Marine One (2 page)

I walked up the stairs to my office. Rachel was right behind me. Her office was next to mine. I turned on my computer, checked a few news Web sites, and glanced at my e-mails. Dozens of e-mails from other Marine pilots in the reserves, most wanting everyone else's take on the accident. I could answer those later. I picked up the phone and dialed Kathryn's number.

THE PHONE RANG three times before Kathryn's secretary picked it up. "Ms. Galbraith's office." She sounded harried.

"Morning, Michelle. Is Kathryn available?"

"She's in a conference. May I take a message?"

I could imagine the pandemonium in her office on the fortieth floor at the south end of Manhattan. It wasn't too far from where the World Trade Center towers had been. Kathryn had watched the planes fly into the towers from her office window while she was talking to her twelve-year-old daughter on the phone. She said it had changed her life. They had debated moving their offices to New Jersey, but had decided that would be giving in and had stuck it out in New York.

"Sure, please tell her that Mike Nolan called."

"Oh, sorry, Mr. Nolan. I didn't recognize your voice. It's been pretty crazy-"

"No problem."

"She wants to talk to you. Please hold while I get her."

"Sure."

I waited for almost ten minutes, searching various Web sites for the latest information while I waited. Kathryn came on the line. "Mike, you still there? Sorry."

"No problem. Morning."

"It feels like ten o'clock at night. What a morning. Look, Marine One."

"Yeah, bad deal. Who do you have?"

"WorldCopter. They're getting absolutely hammered in the press. Did you see Senator-"

"I heard about it."

"What the hell does he think he's doing?"

"Grandstanding. It's what they do."

"It's
really unhelpful right now."

I waited.

"Look, WorldCopter wants an attorney on this
right now
. They know they're going to be in everyone's crosshairs. They want someone who has tried helicopter cases
and
understands criminal cases, and they want a helicopter pilot. That's a small group of people. And not only are you a helicopter pilot, it's my recollection when we were working on that Bell case that you actually fly this same helicopter. The same as Marine One."

"True. The standard Marine Corps version."

"WorldCopter knows that no matter what happens, they're the target. NTSB investigation, Senate investigation, probably the FBI, maybe Justice, pretty much everybody in Washington will be after them. And they figure in a crash this big, somebody's going to sue them, one of the widows of the Secret Service agents, who knows? And they think when the investigations are all done, the government will never find pilot error; they'll try to dump this on them."

"They may be right." The NTSB's default logic is that the butler did it-the pilot. But when the butler is the
president's
pilot and the helicopter is mostly French, their default would probably be to find something wrong with the helicopter.

"So I gave them your name, faxed them your CV. It's a little bit of a hard sell because you're not with a big firm. They're not sure you can handle it. But for now I've convinced everyone. You know what I remember most?"

"What?"

"Remember that Whitcomb case? The one you tried in Virginia?"

"Sure."

"I've never seen anyone cooler under pressure. That whole thing was falling down around your ears and you just got more and more calm. Everybody, including the client, wanted to cave and settle… what did our expert do?"

"He changed his testimony on cross-examination to support the plaintiff's case."

"And you cross-examined him, you impeached your own expert, then told the jury you had been wrong and changed your whole theory in the middle of trial. That took nerves of steel, Mike. If I weren't a woman, I'd say it took something else. But I think this case may take even stronger nerves, if that makes sense. Look, they're very impressed by your hours in this helicopter, and they like that you do criminal work. We want to retain you for WorldCopter. Any conflicts?"

"No, no problem."

"Good. They want you on it right now."

"Fine. They want to meet?"

"No, I mean right now, as in at the accident scene."

That caught me by surprise. "The scene? Attorneys don't go to the scene until the NTSB is done."

"This is different. They don't trust
anybody
. They want you there, as an adviser at the scene itself. When can you get there?"

"I'm not sure the NTSB will even let me. And if I go to the scene, it might make me a witness. I could get disqualified if it goes to trial if I have to testify."

"I told them that. They don't care. They're willing to take the chance. How long to get out there?"

