Fly by Wire: A Novel (2 page)

^{"Ninety-five percent," a beefy man answered, not bothering to reference the ledger in front of him.}

^{There was a distinct pause as each of the men performed a more personal calculation.}

^{The Saudi said, "Very well. We have no choice but to advance our timetable." The other five nodded in concurrence." I will notify Caliph by the usual means."}

^{Singapore said, "Might I suggest -- when he has finished his tasks, let us send him to France. We may have work for him there."}

^{More nods. And with that, the meeting adjourned.}

^{Twenty minutes later, all six of the meeting's participants were aboard two helicopters streaking westward over the Gulf of Oman's azure waters toward Muscat International Airport. There, they would disperse into six private jets and speed to six far-flung points on the globe.}

^{As soon as the last helicopter had lifted off, the security crew lowered the runabout from
Sol y Mars
aft davits, a twenty-two foot
Boston
Whaler. When the last man was aboard, the helmsman gunned the twin outboard motors until the little craft was a hundred meters abeam its mother ship. There, the engines fell to idle and everyone turned their eyes to
Sol y Mar.
The commander pulled a small device from his shirt pocket and pressed a button. With a muffled thump and maelstrom of foam amidships, the glistening yacht buckled, her back broken.}

^{Three minutes later she was gone.}

^{Chapter 0NPS}

^{Fredericksburg, Virginia}

^{Jammer Davis had always made a lousy cup of coffee. He dumped the trails of this mornings effort into the kitchen sink and went to the foot of the stairs.}

^{"Jenny!" he barked in his best drill sergeant voice." Get a move on! School in thirty minutes!"}

^{There was no reply. He heard music blaring. Davis stomped up the stairs, his boots anything but subtle. Nearing the top, he saw his daughters bedroom door partially open. He stopped in his tracks. Jen was standing in front of the full-length mirror, twisted around, and checking out her own jean-clad rear end.}

^{His mind blanked in ways it shouldn't have. In ways it never had. Davis wondered what the hell to do. Tell her she had a great butt? Tell her it didn't matter what kind of butt she had because no young man was going to get within a hundred yards of it? He decided to punt. Davis put his head down, and gave the banister a swift kick. He didn't look up until he came through her door.}

^{Jen had straightened up, but there was a mortified look on her face. "Don't you ever knock, Daddy?" she huffed. "Come on, sweetheart. Two minute warning." "But my hair isn't ready. I can't find a scrunchy!" "A what?"}

^{"A scrunchy for my ponytail." "Well -- use something else." "Like what?"}

^{He threw his hands in the air. "How should I know? Try one of those plastic cable ties, the ones that zip up. They're in the garage."}

^{She glared at him, then picked up a hairbrush and began yanking it through her shoulder-length auburn hair. At fifteen, she was changing every day. Jen was nearly a full-grown woman in stature, yet still awkward and frisky in that filly-like way. And she was beginning to look more and more like her mother.}

^{She said, "It's those new housekeeping ladies. They clean too much."}

^{"How can they clean too much?"}

^{"They put stuff in the weirdest places. Can't you talk to them?"}

^{"No. They speak Portuguese."}

^{She put the brush down and picked up a tube of hair gel. "Do you know what they did?"}

^{"We don't have time for--"}

^{"The two books I'm reading for English were on the night stand next to my bed. The housekeepers put them in a stack and then pulled out the bookmarks -- they laid them on top, as if that was more orderly or something!"}

^{Davis saw it coming. She was a cresting wave headed for shore, just looking for a spot to crash.}

^{"They pulled my bookmark out of
The Odyssey.
Do you know how hard it is to find your place in
The Odyssey
?" Her voice quivered, "Do you?"}

^{"Yes -- I mean, no. God dammit!"}

^{"Daddy!" She threw the tube of hair gel at him, striking him in the knee.}

^{Jammer Davis, all six foot four, two hundred forty pounds, stood helpless. He had no idea what to do. Jen collapsed on the bed, a sobbing heap of convulsions. He thought,
Nice going Jammer. Now what?}

^{Davis went to the bed and sat next to his daughter. He heaved a sigh. This wasn't getting any easier. Her moods were like the weather. Sunny, breezy, gloomy -- and always changing. He wondered how much was hormones and how much was the lingering effects of losing her mother. It had been nearly two years since the accident, but the tears still came almost every day.}

^{Jen leaned into him, put her head on his shoulder. Years ago he might have whisked her up and taken her in his arms. But that couldn't happen anymore. Davis knew he had to just sit there and wait things out. As he did, he noticed the room. It looked different. The posters on the wall had changed --
High School Musical
was gone, replaced by a graffiti-strewn banner of something called Less Than Jake. A band, he figured. The old dolls and stuffed animals were gone too, probably stuffed in a closet. This bothered him. Not that she was discarding her childhood, piece by piece, but rather that she was doing it on her own. No,
Dad, can I give this stuff to Goodwill?
He wondered how long ago things had started working that way.}

^{"Dad--" she sniffled, "I want you to stop the bad language."}

^{"Bad language?" Davis tried to remember what the hell he'd said. "Baby, you hear worse than that a hundred times every day in school."}

^{"No! Mom never allowed it in the house, and with her gone, it's up to me to keep you in line."}

