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The cabin configuration had two sets of facing leather seats on the left side of the aircraft and two individual seats plus a couch on the right side. A wood partition in the front of the cabin that separated the galley from the seating area had been ripped free and hurled toward the rear of the aircraft with enough force to sever two seats just above the armrests. On impact, the floor buckled and collapsed, breaking free the couch, which smashed into the seated flight attendant, crushing her. Her body was still strapped to her seat, charred stumps sticking out where her knees should have been.

The breeze shifted slightly, blowing ash and smoke from the smoldering cabin toward the team. The smell of the muck and the marsh mixed with the odors of jet fuel, burnt plastic and leather was tolerable. But the pungent stench of charred flesh was too much for Larry Kirkland — he doubled over and vomited in the marsh.

Ben reached in his pocket and pulled out a ten dollar bill. “Here, Dave. You win again.”

Dave grabbed the bill. “Like taking candy from a baby.”

In the split second before the fireball consumed the cabin, the passengers had suffered blunt traumas as projectiles flew through the cabin at speeds faster than any human can react.

Ben pointed to a body with no head. “Another decap.” He moved closer and saw the head dangling from the back of the seat by the burnt sinews in the man’s neck. It would later be determined that the older red-haired bodyguard died when the seat in front of him broke free and hit him in the face, knocking his head over the back of his headrest and snapping his neck on impact.

Pat McGill pointed to the lower half of a body still strapped in a seat. The second of the two O’Rourke bodyguards had died when, with the twisting of the metal fuselage, cabin spars tore into the cabin and impaled him, then with a secondary impact ripped free, leaving him disemboweled and dismembered — scattering pieces of his upper body out onto the debris field.

The remains of the passenger identified as Laurence O’Rourke had no discernable blunt trauma. His charred blackened body sat upright in his seat, his scorched briefcase still on his lap.

The rear section of the Challenger lay in the muck turned slightly upward. The engines were still attached but mangled, several turbine blades in each engine were missing. The rear bulkhead had burned through, exposing several metal strips that were ripped and twisted upward.

The team located the left wing alongside and slightly behind the main wreckage by nearly fifty feet. It had been sheared off and lay flat on the marsh with the left main gear protruding, tires upward, through the wing.

The right wing was about one hundred feet north of the main wreckage, indicating the aircraft first struck the ground in a slight right-wing low configuration, ripping it free on impact. McGill noted this would have pulled the aircraft slightly toward the right, and when the aircraft hit the ground, the left wing had sheared off as the Challenger plowed into the marsh.

The marsh, normally filled with a variety of aquatic and insect species, was now littered with mechanized death. Aircraft debris and body parts were strewn in every direction from the impact.

Ben Lewis tripped on something and fell face-down onto the marsh flat. “Shit.” He rolled over — coveralls coated in muck.

He had tripped on a mud-covered shoulder and a right arm.

He stuck a red flag in the ground. “God, sometimes I really hate this job.”

CHAPTER 16

He stood on the balcony of his sixteenth floor room looking into the foggy evening. The lights below him accented the Savannah Westin’s pool — barely visible. A hint of the Savannah River glinted below as the fog rolled across the water.

Jake wondered if the water taxis would operate in these conditions, but that question was answered as a ferry eased into the dock, blasting its horn to announce its arrival.

“How much longer?” He called into the room.

“Don’t rush me,” Beth said from the bathroom. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes. My hair doesn’t like this humid Savannah air. I’m going to have to pin it up. Tell me about the walk-through and your meeting.”

“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary, just Uzis scattered at the crash site?

“Uzis? You mean, like the gun?”

“Yes, precisely like the gun. This guy O’Rourke had two bodyguards and they were packing some serious firepower. Uzis. Beretta pistols, with silencers no less.”

Jake walked into the room and closed the door to the balcony. “There were a few other things worth noting, too.”

“Yeah, like what, babe?” She asked, while she struggled to fix her hair.

“Are you asking just to placate me or are you really interested in what went on today?”

She stuck her head out of the bathroom. “Maybe a little of both.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Come on, Jake, what other things?” She moved back into the bathroom.

“Little things, really. After the aircraft took off from Dallas, the crew got a cabin door warning light and instead of turning around they just leveled off and made a quick stop at Longview, Texas.”

“Is that unusual?”

“It’s certainly out of the ordinary, but it does happen from time to time. Then controller gave him a through clearance in and out of Longview.”

Beth stuck her head out of the bathroom door. “Come on, Jake. You know I don’t know what that means.”

“A through clearance is basically a clearance to make an approach at the airport, stop for a short time interval and a clearance to depart by a certain time. It’s what it sounds like, a clearance through an airport. But I haven’t seen a controller use a through clearance in years. It completely blocks an airport, nobody in or out until the through clearance aircraft has departed, which is something controllers usually don’t want to do.”

Jake stepped into the doorway to the bathroom. Beth leaned forward to the mirror putting on mascara. She wore a white terry cloth robe.

“Five minutes, Jake. That’s all I need.”

“I’m just looking.”

“How about the meeting? How’d it go? Was Pat boring again?”

“The meetings are boring — not Pat. He’s just reads the same damn script with adjustments for each individual accident. It’s boring and dry. Puts everyone to sleep.”

“Did Pat give you anything new this time?”

“Nope. I’m working with Dave on the Structures group and heading the Air Traffic Control and Operations groups. I’ll be working with some woman named Donna Greene from the Arlington, Texas, Field Office.” Jake spun her eye liner pencil on the counter.

“I need that Jake. Now don’t mess me up or it’ll just take longer. So, why is someone from the Arlington office on an accident in Savannah, Georgia?”

“Ms. Greene will get the information about the aircraft and crew and the owner from Dallas. Then she’ll get the ATC data from the facilities involved and send it to me here. She’ll get maintenance logs and training records and anything else we may need.”

She turned to Jake. “What time do you start in the morning?”

“Seven.”

“That’s not too early.”

She removed her robe and hung it up in the closet. ”How do I look?

“You look wonderful as always. Better take a coat though, it’ll get chilly tonight.”

“How long do you think this investigation is going to take?”

“I imagine we’ll be here at least a week, maybe more. Maybe less.”

“Well, then I’m not waiting around. I have too much to do. I’ll stay until the day after St. Pattys then I’m going home. You’ll just have to wing it without me.”

“Why can’t you stay? It’ll only be another couple of days after that, I’m sure.”