong, but her office had a coffeepot and she had several hours of drafting and proofing to do before the amended complaint and the accompanying papers would be fit to present to a federal district judge on the doorstep of his home. She swung through the door of her office feeling strangely out of place, as if Ben Janssen might be waiting for her in abject disapproval.

There were several others at work in the sprawling offices, but she slipped inside unnoticed and closed the door. She pulled her laptop out of her briefcase and secured it in the docking cradle on her desk just as the urge to talk to April became overwhelming.

Sitting on the forty-sixth floor had an added advantage of a direct shot to the nearest cellular phone tower, so the signal was clear and steady as she punched in April’s cell number, relieved when April answered on the third ring. The background sounds had diminished.

“Where are you, April?”

“About three hours out of Valdez.”

Gracie reported Arlie’s directive to withdraw on Monday whatever she’d filed.

“I don’t want to do it, April, but ethically I don’t have a choice if he won’t relent.”

“I’ll talk to him. I tried after you called.”

Gracie relayed the details of the call from Ben Cole. “I think you need to rendezvous with him as quickly as possible, before your dad orders you home, too.”

“Ben who?”

“Cole. Ph.D. I think he’s taking a big risk with his job, or something, so we’ll need to arrange a very discreet meeting.”

“Okay, go ahead. I’ll be here until we reach Valdez, then I’ll try to get a commercial flight or charter someone to get back to Anchorage.” There was a pause on the Alaskan end and some words exchanged in the background.

“Sorry, Gracie. Just talking to Jim. What’s the next step?”

“I’m going to sit here in my office and hammer out a new complaint, April. What I filed yesterday was a temporary restraining order to prevent the Coast Guard from destroying the tapes they took from you. Now we have missing wreckage. This may touch the laws of admiralty, so I’ve got some research to do very quickly, but what I need to accomplish is to have the judge order the government to disclose where the wreckage is, protect it, freeze it in one place, and give us the chance to inspect it.”

“So… we’re not suing them?”

“Well, it’s a bit tricky. The FAA is the government, and essentially they’re withholding evidence if any part of the government has something material. In this case they’ve gone out and snatched the prime evidence in open waters. I’m still working through the right theory, but they can’t charge the captain with violative conduct and then affirmatively go obtain and hide evidence to the contrary.”

“Can’t we sue them for damages, too? I mean, as long as Dad will relent. After all, I’ve already spent several thousand dollars for the privilege of being accosted, looted, deceived, and frustrated by my own government.”

Gracie was drumming her fingers on the desk in thought. “That’s perfect, April!”

“What?”

“Obstruction of justice. That’s essentially what they’ve been doing. First, there’s a process in place in administrative law for violations against pilots, and the process enables the licensed airman to defend himself or herself and present evidence. But if the same government — read: ours — tries to get in the way and obstruct that process, it’s arguable that they’re committing a criminal act, and at the very least they’re creating irreparable harm if the evidence is tampered with. And, civilly, let me see. I’ll bet I can hang my hat on admiralty law, in that what they’ve done, regardless of which government agency did it, constitutes tortious interference with property rights.”

“Admiralty law?”

“Yes. It governs things like this involving navigable international waters, and it’s a separate and distinct form of what we call legal jurisdiction. There’s common law, there’s equity law, which is what I used to get that restraining order, and then there’s admiralty, which goes way back to Great Britain.”

“What’s equity law?”

“In old England, as the common law developed, the regular courts could award money and property to injured or damaged people who sued other people and won. But the normal courts were powerless to act until an injury, or damage, had occurred. So another kind of jurisdiction developed we now call equity jurisdiction, handled by special courts that could order people to do something or not do something in order to prevent harm. In other words, if Lord Brighton threatened to come on Lord Smythe’s land and cut down a favorite tree, Smythe could either wait for the damage to be done and then sue Brighton, or he could go to an equity court and get the court to order Brighton not to cut down the tree in the first place.”

“Okay.”

