Marine One

'We've got to prepare for that, Kathryn. You can't just walk into that buzz saw.'

'You're set to have lunch at noon tomorrow at the Capital Grille. There's a room reserved in the back.'

'Okay. I'll be there-There it is!' I said to Rachel as I pulled off the road. 'Sorry, Kathryn, we're at the fire road. I've got to go.'

'Call me later.'

I never would have found the fire road if I hadn't had GPS. It was raining so hard I could barely see the Maryland highway. I turned sharply off the pavement onto the dirt and felt the wheels settle sickeningly into the mud. I selected mandatory four-wheel drive and pressed gently on the accelerator. The tires gripped enough to keep us moving, and we drifted through the water-filled shoulder onto a slightly firmer surface that led us into the woods. I accelerated cautiously knowing if we stopped, we'd never get moving again. We headed deeper into the woods following the now obvious ruts and tracks. The windshield wipers hurled the rain off the windshield just fast enough for me to see my way. I glanced down at the GPS screen. Fire roads aren't on the nav system so it wasn't of much help. It showed us gliding over a green forest with no road in sight.

We rounded a gentle curve and came upon an FBI roadblock. Several agents had set up a crude but intimidating barrier where the road narrowed. They motioned me to stop. 'No visitors,' one of the agents said. Others were standing in the woods with firearms protruding from their parkas.

'I'm Mike Nolan. I'm with WorldCopter. I'm their attorney.'

He looked at a list on his PalmPilot. 'ID?'

I handed him my driver's license. He examined it closely, then handed it back. 'About a mile ahead. Watch out for the hill.'

I nodded, accelerated gently, and pulled away. We regained our momentum and were making good progress. Suddenly the road made a sharp turn to the right and I found myself hurtling down a steep hill. I turned the wheel quickly to stay straight, but not fast enough. The Volvo slid sideways down the hill. I continued to try to compensate for the drift. Finally the wheels gripped and we headed straight downhill, only to see what had to be twenty-five trucks and cars parked at the bottom. I put on my brakes, which tried to help, but even with antiskid the tires couldn't grip the slushy mud. Rachel grabbed the handle on the side of the door as she braced herself for the impact and prepared to be punched in the face by the air bag. I could hear the word 'Shit' forming in her mouth.

I was completely out of control as we plummeted down the muddy bank. As we careened to the bottom of the hill, I saw an area to the right of the parked vehicles that looked like mush. It was the only hope I had. I gently turned the wheels to the right, praying for some traction or at least steerage; the car moved sluggishly off the fire road into the high grass just shy of the trees. Rachel recoiled from the door, waiting for me to hit one of the massive trees on the right, now inches from her door. I gently braked, hoping to take off some speed. There was just enough room on the right of the parked vehicles and to the left of the trees for me to pass through and head up the other hill. I flashed past an international-yellow fire truck and slowed quickly in the mud beyond. I braked, came to a halt, turned the wheels sharply back toward the trees, and stopped. We both took a deep breath, and I said, 'Let's go.'

Rachel slowly removed her white hand from the door handle. I grabbed my parka from the back and pulled it over my head, got out, and opened the hatch. Rachel joined me underneath it, out of the rain. She looked for the location of the wreck and saw the tracks headed past the parked vehicles. She pointed toward the hill. I looked at my handheld GPS, which had the coordinates of the wreck, and nodded.

3

WE CROSSED TWO hills and ravines. At the top of the third hill we looked down and could see the crash site. A flame was angrily burning in the pouring rain right in the middle of the wreckage. It hissed and sputtered like the eternal flame on another president's grave in Arlington.

The firemen and investigators at the accident scene must already have determined the flame was no threat. Extinguishing it would probably destroy more evidence than would be justified by the effort.

The site was full of people in blue nylon jackets with NTSB or FBI or SECRET SERVICE letters you could see from two hundred yards away. Some firemen were clearly debating whether the NTSB was right to let the flame burn.

I tried to see under the massive green tarp. From where we stood our view was partially blocked, but we could see a lot more than the helicopters circling overhead. I could see three bodies lying next to the wreckage. They were badly burned. I got a sick, brassy feeling in my mouth as I wondered whether I was looking at the burned body of the president of the United States. It was a disturbing image and a disturbing thought. Rachel saw me looking at the bodies. 'Is that all of them?'

'I don't think so. I think there were seven people on the helicopter.'

As we got closer, we could see that the damage to the dead was even more horrific. I wondered if they'd suffered, if they'd survived the crash and simply burned to death. In many helicopter accidents the occupants had only minor injuries but died in the fire. What a horrible way to go.

We trudged down through the mud and trees and approached the yellow caution tape that established the perimeter a hundred yards from the center of the crash. They didn't want anyone stepping on pieces of wreckage and burying them in the mud. A woman stood in the middle of the wreckage with her thick blond hair pulled back in a braid that went halfway down her back. I nodded toward the woman and said to Rachel, 'There she is.'

