Marine One (11 page)

A
WEEK PASSED
with daily visits to the wreckage in the hangar and talking to potential experts I was considering using. At the end of one particularly long day that started with me in the office before dawn, I invited Debbie to go out to dinner with me at one of the nicer restaurants in Annapolis. We arrived and were waiting to be seated when I saw Hackett on the television. He was holding a press conference. I asked the hostess to give us a minute. We walked into the bar and strained to see the television at the far end.

Several others were watching and the bartender turned up the volume. Hackett was in his conference room with his law firm's name emblazoned in gold lettering on the mahogany wall behind him. The press had been given plenty of notice that the attorney who represented the first lady was holding a press conference. They packed the conference room. Conveniently, the press conference coincided with the evening news. We had missed the first couple of minutes.

Hackett paused as photographers clicked cameras and print reporters made notes. He continued, "Now that the NTSB has stated what the cause of this accident was, and we know that it was WorldCopter's fault, the first lady has reluctantly asked me to pursue the justice and the closure that she thinks the country needs, the justice that is required to defend the honor of President Adams. She wants answers for herself, not just as part of some governmental investigation. She wants
me
to be able to question the WorldCopter employees who put this helicopter together, the ones that put this blade on this helicopter, the ones who installed the tip weights that came off, the ones who caused the death of the president of the United States. Because of that, Mrs. Adams has requested that I file a lawsuit on her behalf against WorldCopter. I did so this afternoon at four thirty PM. Not only has the first lady requested that I file a suit on her behalf, but the wives of all of the men killed on this helicopter, including the two Marine pilots, the Secret Service agents, and the Marine crew chief, have joined in the lawsuit. They were all killed because of a defect in this helicopter. We will also be examining the evidence to determine whether the conduct here was so egregious or malicious, or reckless, that it calls for an award of punitive damages. If it does, we will ask the jury to award a substantial amount of punitive damages against WorldCopter for the damage they have caused to these families and to the greater American family. Thank you. I will now take any questions you may have."

I felt my BlackBerry buzz and pulled it out. Debbie frowned at me as I answered it. "Mike Nolan."

It was Rachel. "I've got the lawsuit."

"Where'd you find it?"

"Hackett posted it on his firm's Web site."

"Figures. And?"

"Guess where he filed it?"

"D.C.?"

"Nope."

"District of Maryland. By D.C."

"Nope. Right here in Annapolis."

"What? Why?"

"That's what I was going to ask you."

Rachel told me everything she could about the complaint. "Thanks. I'll get back to you."

I hung up and looked at Debbie. "Hackett filed his suit right here."

"Why here? I assumed he would file in D.C."

"That's what I've been wondering. But think about it. Who built the courthouse and appointed
both our judges?"

"President Adams."

"Exactly. Hackett is guaranteed to have a judge who was appointed by his client's husband. And both the federal judges here, as you well know, are both former plaintiff's lawyers."

"Which judge got the case?"

"Betancourt."

"You like her, don't you?"

"I do. I think she's fair, which is all you can really ask for. I don't think he'll get the advantage from this he thinks he will and Norris will be the magistrate. She likes me."

Debbie frowned. "Then why would Hackett file here? I'm sure he researched judges here."

"Maybe he wants me to try the case, and not Brightman. Maybe he thinks I'm an easy mark, and putting it here will tempt AII to let me try it."

"That's pretty cynical. And that wouldn't be his conclusion if he's done his homework."

Whatever reason Hackett chose Annapolis, I liked it. I would have picked that courthouse if given a choice. Maybe Hackett had just made his first mistake. "You know, what probably drove his decision was the rocket docket. All civil cases go to trial in six months. He wants to get to trial before anyone finds out what really happened."

I got in to work the next morning at six AM Rachel appeared in my door virtually buzzing.

"You're here early," I said.

She handed me a big Starbucks and said, "So are you. We need some new bodies."

"No doubt. This thing is going to be a monster. We could probably use ten new people. We can set up several in the back conference room, but let's get two or three in right away. Why don't you get with Tracy and put an ad together for the
Washington Post
, the National Law Journal, American Lawyer, Monster.com, what ever. I want to get someone in here ASAP. And I think we need to aim high. This is a big-profile case that a lot of people are going to want to work on. I've got to call Byrd."

I got Byrd on his cell phone. "Tinny, Nolan."

"What the hell you want now?"

"He filed in Annapolis."

"Hey, I've got stuff on Collins that's pretty damn interesting. But I didn't hear from you on my rate sheet, and it turns out there was a typo. I need to send you my updated rate sheet."

