Fatal Voyage Read Free Page A

strides powerful

as an Olympic runner’s. The man moved off, and in a moment the sheriff was back.
     “This is never easy,” I said. “When the NTSB arrives they’ll assume

responsibility for the whole operation.”
     “Yeah.”
     At that moment Crowe’s cell phone rang. I waited as she spoke.
     “Another precinct heard from,” she said, hooking the handset to her

belt. “Charles Hanover, CEO of Airtranssouth.”
     Though I’d never flown it, I’d heard of the airline, a small, regional

carrier connecting about a dozen cities in the Carolinas,Georgia , andTennessee

withWashington,D.C.
     “This is one of theirs?”
     “Flight 228 was late leavingAtlanta forWashington,D.C. Sat on the

runway forty minutes, took off at twelve forty-five P.M. The plane was at about twenty-five

thousand feet when it disappeared from radar at one oh seven. My office got the 911 call around

two.”
     “How many on board?”
     “The plane was a Fokker-100 carrying eighty-two passengers and six

crew.
     But that’s not the worst of it.“ Her next words foretold the horror of

the coming days.
     

TWO.
     THE UGA SOCCER TEAMS?“
     Crowe nodded. “Hanoversaid both the men and women were traveling to

matches somewhere nearWashington .”
     “Jesus.” Images popped like flashbulbs. A severed leg. Teeth with

braces. A young woman caught in a tree.
     A sudden stab of fear.
     My daughter, Katy, was a student inVirginia , but often visited her

best friend inAthens , home of theUniversityofGeorgia . Lija was on athletic scholarship. Was it

soccer?
     Oh, God. My mind raced. Had Katy mentioned a trip? When was her

semester break? I resisted the impulse to grab my cell phone.
     “How many students?”
     “Forty-two passengers booked through the university.Hanover thought

most of those were students. Besides the athletes there would be coaches, trainers, girlfriends,

boyfriends. Some fans.” She ran a hand across her mouth. “The usual.”
     The usual. My heart ached at the loss of so many young lives. Then

another thought.
     “This will be a media nightmare.”
     “Hanoveropened with that concern.” Crowe’s voice dripped with

sarcasm.
     “When the NTSB takes over they’ll deal with the press.”
     And with the families, I didn’t add. They, too, would be here, moaning

and huddling for comfort, some watching with frightened eyes, some demanding immediate answers,

belligerence masking their unbearable grief.
     At that moment blades whumped, and we saw a helicopter come in low over

the trees. I spotted a familiar figure beside the pilot, another silhouette in the rear. The

chopper circled twice, then headed in the opposite direction from where I assumed the road to

be.
     “Where are they going?”
     “Hell if I know. We’re not oversupplied with landing pads up here.”
     Crowe lowered her gaze and replaced her hat, tucking in frizz with a

backhand gesture.
     “Coffee?”
     Thirty minutes later the chief medical examiner of the State ofNorth

Carolina walked into the site from the west, followed by the state’s lieutenant governor. The

former wore the basic deployment uniform of boots and khaki, the latter a business suit. I

watched them pick their way through the debris, the pathologist looking around, assessing, the

politician with head bowed, glancing neither left nor right, holding himself gathered tightly, as

if contact with his surroundings might draw him in as a participant rather than an observer. At

one point they stopped and the ME spoke to a deputy. The man pointed in our direction, and the

pair angled toward us.
     “Hot damn. A superb photo op.” Said with the same sarcasm she’d

directed toward Charles Hanover, the Air Trans South CEO.
     Crowe crumpled her Styrofoam cup and jammed it into a thermos bag. I

handed her mine, wondering at the vehemence of her disapproval. Did she disagree with the

lieutenant governor’s