Chapter Eight – A Glimpse of Yesterday

"Amy, I'm sorry I know I promised not to do any work on this trip, more than promotion of course, but I need to check in with our head office again."

His wife glanced up from the magazine she had been reading. "Eli, I'm sorry. I totally forgot. I meant to tell you when you came back earlier. Head office called and wanted to speak with you."

"Did they say what they wanted?" he asked curiously.

"I'm afraid not but it was Johnston from maintenance and he sounded strained," she said.

Eli nodded. Tim Johnston was the FWA officer in charge of maintenance of the aircraft fleet, currently stationed at their headquarters in Washington. He was an easygoing guy that didn't get upset very often.

"I better call right away," he said, a bad feeling coming over him as he lifted the phone. "Hello? I want a line to Washington."

Despite the distance it didn't take long for the call to connect and within the minute Johnston was at the other end of the line.

"FWA maintenance service, how may I help?" A soft voice asked.

"Tim," Eli greeted warmly. "Excuse me for not getting back to you earlier."

"Hello, Mr. Sande. That's okay. We have been quite busy here. I'll be on my way to Paris in one hour."

Eli said nothing, he merely frowned and glanced at his wife, waiting for his maintenance manager to explain further.

"I don't know how to say this, sir, but we have a problem at Charles de Gaulle. Did any of the pilots say anything about a man running over the runway at take-off?"

"What?" Eli exclaimed in disbelief. "No. What was he doing there anyway and how did he get there? What happened to airport security?" he paused briefly then added, almost afraid of the answer; "Was he hurt?"

"He died, sir," Johnston returned frankly. "However, his relatives will not be able to file any lawsuit at us so you can relax."

"I fail to see how you can be so sure about that," Eli returned grumpily as he narrowed his eyes.

"The man's life couldn't be saved because he was caught in the tailwind of the Concorde and there was no way it could have been avoided without risking the lives of every passenger and crew onboard the aircraft," Johnston explained.

"Get to the point, Tim. I'm a little antsy from everything that's been going on lately," Eli said.

"It was Froelich, our chief engineer at the maintenance section back at Charles de Gaulle," Johnston replied in a subdued voice. "Apparently he checked in a suitcase on a flight to Bahamas. He dropped some money while doing it and when airport security tried to return the money to him he flipped out and ran off. The point in all this, sir, is that the police found a considerable amount of money on him."

Eli sighed, feeling weary all of a sudden. "Does the press know about this?" he asked carefully. "If they get the wind of it-"

"They know there was an incident at the runway but they can't know for sure that he was connected to FWA. Unfortunately rumors at the airport has it that it was our chief engineer. Our French colleagues have done everything they can to deny the truth in the rumors. I haven't heard the latest news I'm afraid. However, to the reporters he should be just any man clad in an expensive suit that ran away from the guards and ended up on the strip," Johnston filled in.

"You'll call me immediately when you've arrived at Charles de Gaulle," Eli demanded.

"Certainly. I'll have a word with the rest of the maintenance crew there," he assured him. "Unfortunately it'll take a while. I'm sure you're aware of the flight time for a regular trip between Dulles and Charles de Gaulle with a FWA 747."

There was a slight pause and the irony was not lost on Sanders.

"I don't care what time it is. Just call when you have something," Eli finally said in a subdued voice as he rubbed his forehead in exasperation.

"Talk to you soon, sir," Johnston said, ending the call.

Amy walked over to her husband and saw the troubled face. "Problems?" she asked softly.

He nodded thoughtfully, his hand still on the phone. "I have a feeling there is more to this whole fiasco than I thought," he said sourly.

OOOOOO

Willie Halpern sat stricken in his plushy leather chair at the Harrison Industries main office overlooking the large parking lot at the back of the building. Rain streaked the windows, washing the thin film of pollution off the glass. He was at loss for words and found himself lost, unsure of his next move. When his boss and longtime friend Doctor Kevin Harrison had asked him to change course of the drone he had not hesitated, in fact he had welcomed the challenge. His excitement had grown as the attack drone's camera had zooned in on the supersonic aircraft and, for a short period of time, he'd been annoyed at the evasive maneuvers made by the flight crew and been confident that the drone would prevail.

He had designed the attacking drone and considered it to be his baby. It wasn't until afterwards and late at night that he had awakened in cold sweat and realized the ugly truth; that he would have been responsible for the deaths of over a hundred people. He'd wondered solemnly what had become of him and his eyes had watered as he glanced at his sleeping wife next to him and their exhausted grandchild who hugged her teddy bear tight.

He'd seen through his fingers when it came to the weapons dealings made by the company because it didn't directly kill people but, in the end, indirectly that would be the result. He had argued with Kevin the day after the failed Buzzard test, about how to proceed, but something had sparked in Harrison's eyes and his mind had seemed set on destroying Maggie Whelan once and for all, no matter what. Something cold and distant came over him and he didn't seem to care how many people that got in the way.

