Obsession
Disclaimer: See Prologue
A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews and your continued support of this story.
Chapter 24:
Michael Whittemore glanced casually around the busy terminal of Red Hawk Private Air. He had earned a reputation in the Los Angeles area for sniffing out the news; it was like a sixth sense to him, and he had many awards adorning his office walls to prove it. Airports were always a good news source and earlier in the week he had started an article on security issues at private airports. Red Hawk Private Air was known to cater to the elite crowd and he was hoping to prove with his expose that they were given preferential treatment. Michael had left his cameraman in the van, ready "to roll" immediately if he found anything newsworthy.
Suddenly someone shouted. "Hey, the police are on the runway!"
Whittemore joined the throng and headed for the glass windows overlooking the runway and witnessed the collision of the SUV and the plane. "Dam, too bad we didn't get that on video." he muttered to himself as he turned and shoved his way out of the crowd. He literally ran to the news van and jerked open the door and hastily climbed in.
"Is something going on?" his cameraman asked as he started up the van. "Security just got tighter and I heard a lot of sirens. Did you see something?" The news van only had a partial view of the runway so the man had missed the chase.
"Hell, yeah!" the reporter responded excitedly. "Hurry, follow those cars!" he said pointing to the caravan of flashing red and blue lights.
As the news van joined the chase, Whittemore pulled out his cell phone and called his news desk. "This is Whittemore, I'm working on a breaking story. Have someone check with the police and FBI for activity at Red Hawk Private Air in Hermosa Beach." he grabbed the dashboard as they made a sharp turn on the highway. "Tell them to hurry, this could be an exclusive."
"It looks like they're following that jet." Michael turned to his cameraman. "Warren, pull off here and trade places with me. I'll drive, you need to get footage of the jet." They rapidly changed places and in just a matter of minutes had rejoined the chase.
"Hey, look, it's heading back in...but I think there's something wrong with it." the cameraman exclaimed.
"I'm not surprised, it collided with that SUV up ahead. It looked like the FBI was trying to keep it from taking off."
Without taking his eyes off of the plane Warren asked. "So what do you think...drugs or maybe terrorism?" but before the reporter could respond the cameraman blurted out. "The plane just dumped his fuel, he's going to try and land!"
"Pull off...pull off now!" Warren shouted and opened his door before Michael had come to a complete stop. He kept his camera on the jet and followed it's course toward the cliffs. "Oh, my God! It crashed on the Poin!"
Warren was a seasoned photographer and he knew what the networks wanted. He zeroed in on the dangling tail section and then slowly panned down the side of the cliff, shrewdly drawing attention to the distance between the top of the cliff and the sea wall at the bottom. Next, he panned to the overlook and the law enforcement personnel that dotted the area. He was surprised when one of the agents dropped to his knees, seemingly in shock. This was something he had never witnessed before so he focused the camera on the agent. The man looked familiar but he couldn't quite place him and it looked as if the other agents were trying to console him.
"Michael, do you see this? There is something else going on here...you know...it looks to me like one of the agents might be personally involved."
The reporter nodded his head thoughtfully, he had seen it all through a pair of binoculars. "I agree and I know who that agent is. That's Don Eppes, he heads the LA FBI task force on violent crimes, a real "hard-ass", he doesn't like to work with the media."
Warren snorted. "He doesn't look so tough now."
"No, he doesn't." Whittemore agreed. " You know, his kid brother is that math genius. I wonder..." Michael pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial. "This is Whittemore again. Have someone check the police records for any reports involving anyone with the name of "Eppes." Yeah, "Eppes" as in Professor Charles Eppes and put a rush on it, will ya?" He closed his phone and watched as the agent put his sunglasses back on and silently stared up at the cliff top.
The cameraman whistled through his teeth. "You think the Professor might have been on that plane? Man, that would be one hell of a story."
Whittemore lifted his binoculars to the top of the cliffs. "Yeah...and it's my exclusive."
