Marine One

9

MARCEL CALLED ME after the hearing and asked me to meet him the next morning at six thirty at the hangar where the wreckage was being stored. He was concerned about Blankenship's announcement on worldwide television.

As I was leaving for the hangar, my wife, Debbie, asked me if I'd seen the headline of the morning's newspaper.

"What does it say?"

She turned it around and held it up to me and read it: " 'WorldCopter in the Crosshairs.' "

"Perfect."

She glanced at the story that she'd already read, looking for a particular sentence: " 'According to sources inside the government, the lead investigator for the NTSB is focusing on a specific cause that she thinks will explain the crash. The sources were unwilling to disclose the cause, but said the things under consideration all pointed to WorldCopter.' "

I put my coffee down. "That is unbelievably irresponsible. Does anyone think it was a coincidence that the NTSB 'Preliminary Assessment,' whatever that is, was released while the president of WorldCopter was on the hot seat of a Senate inquisition? Somebody at the NTSB owed Blankenship big-time. What total bullshit this is. Who inside the NTSB would talk to him and then the press like that? That really pisses me off."

I headed for the hangar, which was on an old army air base. I had been there on occasion when it was still actively operating. It had been closed in one of Congress's base realignments. The NTSB was there twenty-four hours a day, but most of the team were there from 6 AM to 10 PM.

The hangars now stood empty, surrounded by weeds. The NTSB had cleaned up one of the hangars and mowed around it. It was easy to pick it out from the others by its appearance and the activity around it.

I turned into the army base, which now had a guard at the gate again. He took my driver's license and turned to check it against his access list. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw a car go by a little too slowly to just be driving by on the country road behind me. The car was unremarkable and I couldn't see the driver, but I thought I'd seen the same car earlier, on the way to the army base from my house. I couldn't imagine who it would be. It had to be either a coincidence or my imagination.

I parked at the side of the hangar in what was once a pilots' parking lot and walked through the side door. The concrete floor was spotless, and portable light stands all over the massive space illuminated the charred, mud-covered wreckage from Marine One that had been trucked to the hangar. The investigators had spread the pieces out on the floor to represent the places where the pieces had been in the helicopter when it was intact.

Each subgroup of the NTSB investigation had its own table: engines, blades, airframe, maintenance, pilots, everyone. Participants such as WorldCopter had their own areas and tables. Some had put up signs so everyone would know where they were. WorldCopter's logo hung from a now defunct fire sprinkler high above their table.

I quickly spotted Marcel, who was also one of the first people in the hangar that morning. He had scrounged a desk and was sitting behind it with innumerable photographs and pieces of metal in front of him. He was looking at one with a magnifying glass as I approached. "Morning, Marcel."

He looked up over his reading glasses. "Good morning, Mike. I am glad that you came." He jumped up and turned to face the wall behind him. He turned back to me. "Would you like some coffee? We have brought our own coffee machine out here. The coffee that was being made was not too good. Let me get you some."

"Sure." Marcel took a large bowl-like cup out of a stack, poured coffee into it from an impressive coffeemaker, then reached under the desk and pulled out a quart of milk from a cooler and poured some into the coffee. "Thanks," I said as he smiled widely and handed me the cup. "So what you got, Marcel?"

Marcel ripped off his reading glasses and looked around to make sure nobody was listening. He lowered his voice and spoke to me quietly. "As you know, we are here as part of the investigation. To help the NTSB. I am looking at many things and am not making any conclusions. That's their job. I answer questions. But I think I also notice a few things that we have to deal with in the future.

"Come around here." He indicated for me to walk to his side of the desk. "I want to show you these photographs." He picked up one eight-and-a-half-by-eleven, glossy color print and handed it to me. He put his glasses back on, picked up a pen, and began pointing to a portion of the photo.

I couldn't tell what it was. "What are we looking at?"

"It is the inside threads of the main rotor blade that we found lying on the ground."

"Where it attaches to the rotor hub?"

"Exactly. Look closely."

I looked as closely as I could, but nothing jumped out at me.

"Here." He handed me the magnifying glass.