Willie suddenly feared what Harrison could do and, with the right associates, even get away with. He hadn't been in the loop when it came to the next move made by Doctor Harrison but he knew the man enough to guess that the second, and even third, attempt of destroying Maggie Whelan by attacking the aircraft was his doing.

When he'd bid Kevin goodbye before his trip to Paris, the last time he'd seen his friend alive, he hadn't recognized him anymore. Willie had promised to cover up his tracks when it came to the reprogramming of the drone and wished him well never the less. Then it had all unraveled before his eyes, the emergency landing made by the Concorde in Switzerland, the money transfers to an associate and colleague in France and the suicide of his longtime friend and business partner.

Kevin Harrison wasn't a man who gave up easily, if he had he wouldn't have been where he was, the leader of a well renowned company. However, his ruthlessness, his dark side, had won him over and forced him into action in order to prevent the company from ruin, from destroying his life and shattering everything he stood for. While cornered the doctor had lashed out, misjudged the situation and lost. The inner circle of the company had been forced to cover up his tracks and claim he'd had an accident. Willie also knew that they were intent on getting the documents back but doubted they'd succeed. The programmer knew that the game was over and that the truth would eventually come out. Now it was just a matter of playing his cards right in order to survive it all.

OOOOOO

Davis looked up from the table as he saw Line walk through the door heading straight for him. He frowned and took off his reading glasses to rub his tired eyes. "Tell me you've had better luck than us," he mused.

Line took in the large amount of people in the room. Their age, background and gender varied but they had one thing in common, they were all experts in their field. Most of them were divided in pairs or smaller groups discussing details about the accident.

She smiled warmly at him and squeezed his shoulder before taking a seat next to him. "You look like you've been at it the whole night," she said.

"Not just me," he admitted and gazed around the room before focusing on her once again. "I was just about to go and grab a cup of coffee, you want one?"

Line nodded but she didn't get out of her chair. Instead she nodded again toward the door.

Henri followed her gaze and saw a young woman walk into the room with several canisters of hot coffee and a bunch of mugs on a tray.

He grinned in appreciation as the woman headed their way to serve them first. One minute later the two colleagues sat sipping quietly on their freshly brewed coffee.

"What did you mean by better luck than us," Line finally asked.

"It doesn't make sense," he muttered sourly. "Why would an aircraft less than a year old break apart?"

"You were hoping for me to bring you inconsistencies," she stated cunningly. "I'm afraid I have to disappoint you. They all tell me the same story – the aircraft broke apart."

Davis sighed in frustration.

"What about the aircraft itself?" Line asked.

"The guys have dismantled the box and studied data from the FDR all night but it all comes down to what the pilots said. The altitude was dropping drastically for a moment – ten thousand feet, before the aircraft leveled out again. Several systems gave indications of damage, one of them being the fuel pump regulator. Due to failure of structural integrity and ruptures along the body the hydraulic fluid lines were severed and the cabin pressure was lost. Load shifted beneath the passenger cabin-" he threw his hands in the air and trailed off.

Line reached up with her hand to scratch her forehead.

"Vertical acceleration and airspeed is-" he added but was interrupted before he could finish.

"So you're back to square one," she deduced solemnly. "What caused the accident?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I've just been in contact with Sarah and John back at the crash site and they'll be at it for at least a couple of days to see that we haven't missed anything that could point us in the right direction."

"There's something about this-" Line began as she fixed the CVR with her eyes. "Something is going on here that we're missing."

Davis nodded thoughtfully as he put the recorder into playback once again.

"What was that?" They heard Captain Patroni ask in confusion.

"You better hop down, honey," Captain Metrand said to the little girl who'd been sitting in his lap at the time.

Davis then had the recorder play up another sequence.

"Jesus, the cargo door…" Joseph Patroni said hollowly.

"The warning light should indicate if it's working or not," Paul Metrand reasoned calmly.

"Peter?" Patroni asked.

"It's not working. It was okay at the preflight check," the flight engineer reported.

A chill spread down Davis spine at the words and he let go of the button to stop the recording from replaying and then turned to Line. "Have you heard anything from the investigators at the factory? What do they think about the cargo door? He asked curiously.

She shook her head. "I haven't heard a single word since we established contact but they claimed they'd never heard anything so ridiculous before. Furthermore they forwarded us to the software department that delivers the pushbutton terminals. They in turn refuses to believe a malfunction could have caused the accident and, I must say, judging from the material sent to the board it looks unlikely," she admitted.

"I'm not saying the original programming was wrong. I just wonder what would happen if someone should reprogram it?" he said darkly.

"Why would someone do that?" Line asked. "It does sound a little far-fetched. If you'd want to take down an aircraft why not use a bomb or some other device?"

"For example we could easily find residue of a bomb, the CVR and flight components would furthermore lead us to such a thing," Davis reasoned with a smirk.

OOOOOO