"You're shameless."

"I'm unashamedly and openly trying to accumulate enough money to retire in the Caribbean and lay on the beach all day. Guilty as charged. And you're going to help me."

"Come see me so we can talk about all this."

"Will do."

Rachel had called the legal journals and the newspapers and had put the advertisements on their Web sites for staff associates. We were already receiving calls. She was lining up interviews at night because we couldn't even take a breath during the day.

Tinny came to see me on Wednesday morning, when I was to meet with all of our newly retained experts to go back out to the scene. I asked him to come at a different time, but he said he didn't have a different time. He showed up at my office at six thirty knowing that the experts wouldn't get there until eight. He banged loudly on the front door. I went to my window overlooking the bay and looked straight down at our doorstep. Tinny looked up at me. I gave him a wave and walked down to the front. I stepped onto the porch and shook his hand. "Morning, Marine. How the hell are you?"

"I'm doing fine. How the hell are you?"

"I was just going to grab a cappuccino."

"You know, we really should meet in your office; I've got some stuff to show you."

"We can just talk. You can show me whatever you've got when we get back. Experts won't be here till eight."

Byrd looked uneasy. "I prefer working in the shadows," he said, trying to make a joke.

I stopped walking. "You spooked about something?"

He smiled. "Me? Never. Just that somebody's already on this stuff. Or maybe they're on me. You think Hackett knows you use me?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, studying his face. Byrd didn't scare, so the fact he mentioned it gave me real concern.

"Inside," he said.

As soon as we stepped inside and closed the door, he said, "You know I got a sixth sense. Well, somebody knows I'm around in this case."

We walked back to the coffee room where I had watched the news of Marine One's crash. "I just made a fresh pot."

We sat at the cheap table in the middle of the room. "So you think it might be Hackett?"

"Yesterday, right after you called, I saw a guy. Weird. Maybe Hackett doesn't have good investigators. He just tells his guys to follow the other side and let them lead you to the evidence. Don't know."

"It'd be like him. So we'll be careful. Right?"

"Like always." Byrd sipped his coffee. "But how do we know it's him? Could be anybody. I talked to my boy in the Secret Service too. He said he was cool, but maybe they didn't like me doing that…" He thought about that for a moment, then asked, "Anybody else you know who has a stake in this?"

"If it isn't a defective helicopter, then there's someone who cares a lot."

"Who?"

I shook my head. "No idea. Don't even have a theory. If you could find out why Adams was in such a big damned hurry to get to Camp David, we might have an idea. Short of that, no. So, have you found anything interesting?"

His eyes brightened. "I've got some access. We can take further advantage of it." Tinny picked up his battered briefcase and folded over the large flap. "First thing I've got…" He pulled out two files and handed them to me. They were fairly thick, well organized, clearly photocopies of something, and unlabeled.

"What's this?"

Byrd leaned close to me. "These, my friend, are the personnel records of your hero. Mr. Colonel Charles Collins."

My eyes opened wide. "You got Collins's personnel file?"

"Mm-hm."

"How'd you do that?" I could tell he wasn't going to answer, at least not directly. I felt like I was in the middle of a drug deal. "Did you read them?"

"Yeah."

"Anything?"

"He's been a lot of places and done a lot of things. He's got enough medals for three men, his fitness reports are pegged in the top one percent. He's just a star, plain and simple."

"That's it? No issues? Just pure starhood? Nothing you think you need to follow up on?"

"Nope. Not really. I did get a real good history. I made a summary of that here." He handed me a single sheet of paper. "This is all his commands, his dates of service, his commanding officers, his awards and medals, and some other stuff you might want to have. I want to follow up with the guys in his most recent squadron. I think you've already talked to one of them."

"Yeah. I did."

"Can I start with him?" Byrd finished his coffee and waited for my answer.

I already knew I was going to be stepping on some friends. "Yeah. Go ahead. Britt's a good place to start. I wouldn't spend a lot of time with him, but get names and numbers from him if he'll give them to you. Keep me posted and don't do anything illegal. Or stupid."

"Wouldn't think of it."

I tossed my paper cup in the green trash can.

Byrd was about to stand up when he stopped himself. "There's one other thing, I almost forgot. You're not going to believe this."

"What?"

"Collins had a nice house, very nice."

"And?"

"I'm not saying there's some funny-money business going on here. Some guys are smart in real estate. We've all seen those Marines who buy a house wherever they're stationed and after twenty years own ten houses. That's fine. But I checked out the house."

"Meaning?" I said with growing interest. I stared at Byrd's face, which had the hint of humor of someone who knew an inside joke.