I glanced around the room feeling like I was about to do something improper and placed the photograph flat on the desk where there was good light. Marcel placed his pen where he wanted me to look. I looked carefully, moving the four-inch magnifying glass in and out until it was perfectly focused on the threads that held the main rotor blade to the rotor hub. The threads looked odd, like they weren't as clean or as precise as you would expect them to be. The threads showed slight bending, some discoloration, and a softness that I couldn't really understand. I placed the magnifying glass down and stood up straight. "What am I looking at here, Marcel?"

He almost whispered, "The threads. The threads are bent."

I shook my head indicating my complete lack of understanding. "And?"

"The threads are bent, you can see the force? The stress?"

"Sure. But I would assume they all have that. When the helicopter hits the ground, the blades flex down, putting a huge amount of force on their attachment to the rotor hub. That should stress the threads."

"No," he said. "This blade came off in the air. It was not attached when the helicopter hit the ground, remember?"

"Yeah, but we don't know where."

He shook his head as if I didn't understand, which was accurate. He said, "I do not know if this got the right chemical, the right coating. I'm afraid the coating for corrosion did not get put on this blade. If it didn't, and the blade came off in the air because it had corroded, it could explain everything! It landed by the crashed helicopter, yes, true. It would be one of those… 'ironies'?"

"That would be an irony. An unpleasant one. You think that's possible?"

Marcel shrugged and put out his chin. "You see, the blade threads are bent as if it came off going down, away from the helicopter. It probably came off while the helicopter was in the air."

I sat down in the chair Marcel had been sitting in. This case could be over a lot faster than I thought. "You tell the NTSB about this?"

"They haven't focused on the blade yet, they're too busy with other things."

"You gonna tell them?"

"I will answer whatever questions they ask."

"We need to get our own metallurgist to look at this as soon as we can."

"I don't want somebody from WorldCopter," Marcel said.

"I know just the guy. Used to be the head of the NTSB metallurgy lab."

"They will probably like that here," he said, glancing at the NTSB people.

"I don't think so. He thinks the people who work in the NTSB lab now are second-stringers. We'll have to play it very carefully."

"What about the tip weights? Any of them recovered yet?"

"No. This same blade is the one missing its end cap and tip weights. They could have come off in the air, which would cause a terrible vibration. The helicopter would come apart. That could make this blade come off in any direction."

"Well, exactly. If they don't find those tip weights, everyone will think that's exactly what happened."

"Yes, they could." I looked at him. "We have to find those tip weights. We have to show they're intact and they didn't cause the accident."

"If the NTSB didn't find them, it will be hard for us to find them."

"We have to. Otherwise this thing is going to land on our heads." I thought about the assembly of the tip weights. The small washers that balanced the rotating blade. "What about the nut that held the tip weights on? How can we prove there even was a nut?"

"Well, you couldn't rotate that blade for even thirty seconds without the nut holding on the tip weights. It would be out of balance immediately. The bolt at the end, where the tip weights go and the nut holds them on is bent. This blade hit something."

"So the nut and the tip weights could have come off when the blade hit whatever it hit."

"Yes, or the bolt could have been bent after they came off and as it fell. And the NTSB has not found any of these parts. If it was near the crash, they would be on the ground, in the mud. They have looked everywhere. They are not there."

"Oh, yes, they are. And we're going to find them."

I worked at my office late that night reviewing the Senate transcript that Morton had e-mailed me. As I paused for a moment and looked at the ceiling to soothe my burning eyes, the phone rang. I recognized Byrd's number. I put him on the speakerphone. "Hey, Tinny."

"Nolan, you came to the right place. Guess what I've got?"

"What?"

"A fine lady at the Pentagon who just happens to have access to all of Collins's personnel records. Turns out she went to Howard with my son. Used to go to his Omega Psi Phi parties, where he, of course, was the life of the party, just like his old man. She said she owed him. And since he wasn't around right now, his old man would just have to do. You believe that shit?"

"Tinny, you didn't ask her to take any federal documents, did you?"

Tinny responded as if he'd been hurt. "That would be wrong. I couldn't ask her to do that."

"You'd better not."

"Right. Just leave these things to me. You do your lawyer shit. You just don't like the dirty work. You probably let your gunnery sergeant take care of all the shitbirds in your squadron, didn't you?"

"What else you got, Tinny?"

"One other thing. This might be big. Got a contact in the Secret Service. Former Marine. May be our secret weapon."

"Why would someone from the Secret Service have any information?"

