The Savannah Project (Jake Pendleton series) Page 14

  “No. I’ll let the local police make that notification. I’ll give them a call right now.”

  He ended the call with Anderson, got out of his car and walked up to the front door of a home in the historic district.

  The door opened after one ring of the doorbell.

  “Pat, what are you doing here?”

  “Cousin, we’ve got one hell of a big problem.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Thirty minutes later Kaplan let himself into Annie’s house through the garage entrance. As he opened the door from the stairwell into the kitchen, he found Annie sitting in the bay window reading a book, Scout curled up in her lap. Seeing him, Scout jumped down and scampered over to rub lovingly against his legs.

  Annie marked her page with a bookmark, placed the book next to the window and walked over to him, placing her head against his chest and giving him a hug. Barefooted, her head didn’t reach his chin.

  She unbuttoned his shirt halfway down and kissed his chest, then said, “How’d it go at work?”

  “I never actually made it to the tower.”

  “Where the hell have you been then?”

  “I saw a lot of commotion at the Gulfstream plant. You know, ambulances, police, a rescue unit—”

  She interrupted. “Yeah, I saw something on the news about an accident, but I didn’t catch any details.”

  “Anyway, as it turns out, one of the NTSB guys had a huge piece of the wreckage fall on top of him and it killed him. Then I talked to Jake Pendleton and he told me a few things that are bothering him about the investigation.”

  “Like what?”

  He spent a few minutes talking about Jake’s theories about the crash, with a brief interruption for a beer and snacks.

  As he finished, Annie looked at him curiously. “So he believes that something strange went wrong with the airplane causing it to fall out of the sky?”

  “Yeah, basically, either a mechanical failure or some sort of explosion.”

  “So how does the midair factor into all this?”

  “Jake said that was the one piece that doesn’t fit the puzzle.”

  “I’d say that’s one pretty damn big piece, wouldn’t you?”

  Just as he was about to respond, her cell phone rang. She picked up the phone, flipped it open, and placing it next to her cheek, said, “Annie Bulloch.”

  “Who? … No, I’m afraid you have the wrong number.” She hung up.

  He walked into the den and sat in the big leather loveseat and placed his beer on the coaster on the wrought iron end table. Turning around and looking over his shoulder toward the kitchen, he called out, “You’re originally from Ireland—have you ever heard of this O’Rourke guy?”

  She came in, put her beer glass on the opposite end table, and sat down next to Kaplan. She spun sideways in her seat, placing her feet in his lap. “Of course, I’ve heard of him—he’s been in the news for months.”

  “You never talk much about your past,” he said. “How come you moved away from Ireland?”

  “Where I grew up was a dangerous place at a dangerous time … during the ‘Troubles.’ My mother was raped and my dad couldn’t deal with it so he left her. We moved here. Then my dad was killed.” She lowered her chin.

  “I don’t talk about it because it’s painful. I just try to forget about my past before I moved here.”

  “Where in Ireland did you grow up?”

  “Northern Ireland, a town called Londonderry.”

  * * * Later that night, Collins lay in his hotel room, curtains drawn, room dark. The buzz of his Blackberry vibrating on the nightstand stirred him from a restless sleep. He reached over and picked it up to read the message that displayed in all caps.

  BIG PROBLEM. MUST MOVE QUICKLY. JILLIAN.

  He sighed.

  What is the problem?

  A minute later, the Blackberry vibrated again. The reply simply stated:

  Jake Pendleton is getting too close. Stop him ASAP. And his girlfriend. Bring them both to me. J.

  He deleted his messages, rolled over and went back to sleep.

  CHAPTER 34

  Holding his binoculars to his eyes, Jake stood on the balcony of his sixteenth-floor room overlooking downtown Savannah and the Savannah River. Wisps of steam rose from the warmer river waters. The waters were calm except for the wake from one of the ferries that had already started making its way from the City Hall Landing to the Trade Center Landing.

  The morning sky was clear and the rising sun lit up the gold dome on the top of the Savannah City Hall, reflecting it directly at the Westin. Jake squinted as he looked out over the city. The spires of the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist towered above the trees and stood prominently in the Savannah skyline. The early morning temperature was a cool forty-two degrees with an expected high of seventy-four, perfect for a St. Patrick’s Day celebration in Savannah.

