the crash to get a date. That wasn’t his style.
“Hey, Addison, you want me to order us some sandwiches?” Hank, his flight-control specialist, asked across the building. Already, the rest of his team had left for dinner, since they had worked through lunch, but Hank had been too engrossed in the pieces of wreckage he was analyzing.
“No, not for me,” Addison said, walking around the pieces to reach him. “I’m going out. Don’t you need a break?”
“I’ll take one later,” Hank said. “I just don’t get this.”
“Get what?” Addison asked.
“Well, this whole crash. It looks like Hammon followed all the proper procedures before takeoff. Even if Hammon had passed out cold on his approach, there were a first officer and a flight engineer on the plane who could have taken over. Someone could have kept that plane from flying into the ground. It makes more sense that something went wrong with the plane’s computer system…maybe it was on automatic pilot and the system went haywire, but I can’t find any evidence of that. I’m trying to piece it all back together, but there isn’t a lot left of it.”
“Even if that was the case,” Addison said, “Hammon could have overridden the computer and straightened it out manually. A plane doesn’t nosedive without everyone on board knowing it. And the control tower has records that there were no problems before the final approach.”
“Still,” Hank said, “there’s got to be an explanation that makes sense.”
“Look, I don’t want it to be pilot error, either. If you have any hunches, we’ll follow them. And I don’t care what Sid or any of the brass in Washington say. We’re going to dig until we get to the truth—no matter what it is.”
Hank leaned back in his folding chair and looked at his friend. “So what has that woman said about his pilot skills? You know, the first officer who missed the flight?”
Addison wondered if Hank could read his feelings. “I haven’t been able to get much out of her. I’m hoping to catch up with her tonight. But generally, she seems convinced that it wasn’t pilot error.”
“They always are.”
Addison looked pensively down at the pieces of wreckage, wondering what they were missing. “Tell you what. When the guys get back, start piecing together the elevator system all the way from the controls in the cockpit, through the cables, to the hydraulic actuators. If the plane malfunctioned, we should see something wrong there.”
“Will do,” Hank said.
The phone rang, startling Addison, and he dove for it. “Addison Lowe.”
But it wasn’t Erin. It was someone in Washington with some information Hank had requested. He surrendered the phone, then ambled to the front window of the hangar, wondering if he should wait any longer for her call.
Okay, he thought finally. This didn’t have to be a big deal. He would drive over to her house. Ask her to dinner. Explain that it was pleasure, not business. Beg a little. Use the I-hate-to-eat-alone line that bore more truth than he liked to admit.
And if that didn’t work, he’d kidnap her and hold her captive until she liked him.
He chuckled lightly. Maybe that would be the only way with Erin.
The drive to Erin’s house was short, and as he got out of the car and walked to her door, he found himself tensing up like a teenager asking for his first date. This was ridiculous. He was thirty-nine years old. She was just a woman. A woman with sad hazel eyes and hair that never did what it was told and a soul so deep a man could drown in it…
He knocked, and Madeline opened the door quickly, her arms full of sketches. Her eyes brightened at the sight of him.
“Yes?”
“Uh…I was looking for Erin…” He extended his hand, then withdrew it, realizing that shaking hands would make her drop her armload. “Are you her roommate?”
“Yes…one of them.” Madeline gave him a quick once-over, then grinned as if she approved. “You must be
“Hey, Addison, you want me to order us some sandwiches?” Hank, his flight-control specialist, asked across the building. Already, the rest of his team had left for dinner, since they had worked through lunch, but Hank had been too engrossed in the pieces of wreckage he was analyzing.
“No, not for me,” Addison said, walking around the pieces to reach him. “I’m going out. Don’t you need a break?”
“I’ll take one later,” Hank said. “I just don’t get this.”
“Get what?” Addison asked.
“Well, this whole crash. It looks like Hammon followed all the proper procedures before takeoff. Even if Hammon had passed out cold on his approach, there were a first officer and a flight engineer on the plane who could have taken over. Someone could have kept that plane from flying into the ground. It makes more sense that something went wrong with the plane’s computer system…maybe it was on automatic pilot and the system went haywire, but I can’t find any evidence of that. I’m trying to piece it all back together, but there isn’t a lot left of it.”
“Even if that was the case,” Addison said, “Hammon could have overridden the computer and straightened it out manually. A plane doesn’t nosedive without everyone on board knowing it. And the control tower has records that there were no problems before the final approach.”
“Still,” Hank said, “there’s got to be an explanation that makes sense.”
“Look, I don’t want it to be pilot error, either. If you have any hunches, we’ll follow them. And I don’t care what Sid or any of the brass in Washington say. We’re going to dig until we get to the truth—no matter what it is.”
Hank leaned back in his folding chair and looked at his friend. “So what has that woman said about his pilot skills? You know, the first officer who missed the flight?”
Addison wondered if Hank could read his feelings. “I haven’t been able to get much out of her. I’m hoping to catch up with her tonight. But generally, she seems convinced that it wasn’t pilot error.”
“They always are.”
Addison looked pensively down at the pieces of wreckage, wondering what they were missing. “Tell you what. When the guys get back, start piecing together the elevator system all the way from the controls in the cockpit, through the cables, to the hydraulic actuators. If the plane malfunctioned, we should see something wrong there.”
“Will do,” Hank said.
The phone rang, startling Addison, and he dove for it. “Addison Lowe.”
But it wasn’t Erin. It was someone in Washington with some information Hank had requested. He surrendered the phone, then ambled to the front window of the hangar, wondering if he should wait any longer for her call.
Okay, he thought finally. This didn’t have to be a big deal. He would drive over to her house. Ask her to dinner. Explain that it was pleasure, not business. Beg a little. Use the I-hate-to-eat-alone line that bore more truth than he liked to admit.
And if that didn’t work, he’d kidnap her and hold her captive until she liked him.
He chuckled lightly. Maybe that would be the only way with Erin.
The drive to Erin’s house was short, and as he got out of the car and walked to her door, he found himself tensing up like a teenager asking for his first date. This was ridiculous. He was thirty-nine years old. She was just a woman. A woman with sad hazel eyes and hair that never did what it was told and a soul so deep a man could drown in it…
He knocked, and Madeline opened the door quickly, her arms full of sketches. Her eyes brightened at the sight of him.
“Yes?”
“Uh…I was looking for Erin…” He extended his hand, then withdrew it, realizing that shaking hands would make her drop her armload. “Are you her roommate?”
“Yes…one of them.” Madeline gave him a quick once-over, then grinned as if she approved. “You must be
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