Marine One

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.'