Marine One (16 page)

"I don't know. I guess I just don't want to give this to them. It's not a piece of the helicopter."

I slipped the key into my pocket. "I'll give it to them after a friend checks it out. Who on this helicopter had a key to the ritziest hotel in Washington, D.C.? A five-star hotel. They all
lived
in Washington. Why would they need a hotel room?"

I thought about who was on the helicopter. Three crew, Adams, two Secret Service agents, and the White House director of operations. Would Collins have a key like this? Was he seeing someone? Having an affair? Who else? Tinny would find out.

Will wasn't that interested in the human side. He wanted to know about the helicopter. "Well, let's do some other looking while we're out here. I didn't come out here to find a hotel key. Maybe we'll find something else just as interesting that I won't want to give to the NTSB."

He wandered toward the hill as I stood in the middle of the impact point. I looked like a bird-watcher looking up in the trees. It was completely quiet but there was a notable absence of birds. I couldn't hear anything except the occasional breeze that passed through the treetops. I watched one particularly beautiful oak sway far above the ground. It had to be seventy-five feet tall. As I watched it move, I noticed a divot out of the top. I focused my binoculars and could see that several large branches in the top of the tree were hanging, clearly broken. I didn't have quite the right angle and took a few steps closer. I looked at the impact spot and then those trees around it. I called to Karl. "Hey." He turned. "Take a look at this."

He wandered over, stepping around a few still muddy spots. "What?"

I handed him the binoculars and pointed to the top of the oak tree. "Look at the branches up there. Those are fairly substantial. They've been knocked to the side."

He took the binoculars and studied the branches. "Any other branches like this around here?"

"Not that I've seen."

"Could it be something else?"

"Don't think so."

"Could a piece of the helicopter fall and hit that branch? Like the blade that might have come off?"

"I don't think so. That would have broken it downward. This is broken to the side."

"So you think that's it? The first point of impact with anything touching the ground?"

"I think so. But look at the direction of the break."

He focused the binoculars and leaned forward as if the extra couple of inches would make the difference.

I said, "They're broken left to right. See that?"

"Yes."

"WorldCopters are different. When you're sitting in the cockpit of the helicopter and look up at the blades, they're coming around clockwise. Over your head, as you look up, from left to right. American helicopters go the other way. If you're an American investigator who hasn't looked at French helicopters much before-or Russian for that matter, they go the same way as the French-you might forget that. So if you look at those branches, they are broken in the direction you'd expect from an American helicopter. But for a French helicopter crashing down through the trees, it's all wrong."

He continued to look up, considering what it meant. "So this is the opposite of what you'd expect
if
you knew the direction of rotation of Marine One's rotors."

"Right."

"Meaning…"

I took the binoculars and put them in the case. "Meaning Marine One was upside down when it came through the trees."

"Holy shit. Then it sure wasn't an autorotation that hit too hard. They were out of control long before they came close to the ground."

THE PHONE RANG twice and he picked it up and answered with a tired voice, "Frank Flannery."

"Mike Nolan."

"I've been expecting your call."

"So I guess I need to hear what this guy has to say."

Flannery replied, "Not that easy. He refuses to meet with anyone."

"So what do we do? How am I supposed to talk to him?"

Flannery paused. "He's concerned about his safety. He thinks if he talks to you, his life will be in danger."

"Yeah, he told me that. But I don't get it. How would his life be in danger?"

"He says has evidence that will break this case wide-open. And he thinks you need to talk to him. If someone else, the wrong person, learns this information, it could have serious consequences."

"I'm not following this at all. But I am ready to talk to him."

"Like I said, it's not that easy."

"Look, at least give me a category of what he's talking about."

"No. He wants to be compensated for his time, and to be relocated."

That surprised me. "Relocated? Some kind of civil witness-protection program?"

"I think that's exactly what he has in mind. But obviously he's not working with the government, so it won't apply."

"It might if he is talking about activity that's criminal."

"I don't really know about that. He won't talk to the government."

"Why? If his information is so important, he could tell anybody."

"He thinks you would be particularly interested in it because it would be to the benefit of your client."

"How so?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"Shit, Frank, this is ridiculous." I thought for a second. "What does he mean compensated for his time?"

"He says this will cause him to lose his job. He'll have to move out of the area. He wants to be compensated for that loss."

"For a lost job? How much we talking about here?"

"All he's told me is that it will be significant."

"Whatever that means. How do I know he knows anything at all? How do I know this isn't some random guy pitching a scam?"

"He said you'd ask that. He said you can't know now, but you will once you hear his information."

"I'm going to have to think about it. You looked into the ethics of this?"

"I'm just representing him to protect his identity. I have not been retained to look into the ethical implications for you."

"I'll get back to you."

I hung up and called Braden to my office. I glanced at the clock and again reminded myself to go
home
. Just one more thing. Braden arrived and sat on the couch with a pad of paper ready for whatever new assignment I was about to give him. "I talked to the attorney representing that witness."

"Who?"

"The guy who called. The message you took."

"Right. What did he say?"

"The guy wants money. He wants to be compensated for his 'lost income' because he has to move. Wants us to relocate him. He says his life will be in danger once he tells us his information."

Braden stared at me. "Life in danger? How?"

"Who knows. Take a look at the ethical rules of compensating witnesses other than just witness fees and travel expenses. I don't think you can, but the feds do it all the time. In a criminal case the government pays a guy, gives him witness protection, relocates him to Des Moines, and pays him forever. They probably set them up with new wives for all I know. Why can't you compensate a witness in a civil trial? I don't know. Take a look and let me know."

"Will do."

