Marine One

12

AT EIGHT O'CLOCK sharp, the experts I had invited were waiting in the boardroom. Dolores had ordered muffins and coffee. I introduced them to each other, at least those who didn't already know the others, and gave them a quick summary of where we were in our preparation. They had all read the NTSB's preliminary report, had followed the case closely in the media, and were anxious to get started.

Rachel had been working furiously since before I'd sat down with Tinny. On the large whiteboard at the end of the room, she had outlined the NTSB's preliminary findings, other possible theories, the investigation we had conducted to date, and areas we needed to cover. Her handwriting was meticulous, and the board looked like it had been printed out of a massive computer and stapled to the wall. We all stared at the writing as we sat down.

Wayne Bradley, an extremely bright former chairman of the NTSB's metallurgic lab, was also as big as the proverbial house. A humorous but intense man, he was considered the most brilliant aviation metallurgist in the country. Retired from the NTSB, he was now sixty-seven. He liked to get out in the field, to dig in the ground, to touch the metal. He was phenomenal. I had used him in cases before and was glad to have him aboard. Some people were concerned that his huge size would turn off a jury when he testified, but I never found juries to be that shallow. If you give credible testimony, the rest doesn't matter.

To his left, farther away from the whiteboard where Rachel stood, was Holly Folk. Her background was as different from Bradley's as her petite figure was from his massive one. She had gone to Purdue University in their aviation program because "that's where Amelia Earhart had gone." Not only did she obtain her commercial pilot's license while in college, she graduated with a degree in aeronautical engineering. She got a job flying for a commuter airline, transferred to the big airlines, and got laid off when they declared bankruptcy. She hadn't really liked airline flying anyway and had gone back into the marketplace by devoting herself to investigating airplane accidents. She had obtained her master's degree in engineering and had attended the aviation-accident-safety school at the University of Southern California. She had gone to work for the NTSB and had achieved investigator-in-charge status of several major investigations. But she quickly realized her income would forever be limited by two initials, GS, and to get ahead in life she needed to go into the private sector. She had been in demand ever since and was the first person I called when I had an accident case. Every case that she had helped me on, we had won. She looked like an engineer but had a wonderful if quirky sense of humor. We could never figure out what triggered it. She routinely thought things were funny that we didn't.

I saw her look at Bradley's plate while she picked at the five pieces of fruit on her plate and drank the strong coffee.

The third expert in the room, Karl Will, our accident reconstructionist, sat motionless drinking his coffee. He and Bradley had worked together numerous times. Bradley never tired of asking, "Karl Will what?" Karl never thought it was funny, not the first time, and not the hundredth. He was one of those lean, sober Arizona types. He looked like he'd been cooked in the sun for ten years. His skin was permanently brown, and even though he wasn't wearing a hat, you just knew that he usually did.

I stood at the whiteboard waiting for everyone's attention. Bradley finished his second muffin and leaned back in his chair to turn toward me. "All right, Mike, what do you have?"

I said, "Morning, everybody. We're glad you were able to make it. We're going to talk for about an hour, then we're all going out to the crash site. The NTSB has released it. Rachel and I have been back a couple of times, but we want to get you all out there today. The weather's good. The ground should be dry and firm, and we shouldn't have any trouble."

Rachel passed a handful of CDs to Karl Will, who passed them to the other experts. I said, "These are copies of all of the photos that have been accumulated so far, both the photos the NTSB has given us on a separate CD, and the photos that we took at the scene and at the hangar in Maryland as part of our investigation. I also put together a DVD"-Rachel handed another stack of Diamond Boxes to Karl-"that are the digital videotapes that Rachel took at the scene. There is some footage at the hangar as well, but most is from the scene at the day of the accident."

"Did you give all this to the NTSB?"

"No. They didn't ask for it. We weren't the official representatives of WorldCopter, we were just there to assist WorldCopter. These tapes belong to me, or WorldCopter, or maybe even its insurance company. I don't know, but the NTSB doesn't have them."

"Good," Holly said.

I walked them through the entire investigation as we knew it, including the criticisms we had of the NTSB's preliminary findings. Everybody had criticisms of the preliminary findings, particularly those who had previously worked for the NTSB.

Bradley said, "This is a political nightmare for the NTSB. Nothing they can do will ever survive the scrutiny that it's going to get after that report is issued. This is going to be like the Warren Commission on stilts. I'm sure the conspiracy theories are already flying-"

"They are," I said.