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Charlie closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the plane and immediately regretted it. Gently he felt the back of his head with his fingers and discovered a small bump and cut. "That explains why I passed out and my pounding headache." he thought grimly. There was a slight trickle of blood trailing down the back of his neck and he absently wiped at it with his hand, grimacing when he saw the red stain on his fingertips. He wiped them on his tee shirt, a few more bloodstains more or less weren't going to make any difference now; the shirt was already ruined. Charlie sighed and ruefully stared at the torn and bloody tee shirt. It had been a birthday gift from Don, no that wasn't right, it was a replacement for the shirt that had been ruined in his last encounter with Bashere. That shirt had been the original birthday gift. He made a mental note to tell his brother not to buy him anymore shirts;they seemed to bring him bad luck. The discovery of the cut on his head convinced him that he needed to check himself over for more injuries. After a cursory examination he found only the two wounds and considering the fact that he had just been in a plane crash he found it quite remarkable that he hadn't incurred more.
The sound of helicopter blades abruptly broke through the silence and he turned to look at the opening at the rear of the plane. From his position he had a limited view of the cliff and only a partial view of the rest of the plane. A relieved smile crossed his features. "Don. I knew he'd come." Excitedly he stood up but was suddenly assailed by a bout of dizziness. He quickly braced himself against the wall while his vision darkened and he broke out in a cold sweat . Charlie wasn't sure if it was the hit on the head or the residual effects of the sedative that he had been given that was making him a little woozy. He took a few deep breaths to help clear his head and remained against the wall until the cabin stopped spinning. "Okay, so maybe it's a combination of both, the drug and the cut on my head." he muttered to himself. "or...or... maybe I just stood up too fast...that's it, I got up too quickly."
The noise from the helicopter was getting louder so he assumed that it was close to landing. Bracing himself against the wall, he slowly started working his way toward the opening, carefully stepping over the debris. He was almost past Bashere when his eyes fell on the loose cuff lying on the floor and still attached to the unconscious man's arm. He absently checked his jeans pocket where he had put the key to the handcuff and he realized that he should restrain the man before he regained consciousness. The helicopter forgotten for the moment, he scanned the immediate area for something to attach the loose handcuff too. His eyes drifted to one of the chairs that they had been sitting in. It had been bent by the force of the crash but the base was still firmly attached to the floor and small enough to latch the cuff around it. Keeping an eye on the man's face Charlie grabbed the cuff and pulled Bashere forward until his arm was close enough to the chair for Charlie to close the cuff around it. He felt a moment of satisfaction when he heard the click as the cuff locked around the iron shaft.
"See how you like it." he said to the unconscious man as he continued to work his way toward the opening but before he could step out into the sunlight, gunfire erupted forcing him back into the cabin. He crouched down behind pieces of the couch and strained to hear what was happening outside of the plane. To his dismay he heard the helicopter leaving and shortly thereafter he could hear voices. They had to be Bashere's henchmen, the ones that had taken him from his home. He sank even lower behind the broken couch and listened quietly while they discussed their plans.
"Let's go, let's get out of hear before they come back." A voice with an accent called out near the opening.
Charlie's heart lifted a little at those words. "Good." he thought "Maybe they won't look inside of the plane." but it quickly sank at the next words.
"Shouldn't we check and see if anyone is alive in there?" A second accented voice inquired.
"Go ahead, but I'm getting out of here. I'm pretty sure the police won't risk coming back tonight but I'm not sticking around to be sure. It's going to get dark soon and I want to be as far away from here as I can get."
"Yeah, your probably right. Le's go."
Charlie listened with bated breath as the voices and the sounds of the men's footfalls faded off into the woods. The young professor thoughtfully reflected on their words. "They were right." he mused. "Don wouldn't risk sending another helicopter up now, he won't take the chance of sending someone into an ambush." He rubbed his face tiredly. Don would have to wait until morning, he would need time to organize an assault, probably by air and land simultaneously. That meant a night on the clifftop, alone with a madman, and all he had to do was make it through the night. He glanced at Bashere, at least when the man woke up, he wouldn't have to worry about him trying anything.
At length, he stood up again deciding to check for other survivors and started to work his way toward the cockpit. Carefully stepping around the loose debris he worked his way toward the front of the plane. The door had been torn from the frame and now lay on the floor, blocking the doorway. He gingerly stepped on it and peered into the cockpit.
His brown eyes widened in horror at the grisly scene before him and his reaction was instantaneous, staggering sideways he fell to his knees. It didn't take long for him to empty his stomach and after a few minutes he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. He swallowed hard against more bile in his throat and pushed himself back up again while he gazed sadly at the two men still buckled in their seats. The pilot and co-pilot had both been decapitated by the crash. Tree branches had pushed the window of the cockpit directly at the two men and they had died instantly.