'Who?' Rachel asked.

'Rose Lisenko, the NTSB's investigator in charge-the IIC-for this accident.'

Rose had seen us and was extremely concerned that someone was approaching her accident site. She hurried over to the caution tape and looked at me. 'No press.'

'I'm not with the press, Rose.'

She looked at me more carefully as the rain dripped down her face. She wore no hat, no hood, and used no umbrella. Her incredibly thick hair absorbed 80 percent of the rain that was hitting her head but it was now saturated. The rain oozed out of her hairline onto her face and neck. She was maybe five feet four, thin, and not unattractive, but she had a hard face and dark eyes. She didn't want to be distracted, and whatever it was I wanted, she didn't want any part of it. 'Do I know you?'

'Mike Nolan. I'm an attorney-'

'No attorneys here. Absolutely no attorneys.'

She probably assumed I was a plaintiffs' attorney who had showed up to find out how to sue someone. 'I'm here for WorldCopter. They asked me to come out.'

'They're here already, and they don't need any help. Thanks for dropping by.' She turned and walked back toward the crash site.

Rachel looked at me with concern. I bent under the caution tape and walked right behind Rose. Rachel followed.

Rose turned around. 'You think this is a game, sir? This is a controlled site! We're investigating Marine One here, not some student-pilot accident. If you stay here, I will have you arrested,' she said angrily.

'I'll do whatever you say, Rose, but I've been requested to be here by WorldCopter. You know a party to an investigation can have whoever they want on their team.'

She was already on to something else in her mind. She didn't have time for an argument. She threw her hand at me in disgust. She walked back to a group of NTSB investigators huddled under several umbrellas trying to examine photographs of a WorldCopter similar to Marine One.

I handed my camcorder to Rachel. 'Videotape everything. I've got several tapes and three extra batteries in that bag. Use it all.'

'Don't you want me to take photographs? You told me to bring my camera.'

'Absolutely. Photograph everything. Do both. We can't have too many pictures.'

I saw a man with a WorldCopter jacket and gestured to him. He approached. 'Hi, I'm Mike Nolan. I'm supposed to talk to Marcel.'

'Yes, he's right over there,' the man said in perfect English.

'What's your name?'

'Jeff Turner, vice president of operations for WorldCopter U.S. '

We followed him to where the other WorldCopter people were congregated. I looked at the wreckage up close for the first time. The fire had consumed most of the aluminum skin of the aircraft. Small pieces were identifiable, but most of what remained was a piled, blackened tangle of magnesium, aluminum, composites, and steel. The tail rotor had somehow survived nearly intact. It was attached to part of the tail boom and stuck up from the ground about eight feet. Just high enough for the blades to not touch the ground. It was eerie.

Suddenly the scent of burned flesh pierced my consideration of the scene. I had smelled burned flesh before. It's the kind of thing you never forget. While in the Marine Corps I had had the unfortunate experience of investigating two accidents. Both had been caused by pilot error and had resulted in the pilot and many others being-as Tom Wolfe would put it- 'burned beyond recognition.' The NTSB workers were sifting through the wreckage still looking for the other bodies or what pieces of them they could find. I saw a flash of white in one section of the debris that looked to be the back of a skull with the scalp burned off.

I looked up into the rain, blocking with my hand to try to see the trees through which the helicopter had plummeted. Most were tall oaks and hickory, with some pine. They were well over fifty feet tall and hardy. Branches that the blades had cut through lay around the wreckage. The leaves were still green and the cuts were fresh, but there weren't that many of them. The helicopter had come almost straight down. To me that meant it had lost power. The pilot might have tried an autorotation, where you use the rotor blades as an air brake to slow the fall of a helicopter that has lost power. It's something you practice from the first day of helicopter training, but that doesn't make it easy, especially at night, especially in a storm. The pilot might have lost power, descended in an autorotation, and misjudged his height above the ground. Possible, but really unlikely. This helicopter had three engines. It obviously had fuel because the fuel was still burning. The odds of losing power in all three engines simultaneously were about zero. It could have been contaminated fuel, or fuel-line blockage, but again, with Marine One, the best- maintained and best-protected helicopter in the world, I doubted it. Something else had happened.

Jeff was walking away from the bodies. 'Jeff, I'll be right there,' I said, peeling off and walking toward the tarp and the bodies, which had been laid side by side. Secret Service agents were standing around the bodies. I looked at every part of every body. I couldn't stop myself. I looked for identifying clues. But I had finally gotten close enough that one of the Secret Service agents came over to me and put his hand on my chest. 'Who are you?'

I didn't have a badge or jacket or any other identification. Rachel stood about eight feet behind me. She continued to film everything, including the bodies. The same Secret Service agent that had me in his sights looked at her. 'Put the camera down.' While still touching my chest, he glimpsed over his right shoulder. 'Greg!