"Figures. The NTSB has got to be dreading publishing their final report. I'm frankly surprised they came up with a preliminary. They probably just did it so everybody would know the president wasn't murdered."

"But we don't know that," I said.

"True enough," Holly said. "This report says there is no evidence of foul play, but that means with missiles, bombs, something that would blow up and leave a residue. There's nothing to say there wasn't foul play on the aircraft itself. If you stab somebody, there won't be any evidence in a body that's burned down to the bone. You might find the blade, but not if it was thrown off the helicopter before it crashed. Do you have confidence they've found every piece of the wreckage that's relevant? Because I sure don't."

I looked over at her to see if she was just speculating or if she had suspicions. "You really think the president was murdered?"

"No. I'm just starting with a blank slate. Whatever the NTSB says is irrelevant. I don't trust their methods, their people, or their politics. If they gather some evidence that's useful, I'll use it. Anything they say, or conclude, I'll ignore. We've got to do our own investigation here, Mike. Our own metallurgy, our own analysis, our own fire analysis, our own explosives and foul-play analysis. We need former FBI investigators, we need explosive experts, and we need forensic chemists and forensic pathologists. We've got to ramp this way up, Mike, and I mean right now. I think we've got to beat the NTSB to a final conclusion. They'll probably take two years to get there. We need to get there in six months. That's what I'm saying."

Bradley and Karl nodded. I walked up to the front of the conference room and stood by Rachel. "As you know, and as Holly just implied, timing is critical here. It's not the NTSB we're racing. We're also going to be racing the court. You all know the case was filed here in Annapolis? Well, this courthouse is new. It doesn't have that many cases. Most federal cases in Maryland are filed in Baltimore or Greenbelt. The local court decided to increase its docket by creating a 'rocket docket.' You get to trial two or three times faster than in other federal courts. Some courts around the country had done that for patent cases, but this is the first one that has done it for all civil cases. They have a mandatory rule-every civil case will go to trial in six months. And if you're not ready, too bad."

They all stared at each other, surprised and concerned. Will said, "How can we prepare the most important investigation in the country in six months?"

"By putting everything else we're doing on the back burner, that's how. It's going to be crazy, but we have no choice. Hackett thought this through very carefully. He can just give the photographs and the NTSB's preliminary report to his experts, show them the blade with the missing tip weights, and they'll testify that this was WorldCopter's fault. We've got to solve this case before he gets to do that."

Bradley took an audible deep breath. "Can we even get our hands on the metal?"

"Some of it. They've left much of the wreckage in the hangar for the participants to continue to work with, but no one else. So if we can get you in as WorldCopter's people, we can get to the wreckage. But not otherwise, and we won't get to do any destructive testing, I promise you.

"This room will be our war room. You can use it for any purpose in this case. We will be having all-expert meetings every two weeks, whether you like it or not. And I know that's not usually the way it's done, but I don't care about preserving walls between experts or attorney work product. We need to share ideas, and brainstorm, to solve this thing. If you need anything at all, let me know and we'll get it for you. If you need manpower, I'll get it. If you need exemplars of parts from a similar helicopter, I'll get them for you. Anything. No stone left unturned, and no reasonable request denied. This is all-out. And we're working against the clock."

Bradley nodded, satisfied for now. "Let's go see the crash site, Mike," he insisted as he pressed down on the table and forced himself to his feet.

It was eerie being back at the site of the accident. The scene had been released by the NTSB, but FBI agents were still guarding everything for a mile around. They were clearly not pleased to be in the middle of nowhere, but they also knew that when a president died, a lot of things happened.

We hiked to the crash site as quickly as we could as a group, which meant mostly waiting for Bradley. He brought an assistant to walk with him to help him along the packed dirt to the site. The handful of FBI agents who had the thankless duty of patrolling the center of the crash site saw us coming. One ducked under the police tape and approached us. "Can I help you?"

I always love it when government officials who know exactly who you are and just spoke to someone about you pretend that they've never heard of you. "Didn't you get a call from your friends up the hill that we were coming?"

"Yeah. I knew you were coming."

"We're just here to look around. We're here on behalf of WorldCopter to begin our own investigation."

The FBI agent said coldly, "I thought the NTSB already came out with their conclusions."

"Preliminary conclusions. Meaning they could change."

The FBI agent looked me in the eye with some pity. "Meaning also, then, I suppose they might not change."

"True enough."