"Meaning I don't think our boy was getting any."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, with the wife."

"What are you talking about? And how could you possibly know that?"

"I'm talking about exactly what you think I'm talking about. And I have my ways of knowing."

I leaned over the table. "Are you saying he wasn't sleeping with his wife?"

"The man had his own bedroom."

I frowned. "I assume they have a guest room. What makes you think he was sleeping in it?"

"Oh, he was sleeping there all right. I promise you. Not only was he sleeping there, he was living in that other room. His computer was set up there, his clothes were in the closet, and his pictures were on the wall. That was his room, dude. I'm telling you. They were living apart in the same house."

"That's bizarre. What do you make of that?"

"Don't know. But I'm sure going to find out. He was leading some kind of double life. You imagine walking into the ready room and having one of the other pilots say, 'How was your night, dude?' and him saying, 'I don't know, I was sleeping in my own room.' Not going to happen. He'd rather die. Just like I would. Course I would never be in another room, but that's the difference between me and him. At least one of the differences. I'll track it down. Maybe he's a cross-dresser. Maybe he's gay. I don't know, but there's something there and I'm going to find out what it is."

"What could it have to do with the accident?"

Byrd, who was turning away, turned back and looked at me. "You of all people to ask me that. You know accidents, Mike. It's never one thing. It's always a series of things, and you never see the links until the 'Aha!' moment." Byrd chuckled. "Can you imagine if I find a picture of the president's pilot dressed as a woman? And not at a Halloween party? Holy hell. And I know where his personal photos are on the Internet. He used one of those photo-storage Web sites. I think I'll take a look at them today."

"You can't just go look at his photos."

"They're on the Internet. Fair game."

Byrd left and I went up to my office. In just a few weeks, he'd obtained records from the Pentagon that he wasn't supposed to have and knew more about Collins's family life than probably anybody else. That was a little unsettling. I didn't have quite the same constraints a prosecutor would in obtaining evidence illegally. I could even use some illegally obtained evidence, depending on the circumstances. But I had to tread carefully.

AT EIGHT O'CLOCK sharp, the experts I had invited were waiting in the boardroom. Dolores had ordered muffins and coffee. I introduced them to each other, at least those who didn't already know the others, and gave them a quick summary of where we were in our preparation. They had all read the NTSB's preliminary report, had followed the case closely in the media, and were anxious to get started.

Rachel had been working furiously since before I'd sat down with Tinny. On the large whiteboard at the end of the room, she had outlined the NTSB's preliminary findings, other possible theories, the investigation we had conducted to date, and areas we needed to cover. Her handwriting was meticulous, and the board looked like it had been printed out of a massive computer and stapled to the wall. We all stared at the writing as we sat down.

Wayne Bradley, an extremely bright former chairman of the NTSB's metallurgic lab, was also as big as the proverbial house. A humorous but intense man, he was considered the most brilliant aviation metallurgist in the country. Retired from the NTSB, he was now sixty-seven. He liked to get out in the field, to dig in the ground, to touch the metal. He was phenomenal. I had used him in cases before and was glad to have him aboard. Some people were concerned that his huge size would turn off a jury when he testified, but I never found juries to be that shallow. If you give credible testimony, the rest doesn't matter.

To his left, farther away from the whiteboard where Rachel stood, was Holly Folk. Her background was as different from Bradley's as her petite figure was from his massive one. She had gone to Purdue University in their aviation program because "that's where Amelia Earhart had gone." Not only did she obtain her commercial pilot's license while in college, she graduated with a degree in aeronautical engineering. She got a job flying for a commuter airline, transferred to the big airlines, and got laid off when they declared bankruptcy. She hadn't really liked airline flying anyway and had gone back into the marketplace by devoting herself to investigating airplane accidents. She had obtained her master's degree in engineering and had attended the aviation-accident-safety school at the University of Southern California. She had gone to work for the NTSB and had achieved investigator-in-charge status of several major investigations. But she quickly realized her income would forever be limited by two initials, GS, and to get ahead in life she needed to go into the private sector. She had been in demand ever since and was the first person I called when I had an accident case. Every case that she had helped me on, we had won. She looked like an engineer but had a wonderful if quirky sense of humor. We could never figure out what triggered it. She routinely thought things were funny that we didn't.

I saw her look at Bradley's plate while she picked at the five pieces of fruit on her plate and drank the strong coffee.