"This boy is the head of security at Camp David, my friend. He was waiting for the president on the night of the crash."

I sat up straight. "He could be the key to the entire thing."

"Exactly."

"Think he'll talk to us?"

"Let's just say he's unenthusiastic. Seems others in the government don't want anyone to find out who was at that meeting. Which, of course, makes me push all the harder. But he's not very pushable right now. I'll work it."

"What's his name?"

"No can do. He swore me to secrecy. Says he'll go stone-cold know-nothing and lie through his teeth if I even breathe his name to anyone. Especially you."

"He knows about me?'

"Well, I had to tell him why I was calling, didn't I? It's not like some investigator is going to just wonder about all this for his own good. He recognized you from the Senate hearings. Gotta run."

"Keep me posted."

"Oh, yeah."

As I hung up, the phone rang again. I checked the caller ID and saw area code 212. Only Kathryn would be up this late. "Mike Nolan," I said, answering the phone quickly.

After a pause, a deep, smooth voice said, "Mike, this is Tom Hackett."

He was the last person I expected to call me, but if I'd thought about it or been quick enough, it would have made instant sense. He was one of the most famous lawyers in the country, a plaintiffs' attorney from New York. He called himself, or the legal press called him, Mr. Class, as in class actions, not because he had class. He filed massive class-action lawsuits against corporations for any number of reasons and settled them for enormous amounts of money, a nice portion of which went to him. He was one of the wealthiest lawyers in the country.

The reason I didn't instantly know the reason for the call was that I had forgotten that he went to law school with the first lady, Mrs. Adams. "What can I do for you?"

"First of all, we've never met. I am an attorney in New York and deal in major cases-"

"Yes, I know who you are."

"Good. Listen, I wanted to tell you that you did a very nice job at the Senate hearings. Very dramatic. You got Blankenship very angry, which was probably why you were there. Nicely done." He paused. "So I understand that you've been retained for this representation, but not by WorldCopter, by AII, their insurance company. But they would only be involved if there was going to be a civil lawsuit."

"And where'd you hear that?"

Hackett said, "That doesn't really matter. I have ways of learning lots of things. So am I right?"

"Maybe."

"Does that mean that you're unsure?"

I fought back the anger building inside me. I just didn't need that right then. I hung up.

The phone rang again immediately. I saw the same number. I picked it up again. "What?"

"It's very rude to hang up on a caller."

"It's very rude to call someone you don't know and insult them."

"I was not intending to insult you-"

"Yes, you were. If you have anything worthwhile to say, say it. I'm busy."

"No doubt. Here is what I do have to say, so listen carefully. I am representing the first lady, or former first lady. Mrs. Adams. I also have indications that I will be representing all the others who perished on Marine One against WorldCopter in a civil lawsuit. You have of course heard the NTSB's initial statement that there was no foul play. That means, a fortiori, there was a defective helicopter. And that means your client owes my clients compensation. WorldCopter does not need the publicity a civil trial would bring. I don't think WorldCopter wants me to take the depositions of every employee of their factory where this helicopter was made and show how disastrous their entire operation is. I don't think they need me digging into their security procedures and security files to show that their employees never obtained the security clearances required by the United States government, and I don't think they need me proving that they killed the president, whether intentionally or otherwise. But if I can have your assurance of confidentiality-may I have that assurance?"

"So I take it from your threats that you're planning on filing a lawsuit?"

"In the face of the information coming out in the Senate investigation and the NTSB statement, I have to prepare for that eventuality, don't I? It would be malpractice not to. I haven't decided yet, but I must confess what I have learned is very disturbing. But the reason for my call is to discuss something of importance to your client and mine. So may I have your assurance of confidentiality?"

"Yes, except for my ability to convey whatever it is you're about to say to my clients."

"Of course. That's the whole point. But you are not free to disclose it to others inside your firm-except perhaps Rachel-or others who might be interested, such as your wife, Debbie… or the press."

This guy was really pissing me off. "If you think your little name-dropping game will intimidate me, just save yourself the energy. You don't impress me."

"Please forgive me; I thought that it might generate some camaraderie between the two of us. I feel like I know you quite well already."

"You don't know me 'quite well,' nor will you ever. And if you ever do, you'll probably be on your back staring at the sky wondering what the hell just happened. So what is it you have to say?"