"Where is it?" I only knew it was on the way to Camp David.

"I'll send you the coordinates. It's where the hills toward Camp David start forming ravines. Supposedly there's a fire road about a thousand yards from the site. It's probably all mud by now. Do you have four-wheel drive?"

"Yeah, sort of. It'll take me at least a couple of hours. Maybe more."

She wasn't deterred. "I'll e-mail you the coordinates. Do you have GPS?"

"Yeah. I'll leave now and head in the general direction. E-mail me the coordinates and I'll punch them in."

"Make sure your cell is on." She hung up. She had never hung up on me without saying anything else.

I grabbed my suit coat and walked to Rachel's office.

She turned toward me. "What's up?"

"Let's go."

"Go where?"

"To the scene. We've been hired to represent WorldCopter."

"And they want us out at the scene?"

"Yep. Right now. Me actually, but I want you there in case I start yelling at somebody. You can tell them I haven't had my medication or something. Come on, we need to go right now. Meet me out at my house in thirty minutes. You remember where I live?"

"Sure. Do I need to bring anything?"

"Just your boots, whatever you've got that has Gore-Tex, and your new camera. Don't be late, or I'll leave without you. We've got to get out there before they rig the entire investigation to make WorldCopter look like a shitty foreign company that killed the president."

Rachel was on time. She climbed into my Volvo and we headed off. Kathryn had sent me the coordinates of the accident site and where the fire road intersected the state highway. I had grabbed my VFR flight chart out of my flight bag, which showed the fire road. It didn't show Camp David of course. Charts didn't show a lot of things the government didn't want on charts.

The GPS showed us as a triangle on a moving map heading out of Annapolis into the countryside. I put the coordinates in my handheld GPS as well.

The rain had slightly slackened. It was one of those confused times in March that could become winter or spring, depending on its mood.

The fire road was probably just a dirt strip between the trees and by now was surely just a muddy rut. Worse, it was probably obliterated by the fire and rescue trucks, to say nothing of the FBI, Secret Service, and NTSB vehicles. I had serious doubts I'd be able to get through the mess in my Volvo SUV.

Rachel asked, "You ever been out this way?"

"I've been to Catoctin Mountain Park -where Camp David is. It's a national park. I've been fishing there. Nice place. Lots of hardwood, some pine. Broke a good bamboo fly rod out there. Should have taken my little three-weight rod for the stream I was fishing, but I was in a hurry."

Rachel turned toward me in her seat. "What did Kathryn say?"

"WorldCopter's sure they're going to be the sacrificial goat. Too easy a target. They want legal advice from the first minute, at the scene."

Rachel shook her head. "Nothing like a foreign company killing the president. Particularly a French one. This is going to be something."

"It's officially an American company, but I hear you." I handed her my BlackBerry. "Take a look at the e-mail Kathryn sent me. It has the names of the company reps that will be out there. Most are French, but they all speak English. They've got a power-plant guy, an airframe guy, an accident investigator…"

"Will the NTSB let them get involved?"

"Sure. They always do. They have company reps in all the groups. They need to know what the manufacturer knows. They have their best investigator on it already. I heard the name on the television."

"Who is he?"

"It's a she. Her name is Rose Lisenko." I looked at the GPS screen as Rachel copied the names from my BlackBerry to her pad. "One mile. Start looking for the fire road to our left."

The rain had picked up again. It pounded on the moonroof and ran down the sides of the windshield after the wipers tried to throw it out of the way. I leaned forward to see through the distorted images. My cell phone, which was also my BlackBerry, rang. Rachel was still holding it. "Answer it."

Rachel pushed the button. "Rachel Long." She waited and looked at me. "Hi, Kathryn, yes, he's right here." She handed me the BlackBerry.

"Hi, Kathryn."

"I wanted to let you know about a development." Her voice sounded wearier than the last time we had spoken.

"Sure."

"Where are you?"

"About a mile from the fire road."

"Still raining?"

"It slowed, but now it's pouring again."

"Hope you can get there."

"Me too. What is it?"

