At a solid, muscular two hundred twenty pounds, his strength was impressive. His personal regimen was strict.
He received accolades in marksmanship, self-defense, and field navigation, and after two years, became part of the Special Forces Airborne Division in Fort Bragg, North Carolina. At the end of his four-year enlistment, the Army offered him a lucrative reenlistment incentive and, seeing nothing in civilian life very promising, he stayed in four more years.
He’d earned respect from his fellow soldiers and his superiors alike for his calm demeanor in the face of adversity, his intuitive instinct, and his survival skills — skills he shelved in civilian life, not knowing that one day they might save his life.
CHAPTER 9
The black 1967 Pontiac GTO screeched to a stop in the NTSB designated parking area at the Atlanta Federal Building. Four men stood next to the two Suburbans belonging to the NTSB Atlanta Field Office — some with their hands in their pockets, some with arms folded, all with an agitated look as they stared at Jake with Beth McAllister riding shotgun.
Beth raised her eyebrows. “It looks like the natives are growing restless.”
“You think? Should I tell them the real reason I’m late?”
She smiled.
He parked next to the white Suburbans brandishing the black block letters NTSB on the sides and rear, retrieved his bag from the trunk and handed her the keys.“Take care of her.”
“Don’t worry, Jake. I promise I’ll keep it under a hundred.”
Jake had always been a fan of the classic muscle cars — the GTO was his favorite. He bought the GTO from a man who was desperate to sell after going through a divorce. The man had started the restoration process when he had to sell — part of the marriage dissolution decree. Jake had spent the last ten months and over ten thousand dollars bringing the GTO to mint condition.
As she stepped out of the car, Pat McGill greeted her with a hug. “As always, it’s nice to see you again, Beth. Sorry again about ruining your vacation.”
“It’s nice to see you too, Pat. Don’t worry about it. Jake was getting to be a real pain in the ass,” she laughed. “God, all he wanted to do was eat, fish, and have sex and not necessarily in that order. I needed a break anyway.”
“Hey, I resemble that remark,” Jake said. He held up his hands. “Which vehicle am I in, Pat?”
McGill pointed to the Suburban next to the GTO. “You and I are in that one and actually, you’re driving.” McGill tossed him the keys.
McGill looked over at Beth and winked. “What are you going to do without him?”
“Get a little peace and quiet.” She grinned. “Or maybe just one good night’s sleep.”
“Funny girl,” Jake said. “I’ll call you when I know something.”
She slipped into the driver’s seat of the GTO, put it in gear and drove off. Jake put his bag in the back of the Suburban and closed the back door.
“I thought you were taking her to Peachtree City first?” McGill said.
“Well … it took us a little longer than I planned to get away from the cabin.”
McGill laughed, motioned all the investigators into a small circle and said, “I’ve done as much of the pre-launch checklist as I can, which I mentioned on the phone. The command center will call while we’re en route with more details. Let’s move out. We’re already well over our two hours.”
Within minutes of leaving the Federal Building, the two Suburbans were cruising down Interstate 75 southbound towards Macon. McGill leaned over and picked up one of the two-way radios. “Unit one to unit two, how do you read?”
“Pat, we got you five by five.” It was a reference to the old military scale of one to five, or loud and clear.
McGill keyed the microphone. “When we get south of Macon on I-16, I’ll give the briefing to everyone at once, so keep the radio on.”
He put the radio down and turned to Jake. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been back to Savannah, much less for St. Patrick’s Day. It’s a shame we won’t get to enjoy the big party.”
“Can you believe it? I’ve lived in Georgia off and on my whole life and I’ve never been to Savannah. I’ve heard it has great food and plenty of beer.”
“It’s a historical town,” said McGill. “I lived there for several years after we moved from Ireland.”
“Okay. I know you’ve been in the states a long time but just how long did you live in Savannah? And what do you mean, we?”
“I moved to Savannah twenty-five years ago, with my aunt and my cousin.”
“With your aunt and cousin?” Jake asked. He slowed the Suburban for a construction zone on the interstate.
“My parents died when I was five,” McGill said. “My aunt and uncle took me in and raised me.”
“You’ve been here twenty-five years and in all that time you’ve never lost that Irish accent?” Jake laughed.
“No, I guess I haven’t.”
“What part of Ireland are you from?”
“Northern Ireland, actually. A little town in the northwestern corner called Londonderry. We left because of the Troubles in Northern Ireland. It got to be too much for my aunt to deal with.”
“What were the Troubles?”
“I thought you minored in political science? Don’t they teach you prep boys anything?”
“I thought that was just some religious tension stuff.”
“It’s more than that. It’s political, religious, ethnic. But mostly just a dark time in Ireland’s history. And, although it has gotten a lot better in recent years — mostly due to the 1998 Good Friday Peace Agreement and the formation of the New Northern Ireland Assembly — Northern Ireland still has a long way yet to go before we have true peace.”
Jake noticed a change in McGill’s expression, an introspective stillness. McGill was never one to talk about his past. It quickly became apparent he wasn’t going to talk about it now either. Something was bothering McGill, Jake knew that for sure.
CHAPTER 10
She stood in front of the mirror while waiting for the hot water to work its way through the pipes from her basement to her thirdfloor master bathroom. The volume on the TV was barely loud enough for her to notice the broadcast interruption from the news station. The news flash was reporting an aircraft accident that just occurred near the Savannah River. She ran into the bedroom, grabbed the TV remote from her nightstand and turned the volume up.
“A corporate jet has crashed while on approach to the Savannah International airport. According to sources, the crash site is on or near Hutchinson Island. Rescue, fire and police units are responding. Traffic has the Talmadge Bridge gridlocked and authorities have temporarily closed the bridge so rescue and emergency vehicles can access the scene. We will bring you more as developments occur.”
Annie looked at the clock next to her bed and knew that Gregg Kaplan must have been working the aircraft that crashed. She had been a controller for over fifteen years but had never worked an aircraft accident. She had heard the stories of stress and trauma from the air traffic controllers involved with accidents and could only imagine the emotions they felt.
She reached for the phone and started to dial Gregg’s cell phone, but then hung up. She didn’t know what to say to him. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she replayed the morning’s events.
Immediately after Kaplan had relieved her from the controller position, she had signed out for the day, headed to her locker, put up her headset and grabbed her purse. Kaplan’s suggestive remarks had distracted her with the thought of last night’s garden tub adventure. The events rolled through her mind as she exited the front door of the facility and headed across the parking lot to her car.