"Did I receive your assurance of confidentiality as I outlined it?"

"Yes."

"Very well then. I'm sure you appreciate that I believe, as does my client, that we have a very strong claim against your client."

"I think any rational person would wait until there's a determination of the cause of the crash before they even think about filing a lawsuit against somebody. But what I think really doesn't matter. You've probably put all kinds of wrong ideas into your clients' heads. But again, I'm waiting for you to say something that matters. So far I haven't heard it."

Hackett took a deep breath, apparently annoyed. That was just fine with me. If life was just, someday I'd have the chance to hit him in the head with a chair. He said, "I have persuaded the first lady that now actually might be an opportune moment to resolve issues between our clients, not only her, but I believe I could obtain the authority of the widows of all the others on the aircraft to resolve their claims right now, before we expend huge amounts of money in costly discovery, and adverse publicity for your client. And I assure you there will be substantial adverse publicity. But what we have in mind is that we would be willing to resolve all claims, in a confidential settlement that would not be disclosed to anyone, not even the fact of the settlement. If she or I were later asked by the press why we had not filed a lawsuit as we had contemplated, the answer would simply be that there had been discussions between the two sides, and she was satisfied with what they had said. Simple as that. That's all she or I or anyone else related to the case would, or could, ever say. No one would ever know that WorldCopter had paid her a settlement."

"Well, I think that the likelihood of that remaining secret is about as likely any other secret held by the U.S. government. You may as well just e-mail it to the Washington Post."

"You underestimate our ability to remain confidential."

"What's your proposal?"

"We are prepared to consider resolving all claims of the first lady as well as the survivors of all others who died aboard Marine One for a sum totaling one billion dollars."

"You're kidding me, right? Are you seriously demanding a billion-dollar settlement with no evidence of liability?"

"I'm trying to save you from seeing that evidence, Mike. Because I promise you that if this case goes forward, I will have evidence that this crash was WorldCopter's fault, and the NTSB will find it was WorldCopter's fault. I will have experts that testify not only that it was WorldCopter's fault, but that it was reckless. We will recover punitive damages. Do you really believe that a jury is going to sympathize with a European helicopter manufacturer that killed the president of the United States?"

"I'm not to the point of even trying to evaluate that. I'm trying to figure out what caused the accident. Tell me, what evidence do you have that this is WorldCopter's fault and that they should pay you anything?"

"Mike, that's what I'm trying to save you from." He hesitated, no doubt for effect. "Maybe this is too complex for you. Maybe you're used to automobile accident cases. You should pass this information and offer on to whoever has more experience in these matters. Because if you go forward and this lawsuit is filed, it is going to be WorldCopter's worst nightmare."

I'd never encountered anyone like him before. "Is this how you usually begin a case? Threatening and blustering to avoid the merits of the case? So you don't have to do any work?"

There was a notable pause on the other end of the line. "Do you not know my reputation? Do you really believe I'm afraid to go to trial? What I'm afraid of is that people like you will not understand the implications of what is happening and not make the appropriate recommendations to their clients until it is too late. That's what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid that you will force me to drag you into the arena, the courtroom, and embarrass you and your client. If you don't think I've tried cases, if you don't think I'm capable of trying this case, ask around. Talk to some people who have been practicing law awhile who have tried some big cases. See if they agree." He waited until that sunk in, then said, "Listen very carefully."

"What?"

"This offer of settlement that I have just outlined to you must remain confidential. If it is leaked to the press in any way, if there is any implication to the press that the first lady is looking for money, I will not only deny it, but I will attribute the offer to you. I will tell the press that contrary to what you are saying, in fact you called us and begged us to resolve all potential cases for one billion dollars, and that we of course rejected it out of hand as being premature, but perhaps indicative of the problems WorldCopter was facing. We were frankly surprised that WorldCopter was so disturbed by the Senate hearings, and concerned with liability in this case, that they tried to preempt any investigation on our part. Do you understand that?"

"Yes. Very clearly. If confronted by the press, you would lie. That's very good to know. I appreciate knowing up front I'm dealing with a liar."

"Oh, I wouldn't call it a lie. In fact by the time we'd completed our conversation about it, I would have you completely convinced that what I had said was correct. Words and intentions are elusive little things with content pouring in and out of them all of the time. Much of communication is in tone, timing, and technique. I'm sure you're aware of that."

