Fly by Wire: A Novel (36 page)

^{She grabbed roughly and took the whole thing under one arm. Her face was curled and sour. Without so much as a "merri," she waddled away, dragging the filthy roll of screen behind her. There was probably enough material to cover a dozen windows, the clerk thought.}

^{Stupid immigrants.}

^{They found Bastien in his makeshift office.}

^{The room was on the second floor, a suite with large plate glass windows that overlooked the hangar bay. There, wreckage was accumulating fast, and dour workers in orange jumpsuits crawled over everything, examining and recording -- pressing ahead to the inevitable truth of what had brought down World Express 801.}

^{When Davis and Sorensen came in, Bastien was seated behind his desk studying a file. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept well. Or maybe he'd just missed his evening espresso. He didn't rise to greet them, but acknowledged their presence by saying, "I hope this is truly important. I am very busy right now." The words were taut, edgy.}

^{Davis answered by closing the door very slowly. When the latch fell into place it did so with finality --
clunk
, loud and solid. Lockdown. This got Bastien s attention. He closed the file in front of him and tapped at its sides deliberately with two sets of fingers. Straightening, organizing. Davis hadn't seen what was in the manila folder, but it was very thin. Could have been empty. He guessed it held one page.}

^{There was already a chair facing Bastien, and another was pushed against the far wall. Davis dragged over the spare to make a pair, and he and Sorensen sat. Sorensen kept silent -- that had been their arrangement, although Davis hadn't told her why. He began in a calm, level voice.}

^{"Miss Sorensen and I spent this morning in Marseille. We looked over the CargoAir factory and sat in a C-500. Have you ever seen one?" Davis jerked a thumb toward the big window. "Besides that one?"}

^{Bastien ignored this and asked, "Surely you did not go all the way to Marseille for a factory tour. What were you looking for?"}

^{"I wanted to check on something that's really been bothering me. You see, in the last few seconds of this crash, shortly before the airplane hit, we lost the voice recorder. And the air traffic controllers lost their transponder data at the same time. Exactly the same time. I figure the whole airplane lost power, had some kind of electrical interruption. Wouldn't that make sense?"}

^{Bastien was silent.}

^{"So I decided to look into it. Miss Sorensen and I went down and sat in a real airplane. That's always a good thing to do, Terry. Try to replicate things as they were at the time of the crash. And you know what? I discovered that the power
did
go out. Can you imagine how?"}

^{Bastien made a quixotic stab. "The ship was traveling at an extreme speed -- some kind of structural damage could easily have brought about an interruption of electrical power, perhaps tripped a generator offline."}

^{Davis continued in a steady, unwavering tone. "The power went off because the captain turned it off." There was a glimmer of hope in Bastien's eyes. Davis removed it. "But this wasn't something sinister. In fact, it was pretty valiant, given the circumstances of the moment. And it almost worked. If Earl Moore had shut down power ten seconds sooner, I think they would have made it."}

^{"They were running an emergency checklist. Are you saying that he was performing some part of it?"}

^{"No, quite the opposite. It was pure intuition on the captains part. A hunch, the kind of thing that is at the foundation of putting--" Davis paused, "experienced people in positions of importance."}

^{Bastien stood abruptly and walked to the window. He stood silhouetted by the ever-intense hangar lights and dug his hands deep into the pockets of his neatly pressed trousers. His shirt looked the same -- starched and stiff. Almost like that's what was holding him up. Davis gestured to the file on Bastien's desk.}

^{He said, "The toxicology report on the crew was due today. Is that it?"}

^{Bastien nodded, still facing the open hangar.}

^{"And it's negative. Alcohol, drugs, carbon monoxide. Everything negative. There was no chemical impairment on the part of either pilot, no loss of cabin pressure."}

^{Bastien turned immediately and opened his mouth to speak.}

^{"Human factors," Davis said, cutting him off.}

^{"I beg your pardon?"}

^{"You were going to ask me how I could know all that. Human factors. That's the term you guys use, right? You see, Terry, I know you have a Ph. D. in clinical psychology and all, but this isn't a clinic. It's the real world, with real people. And I understand people. Which is strange, because I don't always get along with them -- you know, in a social way. But I know what makes them tick. I'm pretty sure I understand Earl Moore. I understand exactly what he did and why he did it. So now I'm trying to understand you."}

^{Davis let that settle.}

^{"This toxicology report is only preliminary," Bastien argued. "Far from conclusive."}

^{Davis ignored the comment. "Some of the things you've done, professor, they don't measure up."}

^{"What are you talking about?"}

^{"I'm talking about hotel bar tabs, press conferences, dead horses, popped circuit breakers. Being a man of science, I'll let you pick the metric."}

^{Bastien glared, but Davis saw no fire behind it. This was not a man about to corkscrew himself into the ceiling and toss them from his office. Which he could have done. Thierry Bastien was a man getting washed away, his thoughts channeled into that deep groove dug by fact after inescapable fact.}

^{With a nod toward his partner, Davis said, "Do you know what happened to me and Miss Sorensen last night? We were accosted. A group of four thugs tried to hurt us. Maybe worse." Davis saw something in Bastien's gaze. He'd scored a hit.}

^{"There are dangerous sections in every town," Bastien said weakly. "Living in America, surely you know this."}