On wobbly legs he worked his way back toward the opening, pausing halfway to catch his breath and to give his pounding head and aching side a rest. His eyes drifted over to the unconscious man. The young mathematician leaned weakly against the side of the plane and studied the man's face closely. The Frenchman almost looked harmless with his eyes closed and as Charlie stared silently at the face of Angus Fitzgerald, a part of him was still amazed that the affable Scotsman was really Henri Bashere. With his eyes closed he looked like Angus, only with a new haircut and hair color, but when those brown eyes were open there was no doubt that he really was the Frenchman. Charlie's forehead creased in thought, wait, didn't Angus have green eyes. "Of course, green contact lenses." Bashere had thought of everything and had been living next door to the them for almost two weeks . The man had completely fooled all of them.
Charlie closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. He needed to get outside and check around for supplies that would help him survive the night. Charlie didn't really want to stay in the jet, especially with the dead pilots near by, but the plane would offer shelter and protection from the local wildlife. The night would get cooler and if he could find a blanket out there it would certainly come in handy, not to mention some water or maybe those crackers that he had turned down earlier. He glanced at Bashere as he started to push away from the wall and froze. Those eyes were now open; Fitzgerald had vanished and he found himself staring into the cold eyes of Henri Bashere.
Henri wiped the blood from his forehead and pulled himself up into a sitting position. He glanced around the once luxiouous cabin, taking in the destruction and the opening at the rear of the plane before settling his gaze back upon the young man. "I must say this is certainly a pleasant surprise."
Charlie was amazed at how quickly his hatred for the man resurfaced and he clenched his teeth together in his effort to keep his anger under control. He raised his chin and stared defiantly at the man.
"How can you be so flippant? The pilots are dead and at this point I'm not sure how many people have survived?"
"I am alive and appear to be all in one piece." he answered nonchalantly. "You are alive, and I confess, I would have been very disappointed if you had died in the crash." his tone changed to one of anger as he examined the cuff around his hand. "This, however, is unacceptable."
"Oh... but I left one of your hands free, isn't that acceptable by your standards?" Charlie asked, his tone of voice dripping with contempt for the man in front of him.
Bashere's stared at him through narrowed eyes. "Touche for the third time Professor. This game is over, release me!" he snarled viciously.
Charlie decided that he really didn't have the energy or the inclination to spar with the man, he really needed to get outside and get some fresh air. He pushed away from the wall and had to turn sideways to step around a large piece of the broken couch. The sudden movement caused the throbbing in his side to change to a stabbing pain and he winced as his hand went instinctively to his side.
The Frenchman's anger faded and his manner changed to one of concern as he noticed Charlie's reaction. "How seriously are you injured?" he stretched out his unshackled arm toward him. "You are bleeding, let me bandage it for you."
Charlie's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Your really are delusional. Do you honestly believe that I would let you come near me after what you have done?"
"Don't be an idiot!" the Frenchman responded heatedly. "You need help, release me at once!"
Charlie didn't even spare the man a second glance as he headed for the opening, desperately needing to put some distance between them. "I don't need your help, I can take care of myself."
"Wait, where are you going?' Bashere asked.
Charlie stopped at the opening and muttered. "To get some fresh air."
Bashere pulled angrily on the handcuff and hissed. "I order you to release me!"
Charlie looked back over his shoulder and glared at the man. "I don't take orders from you."
He stepped out into the sunlight and a small smile played across his lips when he heard Bashere swearing and rattling the handcuff that kept him chained to the chair.
However, Charlie's smile quickly faded as he stood silently on the cliff top and stared at the destruction that surrounded him. The area was deluged with debris, parts of the plane were scattered from the edge of the cliff to the trees and a deep gouge in the ground marked the cockpit's trail to the stand of tall oaks and sycamores that had finally put an end to it's journey. Contents of the plane littered it's path, suitcases had been ripped open and clothing lay strewn all over the ground as well as hanging from several tree limbs. Some of the lighter pieces of clothing were floating around in the air constantly moving from place to place, buffeted by the ever present sea breeze. Beverage and food containers were scattered everywhere and papers and dollar bills joined the clothing as the wind pushed them around the cliff top. He snatched one of the floating bills and amended his last thought. "Make that one hundred dollar bills."