^{In a reflex probably born from some long-ago martial arts training, Davis took a deep, deep breath. "Your Mom was a strong woman, Jen. I'm glad you are too. I promise to mind my tongue."}

^{Her head came up and she used the corner of a bed sheet to wipe her eyes. As she did, Davis noticed the framed picture on the night-stand next to her bed, the three of them with arms around shoulders, smiling on a ski slope. At least that hadn't been stuffed in a drawer.}

^{He said, "And you have to promise not to throw any more hair care products at me."}

^{She smiled. "Sorry."}

^{He gave her a lopsided grin -- the one that Diane had always said was roguish. The one that Jen said made him look like a big doofus. All a matter of perspective, he figured. "Okay. Let's get ready."}

^{"But I still need something for my hair."}

^{Davis got up and headed toward the door. "I'll go down to the kitchen and get you a twisty tie -- you know, the ones we use for the garbage bags." Davis bolted for the stairs. Too slow. Just before he rounded the corner, a flying hairbrush smacked him in the hip. He heard the giggle, her mood having completed its one-eighty.}

^{With no small amount of pride Davis thought,
That's my daughter.
Her hormones might be in a blender. But her aim was dead sure.}

^{Ten minutes later, Jen was waiting in the car.}

^{Davis was still in the kitchen poking buttons on the dishwasher, trying to get it out of the damned "pot scrubber" cycle, when the phone rang. Davis wanted to ignore it. Should have ignored it. He picked up.}

^{"Jammer here."}

^{There was a pause at the other end of the line, then, "Hello, Frank."}

^{Aside from the occasional phone solicitor or census taker -- people he didn't want to talk to anyway -- there was only one person in the world who called Davis by his given name. "Hello, Sparky."}

^{Only one person in the world called Rita McCracken anything but Mrs. McCracken. Or Assistant Supervisor McCracken of the National Transportation Safety Board. Davis had given her the name on the spot when they'd first met, a not so subtle jibe at her fiery red hair. Davis often gave call signs to his friends, but in her case it was more like naming a hurricane. After first impressions had gone south, he'd kept at it just to torque her off. Not good form with the boss, but that's how Davis was. And probably why he'd never made it past the rank of major in the Air Force.}

^{"Pack your bags," she said.}

^{"Pack? Why?"}

^{"Haven't you seen the news?"}

^{"No, I'm a busy guy."}

^{"Well, you just got busier. A World Express C-500 went down in France yesterday. I need you to go to Houston this afternoon for a seventy-two-hour on the captain."}

^{Davis frowned. Much of the information gathered in aircraft accident investigations was a simple matter of reviewing records. Maintenance logbooks, flight plans, and air traffic control data were all documented, either electronically or on paper. But some of the most pertinent history was perishable -- the short-term personal background of crewmembers. A seventy-two-hour look-back was standard procedure.}

^{"You know my situation, Rita. I can't--"}

^{"I know that you are on the 'go team,' Davis! Now pack your bags and get in here. I'll brief you myself." She hung up.}

^{The horn honked in the garage.}

^{Davis seethed. He had an urge to crack the phone across the counter. That would feel good. But then he'd just have to go out and buy a new one. He hurried into his room and slammed some clothes into a suitcase. As a member of the "go team" he was supposed to have his bag already packed, available on a moment's notice. One minute was all he needed. Davis traveled light.}

^{The drive to school was quiet. Davis tried to think of a good way to break it to Jen that he had to go out of town for a couple of days. She interrupted his mission planning.}

^{"You know, Dad, for a big-shot investigator you're not very observant."}

^{"How's that?"}

^{"We need gas."}

^{He looked down at the gauge. One eighth. Davis never filled up until he had to. "Don't worry, baby. I keep up with these things."}

^{"Go to Mel's. It's always five cents cheaper than that other place you use."}

^{He considered explaining that a six-pack of his preferred beer at "that other place" was a buck less, which made for a wash. Now probably wasn't the time.}

^{She said, "I'll be driving soon, you know."}

^{"Don't remind me."}

^{But he was reminded -- a whole new set of worries, right around the pubescent corner. Jen was going to take driver's ed over the summer, learn to merge and parallel park, keep her hands at ten and two.}

^{Right then, Davis decided he'd brake hard for any yellow traffic lights. Not step on the gas. Like she'd been watching him do for the last fifteen years.}

^{"Your hair looks cool, Dad."}

^"Huh?"

^{"Your hair, it's getting longer. That tight military cut was getting pretty tired."}

^{Davis looked in the rearview mirror. He needed a trim.}

^{Jen said, "And we still have to work on your wardrobe."}

^{He looked down. For twenty years it had been a uniform, something he'd never really minded. One less decision each day. Now that he was a civilian, Davis tried to keep things simple. He had on khaki pants and a brown polo shirt. He owned six polo shirts. Three were in a suitcase in the trunk. His leather shoes were old and comfortable, strung with the second pair of laces. A long time ago they'd been expensive. Davis didn't mind buying expensive stuff--not because he cared a whit about style, but because it usually wore well. Fewer shopping trips.}

^{"Maybe some baggy gangsta pants and a Hawaiian-print shirt," she prodded.}