The third expert in the room, Karl Will, our accident reconstructionist, sat motionless drinking his coffee. He and Bradley had worked together numerous times. Bradley never tired of asking, "Karl Will
what
?" Karl never thought it was funny, not the first time, and
not
the hundredth. He was one of those lean, sober Arizona types. He looked like he'd been cooked in the sun for ten years. His skin was permanently brown, and even though he wasn't wearing a hat, you just knew that he usually did.

I stood at the whiteboard waiting for everyone's attention. Bradley finished his second muffin and leaned back in his chair to turn toward me. "All right, Mike, what do you have?"

I said, "Morning, everybody. We're glad you were able to make it. We're going to talk for about an hour, then we're all going out to the crash site. The NTSB has released it. Rachel and I have been back a couple of times, but we want to get you all out there today. The weather's good. The ground should be dry and firm, and we shouldn't have any trouble."

Rachel passed a handful of CDs to Karl Will, who passed them to the other experts. I said, "These are copies of all of the photos that have been accumulated so far, both the photos the NTSB has given us on a separate CD, and the photos that we took at the scene and at the hangar in Maryland as part of our investigation. I also put together a DVD"-Rachel handed another stack of Diamond Boxes to Karl-"that are the digital videotapes that Rachel took at the scene. There is some footage at the hangar as well, but most is from the scene at the day of the accident."

"Did you give all this to the NTSB?"

"No. They didn't ask for it. We weren't the official representatives of WorldCopter, we were just there to assist WorldCopter. These tapes belong to me, or WorldCopter, or maybe even its insurance company. I don't know, but the NTSB doesn't have them."

"Good," Holly said.

I walked them through the entire investigation as we knew it, including the criticisms we had of the NTSB's preliminary findings. Everybody had criticisms of the preliminary findings, particularly those who had previously worked for the NTSB.

Bradley said, "This is a political nightmare for the NTSB. Nothing they can do will ever survive the scrutiny that it's going to get after that report is issued. This is going to be like the Warren Commission on stilts. I'm sure the conspiracy theories are already flying-"

"They are," I said.

"Figures. The NTSB has got to be dreading publishing their final report. I'm frankly surprised they came up with a preliminary. They probably just did it so everybody would know the president wasn't murdered."

"But we don't know that," I said.

"True enough," Holly said. "This report says there is no evidence of foul play, but that means with missiles, bombs, something that would blow up and leave a residue. There's nothing to say there wasn't foul play on the aircraft itself. If you stab somebody, there won't be any evidence in a body that's burned down to the bone. You might find the blade, but not if it was thrown off the helicopter before it crashed. Do you have confidence they've found every piece of the wreckage that's relevant? Because I sure don't."

I looked over at her to see if she was just speculating or if she had suspicions. "You really think the president was murdered?"

"No. I'm just starting with a blank slate. Whatever the NTSB says is irrelevant. I don't trust their methods, their people, or their politics. If they gather some evidence that's useful, I'll use it. Anything they
say
, or conclude, I'll ignore. We've got to do our own investigation here, Mike. Our own metallurgy, our own analysis, our own fire analysis, our own explosives and foul-play analysis. We need former FBI investigators, we need explosive experts, and we need forensic chemists and forensic pathologists. We've got to ramp this way up, Mike, and I mean right now. I think we've got to beat the NTSB to a final conclusion. They'll probably take two years to get there. We need to get there in six months. That's what I'm saying."

Bradley and Karl nodded. I walked up to the front of the conference room and stood by Rachel. "As you know, and as Holly just implied, timing is critical here. It's not the NTSB we're racing. We're also going to be racing the court. You all know the case was filed here in Annapolis? Well, this courthouse is new. It doesn't have that many cases. Most federal cases in Maryland are filed in Baltimore or Greenbelt. The local court decided to increase its docket by creating a 'rocket docket.' You get to trial two or three times faster than in other federal courts. Some courts around the country had done that for patent cases, but this is the first one that has done it for all civil cases. They have a mandatory rule-every civil case
will
go to trial in six months. And if you're not ready, too bad."

They all stared at each other, surprised and concerned. Will said, "How can we prepare the most important investigation in the country in six months?"

"By putting everything else we're doing on the back burner, that's how. It's going to be crazy, but we have no choice. Hackett thought this through very carefully. He can just give the photographs and the NTSB's preliminary report to his experts, show them the blade with the missing tip weights, and they'll testify that this was WorldCopter's fault. We've got to solve this case before he gets to do that."

Bradley took an audible deep breath. "Can we even get our hands on the metal?"

"Some of it. They've left much of the wreckage in the hangar for the participants to continue to work with, but no one else. So if we can get you in as WorldCopter's people, we can get to the wreckage. But not otherwise, and we won't get to do any destructive testing, I promise you.