His eyes drifted to the tail section of the plane and he absently tossed the bill back into the air as he made his way to the edge of the cliff. There had been at least three people behind the partition that had separated them and it looked as if the plane had split at that very point. "So what happened to the people?" He knew at least two of them had survived and were heading down the mountain, but what about his look alike? "Adam? Yes, that was his name. What happened to him?" Charlie was afraid of what he would find in there but he knew he had to look. Reluctantly, he approached the rear section .
"Is anyone in there?" he called out. "Hello, does anyone need help?"
The sound of the wind was all that greeted him as he walked closer to the jagged opening. He bent over and looked inside and backed away in shock at the sight of the hole in the floor. It was empty. Charlie swallowed nervously, "they must have been sucked out of the opening." he thought in horror, covering his mouth with his hand.
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Bashere was livid, how dare Charlie talk to him in that manner. He was going to have to teach that young man a lesson as soon as he removed the handcuffs. Angrily he glanced around the cabin looking for his brief case. Most of the items were still in the forward cabin, albeit broken and scattered around him, but they were still here. He started by moving objects that were close to him first, lifting up small pieces of things and tossing them out of his way. When that proved unsucessful, he pushed the debris around with his feet, his leg span was a lot longer that his arms and he was able to reach a much wider area but that still didn't turn up the elusive brief case. Ill-tempered, he banged on the chair with a leg of the broken coffee table, yelling and cursing loudly and finally, in a rage he threw the piece of wood at a pile of debris across from him.
Henri blinked in surprise when the piece of wood dislodged some debris revealing the brief case. He stared at it in disbelief, it had been within a few feet of him all along. He glanced back at the opening and then scooted around the chair, positioning himself so that he could get closer to the case. It was further away than it had looked, however, and he retrieved the piece of wood that he had thrown to try and pull it toward him. He was covered with sweat by the time he was able to hook the handle and pull the case forward, but finally his efforts were rewarded.
Exulting in his catch, Bashere keyed in the digital code to open the case and his eyes gleamed excitedly at the sound of the click as the case opened. He searched through the case, hastily pushing aside other articles, until he found a small object. Grinning from ear to ear he removed a key that was lying next to another pair of handcuffs "it always pays to keep a spare on hand." he thought smugly to himself. He inserted the key into the lock of the cuff that bound him to the chair and watched in satisfaction as it snapped open. The Frenchman quickly removed the cuffs and stuffed them into his pocket along with the key.
Bashere prided himself on always being prepared and he had learned over the years to keep a few necessary items with him at all times. The next article to come out of the brief case was an automatic pistol. He ejected the cartridge and checked the ammunition carefully before re-loading it back into the gun. His hand closed over several more cartridges and a switchblade which he quickly stuffed into his jacket pockets. He stood up slowly and leaned on the arm of the chair when he felt a slight wave of dizziness wash over him. The dizziness passed and he stood up straighter, scowling as his thoughts shifted to the young professor. "Enough is enough" he muttered to himself. He had been been more patient with Charlie than he had ever been with anyone else in his life and had actually altered his normal practices to try and gain his trust and love. Henri had even been willing to change his lifestyle for him and what had he received in return? Nothing...nothing but rejection and disdain, time and time again. All of the efforts that he had put into his plan had not only been for nothing but had also almost cost him his life as well. Bashere's eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened with a firm resolve as he stared at the opening.
"Time to teach Charlie who is in charge." he mumbled as he gripped the gun tightly in his hand and started forward.
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Charlie backed away from the tail section and glanced at the sun's position. He had to look for water and warm clothing before the sun went down and he was wasting time. He felt moisture running down his side and he lifted his shirt to take a look. The cut had broken open again and he now had a steady stream of blood running down his side. "Okay, first things first, bandage this cut." he thought to himself as he began to sort through the debris. He found an open suitcase full of new clothing, most of the items still had the tags attached and were sealed inside of plastic bags. There was even a new leather jacket folded neatly within the bag. He pulled the jacket out and laid it aside, that would definitely come in handy when the sun went down. Charlie spied a broken beverage container and hurried over to it hoping to find some water. He smiled in relief when he discovered a number of unbroken bottles of water and gathered up an armful, taking them back to the open suitcase. He sat down on his knees and fumbled in his jeans pocket for his pocket knife. Pulling it out he grabbed one of the sealed white shirts and ripped the bag open. Charlie spread the shirt out over the suitcase and began to cut long strips of material to use as bandages. Gently, he pulled the torn tee shirt over his head and tossed it to the ground. Next, he opened one of the water bottles and slowly poured it over his wound, wincing when it touched his skin. Charlie ripped open another bag and used that shirt as a towel, mopping up the excess blood and water as he cleaned the cut. Finally, he used the strips as bandages and wrapped them tightly around his torso, successfully stopping the bleeding. Using another part of the shirt as a washcloth, he cleaned the cut on the back of his head and wiped off his face as well as the back of his neck. Feeling more alert now, he guzzled down half a bottle of water before slowing down. It was warm but it felt so good sliding down his parched and dry throat.