"The attorney general just went on the television. Justice is beginning an investigation."

"What kind of investigation?" I asked as I slowed. I pointed toward where I expected the fire road to be. Rachel nodded and started looking.

"Unrelated to the NTSB and Secret Service. He said he's looking into the bid process and how WorldCopter was selected for the presidential helicopter. And how this helicopter got into use when some of the people who worked on it didn't have clearances."

"Picked right up where the senator left off."

"He called for a meeting with the president of WorldCopter for tomorrow. We've talked to the president. He wants you to be there."

"Me? When?"

"Tomorrow. In D.C."

"Don't they have their own in-house guys?"

"Yes, but they want you to be there."

"Absolutely. Is it at Justice?"

"Two o'clock."

"We've got to prepare for that, Kathryn. You can't just walk into that buzz saw."

"You're set to have lunch at noon tomorrow at the Capital Grille. There's a room reserved in the back."

"Okay. I'll be there-There it is!" I said to Rachel as I pulled off the road. "Sorry, Kathryn, we're at the fire road. I've got to go."

"Call me later."

I never would have found the fire road if I hadn't had GPS. It was raining so hard I could barely see the Maryland highway. I turned sharply off the pavement onto the dirt and felt the wheels settle sickeningly into the mud. I selected mandatory four-wheel drive and pressed gently on the accelerator. The tires gripped enough to keep us moving, and we drifted through the water-filled shoulder onto a slightly firmer surface that led us into the woods. I accelerated cautiously knowing if we stopped, we'd never get moving again. We headed deeper into the woods following the now obvious ruts and tracks. The windshield wipers hurled the rain off the windshield just fast enough for me to see my way. I glanced down at the GPS screen. Fire roads aren't on the nav system so it wasn't of much help. It showed us gliding over a green forest with no road in sight.

We rounded a gentle curve and came upon an FBI roadblock. Several agents had set up a crude but intimidating barrier where the road narrowed. They motioned me to stop. "No visitors," one of the agents said. Others were standing in the woods with firearms protruding from their parkas.

"I'm Mike Nolan. I'm with WorldCopter. I'm their attorney."

He looked at a list on his PalmPilot. "ID?"

I handed him my driver's license. He examined it closely, then handed it back. "About a mile ahead. Watch out for the hill."

I nodded, accelerated gently, and pulled away. We regained our momentum and were making good progress. Suddenly the road made a sharp turn to the right and I found myself hurtling down a steep hill. I turned the wheel quickly to stay straight, but not fast enough. The Volvo slid sideways down the hill. I continued to try to compensate for the drift. Finally the wheels gripped and we headed straight downhill, only to see what had to be twenty-five trucks and cars parked at the bottom. I put on my brakes, which tried to help, but even with antiskid the tires couldn't grip the slushy mud. Rachel grabbed the handle on the side of the door as she braced herself for the impact and prepared to be punched in the face by the air bag. I could hear the word "Shit" forming in her mouth.

I was completely out of control as we plummeted down the muddy bank. As we careened to the bottom of the hill, I saw an area to the right of the parked vehicles that looked like mush. It was the only hope I had. I gently turned the wheels to the right, praying for
some
traction or at least steerage; the car moved sluggishly off the fire road into the high grass just shy of the trees. Rachel recoiled from the door, waiting for me to hit one of the massive trees on the right, now inches from her door. I gently braked, hoping to take off some speed. There was just enough room on the right of the parked vehicles and to the left of the trees for me to pass through and head up the other hill. I flashed past an international-yellow fire truck and slowed quickly in the mud beyond. I braked, came to a halt, turned the wheels sharply back toward the trees, and stopped. We both took a deep breath, and I said, "Let's go."

Rachel slowly removed her white hand from the door handle. I grabbed my parka from the back and pulled it over my head, got out, and opened the hatch. Rachel joined me underneath it, out of the rain. She looked for the location of the wreck and saw the tracks headed past the parked vehicles. She pointed toward the hill. I looked at my handheld GPS, which had the coordinates of the wreck, and nodded.