We ducked under the yellow tape and walked into the center of the crash site. Our investigators set down their bags, took out their expensive digital cameras, GPS receivers, and laptops. Bradley had his assistant set up a camp table and put his laptop and microscope on top of it. He then pulled out a camp stool and lowered his weight onto it slowly. He tilted his Indiana Jones fedora back and said, "Tip weights. NTSB is saying basically the tip weights may have come off or been out of balance, caused the blade to vibrate and pull out of its seating. Interesting theory, but unprovable as of now."

We all looked at him, but I said, "Why?"

"They didn't find any tip weights. They aren't on the blade, and they weren't on the ground."

Holly added, "They assume they came off before the crash. Somewhere in the turbulence. They think they're scattered all over the countryside and won't ever be found."

Rachel said, "They used metal detectors all around here. They didn't find any of them."

Bradley shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Metal detectors can give a false sense of confidence. If you really want to find something, like on the beach, something specific, you had better sift the sand, not hope your wand passes over it just right."

"They can't sift the entire countryside."

"We have to work backwards my friend, duplicate what the NTSB undoubtedly did, but perhaps we'll find what they didn't. We have to determine the flight of that blade under various possible scenarios and find the scenario that would allow the tip weights to come out to cause that blade to vibrate off the masthead. Then we calculate the possible speeds of the blade, which should be upwards of six hundred twenty-five knots, and determine the maximum throw distance of those tip weights coming cleanly off the blade at its maximum speed of rotation, which should give us a theoretical radius within which we should find the tip weights."

Bradley turned to the table and turned on his laptop. He placed a case on top of the table next to his laptop and opened it. Inside was a Nikon digital SLR camera with several lenses, mostly macro. He looked at the sky to see the likelihood of direct sunlight, which he preferred when photographing metal. A large cloud was passing over the sun but was unlikely to last.

Rachel asked him, "How could we ever find little washers within a mile or two radius of a particular spot if we can't find them with a metal detector?"

"With determination, diligence, and luck."

Rachel looked around and considered the likelihood of finding a couple of washers in several square miles of woods. "Doesn't sound very likely to me."

"Nor me. But if we use our brains, perhaps we'll think of something they didn't."

"Like what?"

Bradley breathed deeply. "Well, for example, the NTSB is convinced the blade came off a mile or two away from here and just landed next to the helicopter in one of those weird things that happens in many accidents."

I was listening to every word and stopped fiddling with my camera to make sure I heard him.

He continued, "That is probably right, as I see it. I don't think the blade came off right here, on the way down. But it is an assumption. You see how an early assumption can lead you astray? Anyway, the additional assumption is that the tip weights came off before the blade came off and therefore are 'out there' somewhere, miles from here."

I jumped in, "Well, if their tip-weight theory is true, wouldn't that make sense?"

"Make sense? Sure. It would make sense. But does it make it true? A certainty? Not at all. Physics determines what happens, not theories. Tip weights can stick, they can fracture and loosen those outside of them and come off later, all kinds of possibilities. What I think, ladies and gentlemen, is that the answers lie in this cathedral." Bradley waved his arm around over his head toward the canopy of trees that surrounded the accident scene. "The answers, and perhaps even the tip weights, are right here."

We stayed at the site until dark. We climbed out of the ravine on the now solid and easy-to-follow dirt road and headed home, only to eat, sleep, rise, and head to the office again before dawn.

One night on my way home later that week, Byrd called. "Hey. What's up?"

"Been pushy on our reluctant witness. You know the one."

"Good. He ready to meet?"

"He wants to go the other way. Suddenly he has no idea who I am. Won't even return my calls."

"That's not good."

"Not. But get this. Tonight I got a visit. Not a call, a visit. I was on the throne, so my wife, Cherie, answered the door. I always tell her not to, but she does anyway. She's human. I come into the family room and there's a guy in my house by the door. Not really a threat, distinguished-looking, older. Like the IRS or something. I ask him who the hell he is and what he's doing in my house. He stares at me and says that he wants a meeting with you."

"Me?"

"You."

"Why didn't he call?… Who is he?"

"Exactly what I wanted to know."

"What did he say?"

"He said he wanted to meet with you, and he wanted me to set it up."

"So who is he?"

"You're not going to believe it. Head of security for the State Department."

"The State Department?"

"Yep."

"What does he want to talk to me about?"

"Wouldn't say."

"Well, shit, Tinny. What do you make of this?"