^{"It might have been that, just a random bad experience. But I'm going to find out. And you know what else, Terry? I'm going to find out why this airplane crashed. It might take some time, but the cause
will
become clear. You see, I'm going to take this whole investigation and dump it into a big sifter. And then I'm going to start shaking. Bit by bit, little pieces of mud and filth are going to get rinsed out, and in the end I'll be standing there with a few shiny nuggets of truth. Right there in broad day--"}

^{"All right, Mr. Davis! All right!" Bastien roared. "You have made your point. I admit that my theory about a possible suicide involving the captain -- it was premature." He slapped the file on his desk. "This evidence does not support it. I can understand that you are upset."}

^{Davis did not raise his voice. He stayed firm in his chair and, if anything, his words fell more quiet. "You don't read me right, Terry. I'm not upset. I'm actually very content." Davis turned his palms inward. "This is me when I'm content. You see, I'm sure that everything is going to become very clear. Very soon. Which brings me to Miss Sorensen."}

^{Davis saw Sorensen stiffen in her chair. He hadn't told her what was coming--hadn't asked because she might have said no. He addressed a motionless Bastien. "Have you noticed Miss Sorensen? I mean, I know she's cute and all, but have you
really
noticed her?"}

^{This got Bastien's attention. He looked at her suspiciously.}

^{"She doesn't have a lot of input into our investigation, does she? She listens, but doesn't say much. That's because she's not really an accident investigator. In fact, she doesn't even work for Honeywell."}

^{Sorensen shot him a look that asked,
Do you know what you're doing?
Davis gave her a subtle raised finger.}

^{Bastien said, "I hope you will not tell me that she is some kind of reporter."}

^{"Oh, no. For you, far worse. She works for the CIA."}

^{Bastien's eyes went wide.}

^{"Yes.
That
CIA," Davis said.}

^{"Why would American intelligence be interested in our proceedings? This is wholly unacceptable!" Bastien sank into his chair and addressed Sorensen. "We cannot have someone such as yourself involved in this inquiry. I will see to it that your credentials are revoked immediately!"}

^{Davis said, "I'm not sure you want to do that. You see, her presence here has nothing to do with airplanes or safety reports. There are some very suspicious people connected to this inquiry, the kind of people the CIA watches. The kind of people who confront others on sidewalks with knives and guns."}

^{That did it. Bastien cracked.}

^{He slumped forward on the desk, two hands concealing his face until they rubbed back along the sides of his head. The man that was then revealed looked instantly older, haggard.}

^{Davis stood and leaned forward over the desk. But it wasn't with menace. He looked Bastien squarely in the eyes, and for the first time pronounced his name correctly. "Thierry . . . tell me what the hell is going on."}

^{Bastien nodded, looked at Davis, then Sorensen. He seemed close to tears.}

^{"Yes. Yes, I must tell someone."}

^{Chapter
THIRTY-FIVE}

^{Fatima dragged her purchases up the service stairs. The wooden steps creaked, challenged under her weight. Her load was not particularly taxing, yet the long roll of screen was awkward and she struggled, especially at the narrow switchback landings. The elevator would have been far easier, but most of the residents used it. Having arranged her lease only days ago, Fatima had no desire to meet her new neighbors.}

^{She reached the fifth floor completely winded. Fatima let herself into the apartment, dropped her purchases, and leaned on a table to catch her breath. The place wasn't much to look at. Then again, given that she had been raised in a mud-brick shanty with dirt floors, it was a step higher in the world than she might once have imagined. And soon she would go higher yet.}

^{Once she'd caught her breath, she laid everything on the floor. Fatima took the screwdriver in hand and dragged a chair to the closet. Standing on the chair, she began to pull screws from the shelf bracket at the top. The shelf was heavy wood, five feet long and over an inch thick. She struggled mightily, yet even with all the screws removed she could not get the thing loose. Fatima retrieved the utility knife and began carving around the edges of the board, slicing through countless layers of paint that had accumulated over the years to bond the shelf to the walls. Slowly, she wiggled it free.}

^{In the middle of the room, she shoved aside a chair to make a clear area big enough for her next job. On hands and knees, Fatima rolled out the screen and gauged the window, knowing she could err on the large side. She started cutting with the utility knife, and right away realized she should have bought scissors. The knife cut the screen well enough, but it also carved a rut in the wood floor, and became awkward when the rug underneath came into play. She kept going, though, slicing a neat path that nearly split the old rug in two.}

^{Once the screen was shaped, she stood and evaluated the rest. Moving the furniture would be the trickiest part -- doing so without getting complaints from whoever lived below She decided that if anyone knocked, she would simply not answer. Once everything was ready, there could be no plausible explanation for the appearance of the room.}

^{Fatima took the hammer and, as an experiment, tapped gently along the window casing. The wood was old and brittle. She realized that if she got too close to the edge the frame would crack and splinter. Fatima went to her little pile and retrieved the can of spray lubricant. Back at the window, she went to work.}

^{"Can you protect me?" Bastien pleaded.}

^{He was looking at Sorensen as he said it, so Davis figured he was referring to the CIA. Davis traded a glance with her, and said, "Protect you against who?"}

^{Bastien rubbed his hands together. "It began on the night I was put in charge. You see, this was the first time I had ever been chosen to oversee an investigation. I was quite pleased with the honor, and so to celebrate I went to dinner in Paris with two of my colleagues from the university. It was nearly midnight when I returned home. Three men were waiting for me."}