He continued, "There's one other thing. This discussion that we're having, about resolving this case, will stop seven days from now. If WorldCopter does not get back to me with an acceptance of this 'indication of interest' on my part, then there will be no subsequent offer. We will go to trial. Do you understand that, Mr. Nolan?"

"I understand it very well."

"Excellent. I will look forward to hearing from you by telephone. And you can find my number in any number of places. I'm sure you're clever and will be able to do that."

"Yes. For example, my caller ID is telling me what it is right now."

"Yes, but predictably, you have jumped to conclusions. You have assumed that I'm calling you from my office. You have assumed that the line, the number you are seeing, is a direct line and not a trunk line from an office building somewhere in New York. You actually have no idea what you're seeing. In fact, if you think about it, you don't even know that I'm Tom Hackett. I could be Billy Samuels, the young man who lives down the street from you. I look forward to hearing from you."

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone. I couldn't believe I'd just had that conversation. It was like a dream. I turned to my computer and drafted an e-mail to WorldCopter and Kathryn. He was right, I didn't know for sure it was Tom Hackett, but the voice sure sounded like the voice I'd heard on numerous televised press conferences about his victories. Plus it's hard to match that kind of articulate arrogance. You can't find that just anywhere. I finished the e-mail and read it over. I decided to call Kathryn in the morning.

____________________

Throughout that night and the next morning as I drove back to my office, I couldn't get Hackett's call off my mind. Sometimes the more desperate people's cases are, and the less likely they are to prevail, the more they demand and the quicker they insist on a response. They don't want to get into the facts; they want to play it with the maximum extortion value. They don't want to get into discovery, where we might find out that their case was a pile of shit. They demand money, bang on the table, try to scare the defendants, and try to extract a settlement. It wasn't my decision, but I couldn't imagine this case being resolved this quickly with no theory of what happened, especially for the kind of money that Hackett was talking about. That was crazy money.

I drank deeply from the coffee in my USNA mug and called Kathryn. Her secretary answered, "Ms. Galbraith's office."

"It's Mike Nolan, is Kathryn there?"

"Sure, Mr. Nolan, I'll get her right away."

Kathryn came on, now sounding as if she hadn't slept in three days. I gave her the whole conversation, which she found odd and remarkable. She waited patiently, but finally broke in, "I read your e-mail. Is he out of his mind?"

"Yes. He is. He wants a billion dollars."

"That's just crazy. He represents the families of everyone who was aboard Marine One?"

"He says he will."

"That's just ridiculous. But there's a big problem with that number, Mike."

"What?"

"WorldCopter is only insured for two hundred fifty million dollars."

"That is a problem."

Kathryn thought for a moment, anger building. "Sounds to me like it includes punitive damages too. Agree?"

"Probably. How much is a dead president worth? How much does a former president earn over the remainder of his life? Hard to say. A lot, but nothing like the CEO of Exxon or something. And former presidents don't become CEOs. So it sounds to me like he's including punitives without saying it."

"We can't insure punitive damages, Mike."

"Yeah. I know."

"Well, we have to reject it. I'll call WorldCopter. I suppose if they want to kick in seven hundred and fifty million dollars of their own money, that would force us to decide whether to throw in the policy, but this case isn't even worth our policy, unless someone convinces me otherwise. We don't have any evidence of liability at all."

I agreed. "And Jean Claude will never pay anything over the policy, especially now. Everybody would think it was an admission that the helicopter was defective."

"Did Hackett say he'd keep it confidential?"

"Sure, but I don't even take that into consideration. I've lived close enough to Washington for long enough to know that things are only confidential until someone feels 'wronged.' Then suddenly it appears in the Post. You want me on the call with WorldCopter?"

"No. I don't think it will be very long. They're indignant about all this. They think they're being slandered by the press and everyone else. NTSB's nice little press release didn't help much."

"Just the springboard Hackett needed to make his call." A thought suddenly struck me. "Maybe he has a friend inside the NTSB. It would explain a lot."

"Great. That's all we need. An attorney manipulating a government agency. Well, keep going. Looks like we're going to have a big fat lawsuit on our hands pretty quickly. Assume WorldCopter is going to reject this unless we call you back. We're in for a real fight on this one, Mike."

"He said this would be his last offer."

"That's what they all say."