“Today, in our country as well as the UK, almost all courts have equity jurisdiction along with their normal duties. So judges can preside over damage trials as well as issue court orders, known as temporary restraining orders and injunctions.”

“My head’s spinning, Gracie.”

“Yeah, well, here’s what I think we’ll do. You went out there with Jim Dobler to begin the process of salvaging the wreck of your dad’s airplane as his appointed agent. There can be no question about abandoning the wreck, in other words. You never abandoned it.”

“Of course not.”

“But, you see, that’s a big, big deal, April. If you don’t abandon the wreck, no one can take the title away. A salvage operator can bring it up if you don’t specifically tell him not to and at worst you might have to pay the fair value of those services, but no one can take the title to it. Not even our government, without due process of law.”

“Which means?”

“The FAA or Navy or whoever would have to… I know this sounds silly, but… file suit against the Albatross.”

“What?”

“I told you it sounded silly. It’s called ‘in rem’ jurisdiction, where the title to property is being determined. I remember a case in law school that absolutely cracked me up. It was before the Supreme Court of the United States, and it was entitled: The United States of America versus One 1973 Rolls Royce.”

“Who won?”

“Not the Rolls.”

“So, unless we see the United States of America versus November Three Four Delta Delta…”

“That’s it… they can’t seize it, they can’t hide it, and they can’t interfere or claim you’ve abandoned it.”

“Good. Don’t listen to Dad. I don’t know what’s spooking him, but we carry on. Okay?”

“As long as I can do so ethically.”

“We’ll work it out. Don’t withdraw anything.”

“Call me when you get to Valdez, April. I’ve got to get this researched and written and find the judge before he goes fishing or something.”

“You’re hopeful, then, Gracie?”

“Heck, yes! They may just have saved your dad ten to twenty thousand dollars in salvage fees by illicitly interfering, as well as giving us the evidence we need to clear him.”

“Wonderful!”

They ended the connection and Gracie began the task of pulling up the right cases on the computer, finishing an hour faster than she’d expected.

She checked the firm’s carefully guarded listing of all the home addresses and phone numbers of the state and federal judges and found Judge Chasen’s listing, her hand hesitating over the dial pad as she went over what she was going to say.

A woman answered the Chasen phone and Gracie introduced herself, giving the name of the firm.

“I apologize for bothering you, but I need to come to your home and file some court papers with the judge.”

There was a sigh on the other end and a chuckle. “Let me get him. Hold on.”

The receiver clanked on a table and several minutes went by before a gruff, familiar voice came on the line.

“This is Judge Chasen.”

“Your Honor, Gracie O’Brien. I apologize for the necessity of this call, but there have been dramatic new developments in the case I’m handling regarding the crash of that private aircraft in Alaska last Monday.”

“What, exactly, are ‘dramatic developments,’ Counselor?”

“The TRO you granted, Your Honor, concerned a confiscated private videotape of the aircraft wreckage. That tape was taken away. Now the wreckage has also been seized by the government without notice, without process, and without assurance that it will not be altered or tampered with.”

“As I recall, this had to do with a Federal Aviation Administration license suspension, correct?”

“License revocation, Judge. Vastly more serious and damaging, but the evidence that will clear the plaintiff is in that wreckage, and this… unwarranted seizing of the evidence is, well, tantamount to obstruction of justice.”

“Wait a second here. Are you alleging a criminal violation by some government entity?”

“At the moment, Your Honor, I need to come file a petition with you for a new TRO, restraining whichever branch of the U.S. government has damaged, moved, or otherwise imperiled the evidenciary value of that wreckage, and to request a court order essentially arresting the wreckage and requiring it to be delivered to the court’s jurisdiction for inspection by us. I have a separate action against the FAA to file as well.”

There was a chuckle on the other end, and a sigh. “So you want me to arrest the airplane and the FAA?”

“That would be a nice start, Your Honor.”

“You have my address?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Be here in one hour and I’ll look at it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Thank me then, Counselor. Not now. I haven’t seen your pleadings yet.”