I wrenched the wheel. The vehicle skidded along the soil, straightening out until we were parallel with the plane.
Dirt swirled around us. I jolted as the truck slammed into something. Metal crunched. Glass cracked. The air bag deployed, smashing into me, driving me back against the seat.
Fighting off a wave of dizziness, I inhaled a few shallow breaths. My right hand reached up, groping the shelf behind me. Grabbing my machete, I thrust the blade into the bag. Air leaked out. My breathing normalized.
I punctured the other airbag. Beverly and Graham slumped into their seats. While they refilled their lungs, I rubbed my neck. It felt sore. But otherwise, I was uninjured.
Tiny jets of hot air ripped at me. I felt grit in my throat. I glanced at the windshield and side windows. Constructed from laminated safety glass, they’d largely withstood the crash. But tiny cracks perforated their surfaces. Dirt, egged on by the fierce wind, pushed through the cracks.
“Everyone …?” More dirt shot into my lungs and I coughed. “Everyone okay?”
Beverly stretched her limbs. “Define okay.”
“What the hell happened?” Graham asked.
“I guess I lost control.” Peering through the windshield, I saw a mound of dirt. “The plane kicked up a bunch of soil. Looks like we ran into it.”
“Lucky us.”
The wind howled. The windows shuddered.
“We can’t stay here.” Beverly coughed a few times. “The storm … it’s too strong.”
“What about the plane?” Graham said. “It might work as shelter.”
I glanced at the plane, barely seeing it in the raging storm. I knew we’d find corpses inside the fuselage. The real question was whether we’d find any survivors. “Check it out.” I replied. “I’m going to dig out the truck, move it a little closer to the plane.”
Graham forced his door open. Swirling dirt flew into the cab. Quickly, he and Beverly climbed outside.
Flying dirt stung my skin as I exited the vehicle. I trudged to the flatbed and checked the reliquary. It was nestled safely in its cradle, protected by the plastic covering and mountains of cables and cords.
Fighting against the wind, I made my way to the front of the vehicle. The truck was embedded two feet into a mound of dirt. The collision had caused more dirt to pour down from above, covering the rest of the front end with a thick layer of soil.
“We’ve got a problem.” Beverly appeared, striding through the vicious storm.
I twisted to face her. “What is it?”
“That isn’t an ordinary plane.”
“Oh?”
“There’s no way inside it.”
The truck’s passenger door creaked open. Light clattering noises rang out as Graham gathered his toolbox.
“Hang on a second.” Bending over, I studied the vehicle’s underside. My lip curled in disgust as I realized how I’d lost control of the vehicle. “Damn it.”
Beverly knelt down. Her face clouded over as she stared at the flat tire.
“Well, that settles it.” Exhaling loudly, I stood up. “Like it or not, we’re stuck here.”
Chapter 19
“What kind of plane is that anyway?” Graham peered into the swirling storm. “It looks like a damn sea monster.”
Indeed, the wreckage was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. The aluminum fuselage, painted a dull white, bulged out at the front end like the head of a serpent. A giant turbofan engine was mounted on top of the aircraft, facing the bulbous head. The single remaining wing was long and narrow. It looked utterly incapable of transporting such a heavy aircraft.
My gaze turned to a deep groove trailing the plane. Apparently, the pilot had failed to deploy the landing gear in time. However, he or she had still managed to crash land in relatively smooth fashion. The plane had slid on its belly, losing a wing in the process, before finally tunneling into the soil.
“Do you recognize the model?” I asked Beverly.
“No, but …” Her voice sounded hollow in the wind.
“But what?”
She shook her head. “Let’s just get inside it.”
My eyes traced the fuselage. The side facing us was only half-buried in soil. Still, I didn’t see any sign of a cabin door. Twisting toward the tail, I started to walk around the plane.
“Don’t bother,” Beverly said. “There’s no door. And no windows either.”
“Well, what about those missiles?” I asked. “They must’ve left a hole somewhere.”
“We think they struck the opposite wing,” Graham said. “They didn’t completely destroy it, but did enough damage to force the landing.”
“But there’s a hole, right?”
Beverly nodded. “Unfortunately, it’s too high to reach. The same goes for the cockpit.”
My gaze turned to Graham. His toolbox was clutched in his hands. “So, how do we get in there?”
He hiked to the tail. A giant metal access panel, also painted a dull white, was positioned about a foot off the ground. He pounded a fist on the panel. “Through here.”
For the next few minutes, we attacked the panel’s bolts and screws. One by one, they loosened.
The wind picked up speed. The air felt unbearably hot and dry. I opened a water bottle and tipped it to my lips. But when I tried to drink, dirt particles swept inside the bottle, turning the liquid into mud. Disgusted, I spat out the muck and went back to work.
As I loosened a bolt, I tried to make sense of the strange aircraft. From all appearances, the panel was the plane’s only access point. And yet, it had been sewed up tight from the outside.
But why? Was someone trying to keep the pilot from exiting the aircraft?
Graham removed the last bolt. Beverly yanked a metal handle. The panel swung open, revealing a darkened interior.
She pulled it open a few more inches and hoisted herself into the plane. Soft clunking noises sounded out as she gained her footing.
The wind gained even more speed as I helped Graham through the gap. I cast one final glance at the reliquary. It sat quietly on the flatbed, surrounded by the growing storm. I hated to leave it, but unfortunately, there was nothing else I could do to protect it.
Dirt danced around me as I turned back to the hatch. Hacking loudly, I hoisted myself into the darkness.
And into the unknown.
Chapter 20
“Amazing.” Ed Hooper tossed yet another file into the growing pile of paper surrounding his feet. “Simply amazing.”
Leaning back in his cheap swivel chair, he rubbed his eyes. After leaving the White House, he’d returned to his tiny Washington, D.C. apartment. He’d sat down at his desk, a sturdy piece of furniture he’d picked up at a yard sale. With gusto, he’d thrown himself into the giant mounds of paperwork documenting the sad history of the Columbus Project.
From every conceivable viewpoint, the Columbus Project had been a disaster of epic proportions. Over the course of eighteen months, approximately eighty billion dollars of financial support had been doled out to five hundred and twenty-four companies in the clean energy sector. Just two hundred and sixty-six companies, representing about half the total outlays, were still in business. And many of them were experiencing major financial difficulties.
Fifty-two companies, entrusted with eight billion dollars of taxpayer monies, had declared bankruptcy. By itself, that was a staggering figure. But the real problem was the remaining two hundred and six companies.
The fraudulent ones.
Hooper shook his head. The theft was brilliant, especially in its simplicity. Although he wasn’t a computer expert, he had a pretty good idea of how it had happened. Someone had built a back door into the Columbus Project database. That person had proceeded to create hundreds of fabricated documents including basic eligibility applications, due diligence assessments, negotiated term sheets with agreed-upon milestones, signed contracts, follow-up progress reports, and payment records. The documents were added to the database and kept hidden until preprogrammed dates and times. Then they became part of the official record.