  Across the river along River Street, vendors had started setting up for the day’s festivities. Exhaust from the few vehicles allowed on River Street billowed from their tail pipes. Pedestrians’ breath was clearly visible as they spoke to one another on the street. A young boy swept the sidewalk under the yellow and white striped awning of Spanky’s Restaurant, a cloud of dust rising up with every stroke of his push broom. Next to the sweeper Jake saw a young girl in shorts and a jacket under a red and white striped awning, wiping off the benches in front of the Shrimp Factory. Two men were opening the windows at the twin buildings that made up the River Street Marketplace.

  He knew there was something else, something he was missing. His gut told him that the unknown man was right, the crash was a result of sabotage. But how could he prove it without riling McGill and getting tossed from the investigation? And how could he explain the other aircraft and the midair?

  The odds were staggering that it was just a coincidence. Yet he knew it couldn’t be just a midair.

  There was more.

  He was determined to find out what it was.

  He heard Beth protesting behind him.

  “Jake Pendleton, it’s cold. Close the door.” She rolled over on her stomach and pulled the covers over her head.

  He turned and went inside, closing the sliding glass door behind him. He sat on the edge of the bed and said, “Babe, I’m going to run out to the airport. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, probably less, and then we’ll go have breakfast.”

  “You’re not leaving me here alone. That, that weirdo might come back. Besides, I thought Pat gave everybody the day off.”

  “He did, but there are a couple of things I want to look into, then I’ll come right back. Look, you’ll be just fine here. Deadbolt the door when I leave and no one can get in, not even me and I have a key.”

  “You promise you’ll only be gone a couple of hours?”

  “Of course.”

  She grumbled from under the covers. “Say it, Jake.”

  “I promise,” he replied.

  “Jacob Pendleton.”

  “All right, all right. I promise I’ll be back in two hours—or my ass is yours and you can have your way with me.” He grinned.

  CHAPTER 35

  The guard at Gulfstream stepped out of his guard shack, held up his hand and stopped the black Mustang. He pointed to an old white Ford F150 long-bed pickup truck with homemade wooden bed walls parked in a visitor’s parking spot.

  The guard said, “He’s been waiting here since sunrise. He said he will only talk to an NTSB agent.”

  “Agent?” Jake smiled. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “No. He’s got a lot of junk piled in the back of his truck and threatened to dump it in the parking lot if someone didn’t show up soon.”

  He walked over to the pickup. An elderly man sat behind the wheel, his head leaned back on the headrest, and his hat pulled down over his eyes. Jake tapped on the window and the old man jumped. He held his NTSB identification badge up to the window. The old man rolled down the window.

  He stepped back and said
, “I’m Jake Pendleton with the NTSB. The guard there said you’ve been here a while. Is there something I can do for you?”

  “It’s about time one of you boys showed up. You boys must work banker’s hours.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Never mind. I think I found something you might need,” the old man said. “It’s in the back.” He pointed with his thumb.

  Jake and the old man walked around to the back of the truck. The bed was filled with debris. A lot of debris. Many shapes and sizes—all of it twisted and torn.

  One piece in particular caught Jake’s eyes. It was a large burgundy piece that almost filled the bed of the truck. One end was curled back and shredded into smaller strips of the metal, each about eight inches wide, twisted backward nearly a hundred and eighty degrees.

  He looked at the old man’s tired face, his bushy gray eyebrows, over a decade in need of a trim, reminded him of Andy Rooney. “Where did you find this?”

  “On my property, over in South Carolina just across the river. It looked like something off of an airplane and I heard about a crash over here so I figured I’d bring it on over. I busted a shear pin on my bush hog when I hit some of it,” the man said, pointing to a blue piece of the tail section of the Skyhawk. “It stopped my mower blade just like that.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

  “You ran over it? You hit it with the mower?”

  “Not the big piece—I ain’t blind, sonny. Some of the smaller chunks were hidden in the taller grass. I bumped over something with the tractor, then I heard the mower blade whack something hard. That’s when the pin sheared. It took me nearly a half hour with a crowbar to get that piece off my blade.”