"I thought it was a joke. Another one of Hackett's head fakes. I checked him out. He's legit."

"So now what?"

"So now you tell me whether you want to meet with him. But I've got to say, I didn't feel like we had a lot of choice here. We're going to hear what he has to say no matter what."

I looked out my window, down the dark street. "Set it up."

We met the next night. It was to be at my office at 10 PM. Byrd arrived at nine thirty. "Michael," Byrd said, extending his hand.

"Tinny. How are you doing?"

"Good. So here we are."

"Yeah. To quote Dustin Hoffman, 'Is it "safe"?' "

Byrd smiled. "Good flick. I don't know if it's safe. We're dealing with the government, and they aren't going to do anything too stupid. But here we are at ten o'clock at night meeting someone from the State Department in Annapolis. Can't say I've done that before."

"Why the late hour?"

"Don't know for sure. I expect they want to be able to deny they ever met you if this goes south."

"If what goes south?"

"Well, we're about to find out," he said, looking over my shoulder at the phone as it lit and rang. "Here we go."

I turned and answered it.

A man said, "We're out front. Please let us in."

"It's open. Come on up to the second floor."

The line went dead.

We heard the door below open and two men walk up the stairs. I went to the door of my office, from which I could see the top of the steps. "Over here," I said.

They walked into my office. The first man extended his hand to Tinny. "Mr. Byrd, good to see you again."

"Likewise. This is Mike Nolan."

The man turned toward me. "Thank you for coming. I'm Chris Thompson."

I shook his hand. "And who is this?" I said, watching the other man approach.

"This is my associate Joe Galvin." Thompson was about my size but at least ten years older. Dark hair, cut short with gray throughout, and definitely in shape. He had dark eyes and an intense look. He said, "Thanks for meeting with us. I know this is a little out of the ordinary, but so are the circumstances. May we sit down?"

"Of course." I indicated the two seats in front of my desk. Byrd sat on the arm of the couch slightly behind them. Galvin didn't like that at all, but couldn't do anything about it.

Thompson said, "First, before I go on, I want to ask you both for your personal guarantees of confidentiality. May I have your assurance?"

"Why should I?" I asked.

"Because what I have to say to you is for your own good, and frankly for the good of the country. If you cannot keep the contents of our conversation confidential, then I cannot say what I need to say to you."

"Why would that concern me?"

"Because you need to hear it."

"Okay. For now."

Thompson looked at me sharply. "I need your assurance that you will keep it confidential forever."

I looked at Byrd. "Okay. Unless I don't like the way it's going; then I'll stop listening and we'll be done."

Thompson looked at Tinny. "And you, Mr. Byrd?"

"Sure."

"Do you have any recording devices on you?"

"No."

"You wouldn't mind if Joe checked, would you?"

"Yes, I'd mind."

"Well, I insist."

Joe checked Tinny for a tape recorder.

Thompson said, "Let me get right to the point-"

"Before you do," I said, "who are you?"

"I work for the State Department. My boss reports directly to the secretary. We're in INR."

"Sorry?"

"Bureau of Intelligence and Research."

"Intelligence?"

"Yes. For the State Department."

"Didn't know there was such a thing."

"Few do. My role is really more about security."

"So what can I do for you?"

"Very simple." Thompson looked at Byrd, then back at me. "You've been talking to a certain Secret Service agent. He seems to have a soft spot for other former Marines." He looked directly at Byrd. "I'm a former Marine too. Grunt. Retired, twenty years as a lieutenant colonel. I saw a lot. Spent a lot of time floating around with MEUs. So I get the idea of camaraderie between former Marines."

"Go on."

"Well, this Secret Service agent overstepped his bounds. He has been considering talking to Mr. Byrd and may have mentioned a document he isn't even supposed to have. It was a breach of protocol and security for him to keep a copy. It is a State Department document."

"So? And what is the document?"

"You have asked Mr. Byrd to continue to push on this agent, and I suspect you intend to try use him or his 'document' in trial, if your case comes to that. You need to assure me that you won't ask this witness about what he has or saw, and you won't try to dig any deeper about it."

"Are you serious?" I said, outraged. "What he knows could be the key to the entire accident."

"It isn't. That's the point," Thompson said. "The meeting at Camp David had nothing to do with the accident. The helicopter went down because of faulty balancing of the blade and the tip weights."

I stared at him, barely able to contain my annoyance. "Are you telling me the NTSB knows who was at the meeting and the document that Secret Service agent has?"