____________________

That Friday, Tinny Byrd showed up at my office uninvited. He didn't need an invitation, but he didn't usually just drop by. But he also didn't really trust any form of communication. He eavesdropped on people's cell phones all the time, even though it was illegal. I always told him never to do it in my cases because we couldn't collect evidence illegally. He assured me he would never do it in one of my cases. He also didn't trust e-mail. He pretty much believed that anything that was converted into zeros and ones and transmitted where somebody else could catch it or duplicate it was a really bad idea. He was an old-school investigator who liked to stop by and hand you a manila envelope with a grin on his face. He loved seeing your face when he handed you something new, something that might be exciting. He almost always waited for you to open the envelope. He said it made him feel like Santa Claus.

Dolores called me and said he was downstairs. He didn't even know I'd be there. I went down and got him and walked him up to my office. We sat down and chatted for quite a while about nothing in particular. Sports, law, criminal cases, the shop talk of attorneys and investigators. He sat holding an envelope but was in no hurry either to give it to me or to leave.

Braden came in. "Sorry, I didn't know you were with anybody."

"No, this is Tinny Byrd. He's the investigator I've told you about." Tinny stood and shook Braden's hand and studied his face. "Nice to meet you, Braden."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Byrd." Braden turned to me and said, "I'll come back later."

"Since you're here, what do you have?"

"I finished that memo you have on-" Braden paused, looking at Tinny. "The phone call."

"Right. Thanks, I'll come talk to you about it later. Thanks."

Tinny sat back down in the chair opposite me, and Braden went back to his office.

Byrd looked confused. "Where did he come from? I've never met him before."

"New guy. I needed some help."

"He all right?"

"Yeah, I think he's tired. He's been up late nights working. He works his butt off. He's here all hours of the day. What do you have?"

Byrd closed the door and sat back down. He leaned forward and handed me the envelope and began to speak quietly. "The meeting. You wanted to know who A3 was going to see at Camp David."

I was stunned. "You found out who was at Camp David?"

"No, not yet, not about that exactly. But I'm getting him to talk about other things. Trying to lubricate the communications between us. By the way, he thinks all this stuff about WorldCopter is bullshit. He thinks something bad happened. Something real bad."

"Like an assassination?"

"I don't know if he'd go that far. He's not involved in any of the investigations. He just has a feeling."

"That's real helpful. Maybe I can call him as a witness and he can testify about his feelings."

"Don't be a smart-ass," Byrd said. "I may get something out of him, maybe something we can use. I don't know. He's tough, but he knows what was going on at Camp David, and I can tell just as sure as shit he thinks whatever it was that was going on is related to the crash. Too much of a coincidence."

"So what was going on?"

"Won't say. But it was huge. He just shakes his head. Says he may have to go to his grave with this. And he doesn't think the NTSB is even looking in the right place. He doesn't trust them."

"How do we get him to talk about it?"

"I'm working it, Michael, I'm working it." Byrd reached into his pocket. "Oh, I almost forgot." He handed me the key from The Virginian. "Interesting key."

"What'd you find out?"

"That is one stuck-up, stiff-assed place, that's what. They cater to the big shots of the world and all the politicos. And their mistresses, of course. They wouldn't tell me shit."

"Well, thanks-"

"I didn't say I didn't find anything out. You doubt me?"

"What you got?"

"I found one lady who was willing to help."

"You always do."

"Pretty much. Anyway, I gave her the names of everyone on the helicopter. None of them had a room there in the last month."

"What about the key?"

"Interesting. Not for a room."

"What was it for?"

"You know how they have small, secret conference rooms in some hotels? You don't even know they're there? Rooms that don't even have numbers? It was one of those."

"Could they tell when?"

"Yeah. The key was coded for the night before the accident."

"To a hidden conference room?"

"Yep."

"Who was it registered to?"

"John Smith."

"Oh, right. And how was it paid for?"

"Cash."

I stood up and began pacing around the room. "What do you make of it?"

"I asked her if there were any bigwigs staying there that night."

"What did she say?"

"Always. Every night. Assortment of international big shots."

"Does she know who used the room?"

"No idea."

"We need to get a complete guest list."

Byrd shook his head. "She can't get it for me. It's encrypted on their system."

"Fine. I'll subpoena it."

Byrd frowned. "Not sure I'd do that, Michael. People would notice."

"So?"

"There's more. She didn't know who used the room, but she said one of the maids is Chinese. Taiwanese, actually, and walked by the room when the door was open. She heard someone talking inside in perfect Taiwanese. Big shot. Like he owned the place. Talking to a couple of other Taiwanese. Ordering them around. She couldn't tell what it was all about, but no doubt they were Taiwanese. There were a couple of Westerners in the room too. Americans she thought, but couldn't be sure. She thought it was strange that he was talking loudly in Taiwanese when the Americans couldn't understand him. But it was just for a second."

"Taiwanese? What would they have to do with the president?"

"That's your job. I just find out what happened. You're the one who's supposed to make sense of it all."

Taiwan threw me. I couldn't imagine what that would have to do with the crash. "I don't know, Tinny. Adams was always making a big deal about his Chinese policy, although I couldn't really tell you what he meant by that. I thought it was the usual political bullshit, lots of air and posturing. Maybe he had something going on. I'll have to think about that." I turned, then thought to ask again, "The night before the crash? You sure? Is she sure?"

"Yep."

"We'll keep digging."

Tinny frowned. "I don't know, man. There's stuff out there. A lot of anxiety. Something. I don't know who's working this, but there's more out there than just the government."

"So what? I'll subpoena the guest list from the hotel for that night. I've got to get to the bottom of this, Tinny. Our client's neck is in a noose."

"Let me give it another shot my way. Let me try."

"We've got to get something solid, Tinny. Something admissible. We're so close to breaking this open. Call your Secret Service guy again too. Tell him to talk to me."