“When can they go home?” April asked, slowly regaining her balance.
He shrugged. “Contrary to popular belief, we don’t kick everyone out instantly. I’d say tomorrow morning, if they’re feeling up to it. I would prefer to keep them overnight because of the head bumps and hypothermia.”
She thanked him and started to turn when he stopped her. “Oh, Ms. Rosen? Your friend Gracie has called me several times from Seattle.”
“Several?” April said, grinning at him.
“Okay, about ten times. She’s my new best friend, and persistent enough to be a head nurse. I think she wants a call from you when possible.”
April thanked him and punched in Gracie’s number on her cell phone, handing it to her father as she returned to his bedside. He initiated the speakerphone function and placed the phone on his chest.
“Gracie! How’s my favorite surrogate daughter?”
“Well, I’m fine, Captain R, but how the heck are you and Rachel? And what happened? You two scared us to death.”
Arlie chuckled, taking time to breathe before answering. April sensed motion and looked over to see two men, one in a business suit, the other more casually dressed, standing uncomfortably just inside the door.
“Gracie,” Arlie was saying, “I haven’t had time to go over this with April yet, but… we lost the Albatross somehow.”
“I’m so sorry, Captain,” Gracie replied, as April got to her feet and covered the small distance to the two men.
“May I help you?” April asked, already aware that the taller of the two, a man in his early thirties, was fumbling with something that looked like a wallet. The leather case opened, and she read the words “National Transportation Safety Board” before realizing that the other man was holding up a similar wallet with the familiar logo of the Federal Aviation Administration.
“George Mikulsky, NTSB field investigator for Alaska,” the young man was saying. She took his offered hand without enthusiasm, acutely aware that her father’s voice was filling the room as he began to describe the accident to Gracie.
The FAA inspector appeared to be in his fifties and humorless, a severe expression on his face. He offered his hand as well. “I’m Walter Harrison,” he said, without changing expression.
“Gentlemen, let’s step out in the corridor and give my father some privacy for a few seconds here,” April said, ushering them out and pulling the door closed behind her, muting Arlie’s words. “What can I — can we — help you with?”
Mikulsky and Harrison glanced at each other without expression before the NTSB investigator broke the brief silence.
“Well, there’s apparently been an aviation accident here involving your father and mother, and the loss of their aircraft, and the NTSB is required to investigate all air accidents.”
“I’m aware of that,” April replied, her voice flat and cautious, her demeanor automatically protective. “And you want to interview my father, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. Dr. Swift said he was physically able to be interviewed.”
“This is a routine thing, Miss Rosen,” Harrison added a bit too forcefully.
“You know, I just got here myself,” April said. “I’ve hardly had time to hug him, and I haven’t even seen my mom yet. Couldn’t this wait?”
Harrison was shaking his head as Mikulsky answered. “If he was physically unable to talk to us, of course it could, but we’ve got some basic questions we need to have answered, and the sooner the better. After all, this involved a major Coast Guard search-and-rescue operation. We’d appreciate your cooperation.”
April glanced at the nurses’ station, sharing a brief nod with the nurse who had first greeted her before turning back to the two men.
“Okay, you know what? Let me go talk to my dad for a few minutes and make sure he feels up to it. I shouldn’t be making the decision for him.”
“We’ll wait out here,” Harrison replied.
She pushed open the door and let it close behind her, waiting for a lull in the conversation between her father and Gracie.
“Dad… Gracie, hold it a second,” April interjected, explaining who was waiting and what they wanted to do.
“I should be there,” Gracie said immediately from Seattle.
“Why, Gracie?” Arlie asked.
“It’s the feds, complete with enforcement authority, Captain, that’s why. Maybe we should call the Air Line Pilots Association to send someone.”
“It’s not an airline matter, Gracie, and I didn’t do anything wrong. So, hey, it’s our government, and I pay most of their salaries, so I’ll talk to them.”
“Ho-kay, Captain. But if you need me, I’m right here. And if they ask you when you stopped beating Rachel, clam up and call me.”
Arlie chuckled. “I’m sure it will be just a pro forma thing, Gracie. But I appreciate your being cautious.”
“April, you there?” Gracie asked.
April turned off the speakerphone and pulled the cell phone to her ear. “Yeah.”
“Monitor that interview, lady, and cut it off if there’s anything you don’t like in their tone. Take notes, too.”
“Should I tell them to go away?”
“No, that just antagonizes. I just don’t trust the FAA to be fair.”
“That’s an awful commentary.”
“I know. And it was your dad who taught me that.”
SEVEN
TUESDAY, DAY 2 PROVIDENCE ALASKA MEDICAL CENTER, ANCHORAGE
The fact that George Mikulsky of the NTSB had produced a small tape recorder and asked permission to tape the interview prompted April to pull a tiny five-hour digital recorder from her purse and do the same, a move that sparked a clear flash of anger from the FAA inspector.
“Do you object to my recording the interview?” April asked Harrison. “Especially since you’re recording it, too.”
The FAA inspector forced his expression back to neutral.
“No. Not a problem. No reason you shouldn’t,” he said, his conciliatory tone too forced.
They gathered in the hospital room with Harrison and Mikulsky sitting on gray metal chairs by the right side of Arlie Rosen’s bed, and April sitting on the other side. Both men had shaken hands with Arlie before sitting, Mikulsky making more of an effort to smile and be friendly.
“Okay, Captain Rosen,” George Mikulsky began, “this is not a deposition, it’s an informal interview, but it is on the record, which is why I’m recording it, with your permission. Now, would you just take us through what you recall of last night, beginning with takeoff, and including route, altitude, flight plan, radio calls, et cetera.”
“I’ll do my best, fellows. I’m still pretty fuzzy.”
“Your plane’s tail number was November Three Four Delta Delta, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And it was current on all airworthiness certificates, inspections, airworthiness directive items?”
“She certainly was. I’m also a licensed A and P mechanic. All logs are current, but they’re in the plane — wherever it is.”
Mikulsky made a note and nodded. “Sorry, Captain. Go ahead. How did the flight start?”
Arlie described a routine takeoff from the smooth surface of Anchorage’s Lake Hood, just north of Anchorage International Airport. He remembered a lazy climb to six thousand feet as they flew down the channel known as Turnagain Arm and crossed a low ridge of mountains to fly over Whittier and out to sea.
“It was dusk, and my intention was to make Sitka, and the weather report was favorable for visual flight. In other words, clearly VFR. That was true until we were about sixty miles east of Whittier. Then I had to start descending and cutting more to the south over Montague Island on more or less a direct GPS course toward Middleton Island in order to avoid the cloud layers lying more to the north. Once we’d cleared Montague, I decided to keep stepping down over the water until we were cruising at a thousand feet. I’ve got a great… had a great moving map GPS, so I knew we were clear of any land. But by the time we’d passed Middleton, I realized we were in a sort of trap, and I told Rachel this wasn’t going to work and began trying to raise Anchorage Center for a pop-up instrument clearance.”