Shouting and loud banging noises suddenly erupted from the plane reminding him that he wasn't alone on the escarpment. Charlie picked up his tee shirt and reluctantly tossed it back down again. There wasn't anyway that he was putting it back on so he began to sort through the shirts in the suitcase hoping to find one that would fit him. A chill ran up his spine as he realized that everything in the suitcase was exactly his size. From the shirts to the pants, everything within the bag would fit him perfectly. His face reddened with embarrassment as he noted the correct size on the underwear as well. Bashere had certainly been thorough in his research and at this point in time, Charlie didn't really want to think about how the man had found out so much man about him. He looked longingly at his own shirt lying in the dust and forced himself to find another one. He settled on a plain blue tee shirt and gently pulled it over his head then picked up the leather jacket and put it on. He didn't have to look at the size to know that it was going to be a perfect fit, and disgustedly, he ripped the tags from one of the sleeves.
Putting the origin of the clothes behind him, he sifted through the wreckage and found more water and several packets of crackers and peanuts. He stuffed them in the jacket pockets and continued to look around hoping to find a cell phone or flashlight. He knew the plane would offer the best shelter, but the thought of going back in there with Bashere and the dead pilots made his skin crawl. He was near the edge of the woods when he heard a noise coming from the direction of the plane and he stopped in mid-stride. Charlie's eyes widened in surprise as Bashere came staggering from the jet with a gun in his hand.
Without a moment's hesitation, Charlie darted into the woods with the sound of gunfire spurring him on.
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The black SUV and the FBI tactical van were once again racing madly along the coastal highway. The tension in the vehicle was almost palpable. No one spoke, all thoughts were on what they would find when they finally made it to the top of the cliffs.
Don was once again gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckle's had turned white and were beginning to hurt. He didn't care though, it kept him grounded to reality, the pain kept him from giving in to the fear that his brother really had died in the crash. He looked at his watch for what must have been the hundredth time since they had left the site and was amazed to see that only thirty minutes had elapsed since the accident.
"How far and which way to the entrance?' he shouted , as his eyes met David's in the rear view mirror.
Colby helped David hold the map against the rush of wind coming through the broken window while he checked their location.
"Were almost there, it's up ahead on your left." David yelled back.
The agent flipped on his signal light and quickly turned onto the park road. It took them another ten minutes to locate the ranger headquarters at the base of the mountain. There was a police car already there and several ranger's were milling around outside of the building waiting for their arrival.
As soon as Don brought the vehicle to a stop he and his team jumped out of the car and rushed toward the entrance to the station. The ranger station was a log cabin styled building with a front porch equipped with several rocking chairs.
A medium-built man with graying hair and more than a few wrinkles on his face pulled himself up out of one of those chairs and met them at the top of the steps leading up to the porch. He thrust out his hand to the lead agent.
"I'm Jeff Cromwell, head ranger for the park."
The lead agent took it and met it with a firm grip. "I'm Special Agent Don Eppes and this is my team." he said indicating each one with his hand as he introduced them. "This is Agent Reeves. Sinclair and Granger." Don got right to the point. " We have a plane down on the cliffs and we need to get up there right away. I want you to show me the quickest way up the mountain, there isn't anytime to waste."
"It's not going to be that easy Agent Eppes. It will be dark soon and you don't want to be on those trails in the dark."
"There is a plane down, man. We know that there are survivors and we need to get going now!" Colby interrupted angrily.
"I understand that agent but what you don't seem to understand is that these trails are inaccessible at night." he moved toward the door of the station. "Come in here and let me show you something."
They quickly followed Cromwell into the station and over to a large area map of the Santa Monica Mountains.