"This room will be our war room. You can use it for any purpose in this case. We will be having all-expert meetings every two weeks, whether you like it or not. And I know that's not usually the way it's done, but I don't care about preserving walls between experts or attorney work product. We need to share ideas, and brainstorm, to solve this thing. If you need anything at all, let me know and we'll get it for you. If you need manpower, I'll get it. If you need exemplars of parts from a similar helicopter, I'll get them for you. Anything. No stone left unturned, and no reasonable request denied. This is all-out. And we're working against the clock."

Bradley nodded, satisfied for now. "Let's go see the crash site, Mike," he insisted as he pressed down on the table and forced himself to his feet.

It was eerie being back at the site of the accident. The scene had been released by the NTSB, but FBI agents were still guarding everything for a mile around. They were clearly not pleased to be in the middle of nowhere, but they also knew that when a president died, a lot of things happened.

We hiked to the crash site as quickly as we could as a group, which meant mostly waiting for Bradley. He brought an assistant to walk with him to help him along the packed dirt to the site. The handful of FBI agents who had the thankless duty of patrolling the center of the crash site saw us coming. One ducked under the police tape and approached us. "Can I help you?"

I always love it when government officials who know exactly who you are and just spoke to someone about you pretend that they've never heard of you. "Didn't you get a call from your friends up the hill that we were coming?"

"Yeah. I knew you were coming."

"We're just here to look around. We're here on behalf of WorldCopter to begin our own investigation."

The FBI agent said coldly, "I thought the NTSB already came out with their conclusions."

"Preliminary conclusions. Meaning they could change."

The FBI agent looked me in the eye with some pity. "Meaning also, then, I suppose they might not change."

"True enough."

We ducked under the yellow tape and walked into the center of the crash site. Our investigators set down their bags, took out their expensive digital cameras, GPS receivers, and laptops. Bradley had his assistant set up a camp table and put his laptop and microscope on top of it. He then pulled out a camp stool and lowered his weight onto it slowly. He tilted his Indiana Jones fedora back and said, "Tip weights. NTSB is saying basically the tip weights may have come off or been out of balance, caused the blade to vibrate and pull out of its seating. Interesting theory, but unprovable as of now."

We all looked at him, but I said, "Why?"

"They didn't find any tip weights. They aren't on the blade, and they weren't on the ground."

Holly added, "They assume they came off before the crash. Somewhere in the turbulence. They think they're scattered all over the countryside and won't ever be found."

Rachel said, "They used metal detectors all around here. They didn't find any of them."

Bradley shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Metal detectors can give a false sense of confidence. If you really want to find something, like on the beach, something specific, you had better sift the sand, not hope your wand passes over it just right."

"They can't sift the entire countryside."

"We have to work backwards my friend, duplicate what the NTSB undoubtedly did, but perhaps we'll find what they didn't. We have to determine the flight of that blade under various possible scenarios and find the scenario that would allow the tip weights to come out to cause that blade to vibrate off the masthead. Then we calculate the possible speeds of the blade, which should be upwards of six hundred twenty-five knots, and determine the maximum throw distance of those tip weights coming cleanly off the blade at its maximum speed of rotation, which should give us a theoretical radius within which we should find the tip weights."

Bradley turned to the table and turned on his laptop. He placed a case on top of the table next to his laptop and opened it. Inside was a Nikon digital SLR camera with several lenses, mostly macro. He looked at the sky to see the likelihood of direct sunlight, which he preferred when photographing metal. A large cloud was passing over the sun but was unlikely to last.

Rachel asked him, "How could we ever find little washers within a mile or two radius of a particular spot if we can't find them with a metal detector?"

"With determination, diligence, and luck."

Rachel looked around and considered the likelihood of finding a couple of washers in several square miles of woods. "Doesn't sound very likely to me."

"Nor me. But if we use our brains, perhaps we'll think of something they didn't."

"Like what?"

Bradley breathed deeply. "Well, for example, the NTSB is convinced the blade came off a mile or two away from here and just landed next to the helicopter in one of those weird things that happens in many accidents."

I was listening to every word and stopped fiddling with my camera to make sure I heard him.

He continued, "That is probably right, as I see it. I don't think the blade came off right here, on the way down. But it is an assumption. You see how an early assumption can lead you astray? Anyway, the
additional
assumption is that the tip weights came off before the blade came off and therefore are 'out there' somewhere, miles from here."

I jumped in, "Well, if their tip-weight theory is true, wouldn't that make sense?"