"Of course they do."

"Why wasn't that part of their press conference?"

"Because it has nothing to do with the accident, and if someone discusses it and the contents get out, it will cause an international incident."

"How would it cause an international incident?"

"You need to stop pursuing this agent."

"I can't do that."

"You have to."

"No, I don't."

"If you pursue it, we will make it very difficult for you."

"Now the threats."

"These aren't threats. If you push, we will push back."

I glanced at Tinny, who was silent. "I'll just subpoena the agent to trial."

"No, you won't. And if you did, it wouldn't matter. He no longer has a copy of that document. He was kind enough to give it to me. Any testimony he might have would be hearsay and not admissible, I'm told. So any such efforts on your part would be futile. And Mr. Byrd here," Thompson said, looking at Byrd, "gave the agent his word that he would never tell you what the agent's name was. We all know at least one thing: Mr. Byrd is good for his word. Right, Mr. Byrd?"

I stood up. "Thanks for coming, but I'm going to keep going just like I have been. I need to find the truth."

"No, you don't. Even if you find out, it won't help you. Lay off. For your own good."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Thompson lowered his voice to almost a whisper and stood to look me right in the eye. "Meaning you have no idea what you're dealing with here. You're out of your league. Just let it go. Leave the Camp David angle out of it. It's a dead end."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"No, you won't. I am, and I'm telling you to lay off."

"Or what?"

"Or nothing. I wouldn't threaten you. That would be… wrong. But the secretary of state is very concerned about the others who were at that meeting. They would be very unhappy if the fact or the purpose of the meeting ever came out." Thompson looked around my office in silence. His sidekick stood up with him as if they were about to leave. Thompson said, "There are very many people who have the same interest-that you never find out or disclose anything about that meeting. If you continue what you and"-Thompson turned-"Mr. Byrd are doing, they may take steps to stop you. I have no control over them or what they do. I don't know what they might do. I'm just looking out for your interests." Thompson opened the door to my office. "Look, this is a product-liability case. Don't be a hero. Settle it. Make it go away. Don't embarrass yourself and your client."

"So you would help these 'people' out by directing them to me, but of course you would never do anything yourself."

"I don't have to direct anyone to you. Everyone in the country knows who you are. Your name is everywhere. I might only tell certain people that you are intent on disclosing the content of this certain meeting. Just know that many of the people who would be angered by what you are doing are outside our government, and many would have diplomatic immunity. They couldn't even be charged with a crime."

"I think you need to leave."

"Not quite yet." Thompson put his hands in his pockets. "I know you and Byrd like to play the Marine-brotherhood angle. Well, Mr. Nolan, if you continue to press this, this will come back to bite you. You see, I've read your Marine Corps file. And you know what's in there." He waited for a reaction. "If you don't do as I've asked, certain people will learn about what happened in Iraq. And," he said, watching the anger rise in my eyes, "I suspect you wouldn't want that to happen."

"There's nothing in my file."

Thompson smiled. "That's what you wish were true. Even though most of it is gone, the copy of the file at Headquarters Marine Corps tells the whole story, Mr. Nolan. And you definitely don't want that out. It would jeopardize everything you've built. You'd be thrown out of the Marine Reserves. And your ability to practice law would be in trouble, wouldn't it? You see, I've seen your application for membership in the Maryland bar too. And it is notably silent about what happened in Iraq."

"It wasn't called-"

"I'm sure you'd have a chance to explain it. But you might just lose your license and never be able to practice law again. So think about it."

"I may just go right to the press and tell them about your threats. About everything that has happened tonight."

"No, you won't, because then I'll tell them everything you don't want out. And when I got here, I asked you if you had a recording device. But you never asked me. If I did have a recording device, and if I felt like it, I could have all these digital sounds duplicated and rearranged to have you say anything I want. So don't press it."

"I don't scare easily."

"I don't expect you to be scared, Mike, I expect you to be smart." Thompson smiled and walked out of the office.

I said nothing as I heard them walk down the wooden steps of my building and close the outside door behind them. I walked over to my office window and watched them as they disappeared down the street. "Well, that was disturbing."

Byrd stood next to me at the window. When they were out of sight, he turned. "So what happened in Iraq?"

"Nothing."

"Really? Nothing?"

"Drop it."

Byrd stood silently.

I said, "What document is he talking about?"

"That's my question too. Now they've gone and made me curious."