"See here." he said pointing to the cliffs on the map. "Between our location and the Projecting Point are rugged buttes and deep gorges that are hard to find in the daylight, let alone at night. If we try to take a rescue party up there tonight, we'll end up with more injured people than you might have on that plane."
"That's unacceptable." Don was trying his best to remain calm, but an icy feeling in the pit of his stomach was making it hard to do so. He moved closer to the map and studied it. "This trail looks like it goes straight up to the site, why can't we take this one and leave now?" He countered, catching the ranger's eye and giving him a hard stare.
The ranger shook his head sadly, "I'm sorry Agent Eppes. As I said, the trail is inaccessible at night. The only trail up there is part of the Backbone Trail System and even an experienced hiker can't maneuver the trail at night." he glanced at the agents, a puzzled expression on his face. " May I ask why you haven't sent a rescue helicopter up there?"
Don's instinct told him that he could trust the ranger and since he was going to need the man's help he decided to bring him in on the investigation. "There are hostiles on board that plane Ranger Cromwell. We know that some of them survived because they opened fire on the helicopter that we sent up." he paused and turned to Megan. "If we can't get up there by foot then we'll have to send another chopper up. Get in touch with SWAT, order two..."
"Excuse me Agent Eppes, but you can't get a helicopter up there at night. It's very hard to judge how much room you have to land during the daylight and a night time landing would probably end up with the chopper going over the cliff. "
"They have lights don't they?" Don desperately retorted.
"Yes, Agent Eppes they have lights." Cromwell sighed at the desperation in the young man's voice. There was more going on here than just a downed plane, he would bet his job on it. "The lights get reflected back from the rocks giving the pilots a false reading. They could set the helicopters down on the edge of the cliff without even realizing it."
Don stepped closer to the ranger and his eyes narrowed. "I need to get up there… I can't wait until morning!
Cromwell had been a ranger for over thirty years and he was getting close to retirement. During that time he had seen a lot of desperate men and the desperation he saw in this young man's eyes spoke volumes to him. There was something more than just doing his job involved here. He glanced around at the other agents and studied their faces. "Yes, definitely something personal going on here, I can see it in their eyes." Unfortunately, that didn't change anything, you just couldn't climb that mountain in the dark, no matter who was up there. He turned back to Don and asked his question.
"Who's on that plane Agent Eppes?"
Don looked away and swallowed hard and when he turned back he had unshed tears in his eyes. "My younger brother." he answered quietly.
Cromwell's eyes softened but he remained firm in his decision. "I'm sorry but we will have to wait until morning. We can have a rescue chopper here and ready to take off at dawn and we can be there within fifteen minutes."
Don turned away and stared at the darkening sky through the window. Every fiber in his body screamed to go up on that mountain right now, but he knew he had to follow the ranger's advice. He couldn't risk getting someone else killed in the process of getting to that plane. His shoulders slumped with the realization that he had no choice but to wait until morning. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up and met the sympathetic eyes of the old ranger.
"I'm sorry son." he said again. "There's a lodge two miles up the road. You should all go up and get yourselves something to eat and try to get some sleep. I'll have everything ready to go in the morning."
The agent pulled himself together. "This is still an FBI operation. Dr. Charles Eppes and the men that kidnapped him are on board that plane. These men are armed and dangerous and I do not intend to let any of them escape if they survived that crash. There will be three helicopters heading for that cliff in the morning Ranger Cromwell, and two of them will be FBI assault choppers. " he glanced around the room taking in the equipment and materials that were available.
Turning back to the ranger he pointed to a desk in the corner with a computer and printer set up. "Can we turn your station into a temporary headquarters?
The older man nodded thoughtfully. "Our equipment isn't the highest tech stuff around but it works for us. It's all yours Agent Eppes."
"Good, Megan get Stendhouser on the phone. See if she was able to get those photographs of the crash site from that Naval helicopter. I want them E-mailed to us ASAP. We need to see what happened up there."
Megan was already at the desk pulling out her phone before he had finished.
"David check with the airport security and get those security videos sent to the office, maybe we can get some I.D's on these guys. Have them send the pictures here so we know who to look for tomorrow."
"You got it Don." David responded as he flipped open his phone.
"Colby, get in touch with SWAT and get those chopper's lined up for tomorrow." He caught Cromwell's eye. " Tell them we plan to take off at 5:50 a.m. and not a second later."