  “You found it this morning?”

  “Naw. I did this yesterday right after dinner.”

  Jake leaned over to look closer at the big chunk of wreckage. “Why didn’t you bring it yesterday or call or something?”

  “Well, young feller, I ain’t no government worker like you. I had a lot of work to do. I picked up as much as I could find and then finished my mowing. I hit a few other smaller pieces but I could never find ’em after I hit ’em.”

  “Can you show me where you found this?”

  The old man looked up at him and shook his head. “Can’t right now, but I figured you boys would want to go look see for yourself so I drew you a map to my place. Yer welcome to go look around all you want, take whatever ya need.” He pointed at the bed full of debris and asked, “Where do I dump all this trash?”

  He rode with the old man back to the recovery hangar where they unloaded all the debris. He escorted the man back to the gate, took his name and phone number. The old man pulled out of the parking lot, blue smoke billowing from the back of his pickup as he accelerated down Gulfstream Road.

  Jake returned to the hangar and laid the debris on the floor, separating the pieces as best he could. Then he studied the largest piece. It was the missing section from the underside of the Challenger. The section below and just behind the cockpit. The strips of metal on one end were curled backward and outward. The green side of the metal was the inside and the burgundy side was the painted side of the metal, the exterior.

  He studied the green side and noticed something peculiar. What he saw made his heart jump in his chest.

  Residue.

  Residue from a fire—or an explosion. He preferred explosion. But he had to be sure.

  He grabbed his field kit and started the preliminary tests. An excitement took over when he saw the results, explosive residue.

  He was right all along. Sabotage. A stretch maybe to call it sabotage at this point, but his instincts told him otherwise. And better yet, it confirmed what the strange man had said. He needed to call McGill. They needed to call the FBI.

  * * * On the fourth ring, McGill answered his cell phone. “Hello, Jake, what do you want?”

  “Pat, I’m at the Gulfstream hangar—”

  “Jake, I said take the day off. I meant it.”

  Jake heard the ire in his voice.

  “I know, I know. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and figured I’d look things over out here. Anyway, when I got here there was this old farmer from South Carolina waiting with a pickup full of debris he found on his property. Some of it was compromised by his mower but most of it is okay.

  “Pat, there’s something here you need to see. The missing section from the Challenger is here, and it has explosive residue on it. You need to get over here right away.”

  “Okay, I’ve heard enough about explosions. Are you sure? Did you check it?”

  “Yes, Pat, it checked out positive. Come see for yourself.”

  “All right. I’ll leave right now. I’ll be there in twenty or thirty minutes. Secure the hangar. Let no one, I repeat no one in until I arrive. I’m bringing my kit and for your sake, Jake, you better be right. After I look at the debris, if I’m not convinced, then you’re on your way back to Atlanta. Do I make myself clear? ”

  “Crystal.”

  Exactly twenty minutes later, McGill’s NTSB Suburban pulled into the hangar. McGill and Jake spent the next hour studying and discussing all the ramifications and details of what the old man had brought in his pickup.

  McGill conceded, “Jake, this changes things. Although certainly not conclusive, it’s enough to warrant suspicion and notify the FBI. For the record though, I’m still more than a little upset that you’ve gone behind my back, not followed orders and withheld information.”

  The last comment startled Jake. Did McGill know about the man in his room? “What did I withhold?”

  “That piece about the primary radar being out?”

  “I didn’t withhold it Pat. I just hadn’t had an opportunity to share it with you yet.”

  Jake knew he needed to tell McGill about the man but now he realized that if McGill knew, he would certainly relieve Jake of duties. He couldn’t allow that. He had to work this investigation to its conclusion.

  Just then Jake’s cell phone rang.

  “Uh-oh, It’s Beth. She’s probably pissed.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I told her I’d be back in less than two hours … and it’s been much longer than that.”

  “You better answer it then.”

  Jake flipped open his phone. “Beth, I’m sorry. I know it’s been longer than two hours, but something very urgent came up at the hangar.”

  “Jake, that’s not it. Are you alone?” Beth said.

  “Nope, I’m standing here with Pat. We were just going over a few details on the crash.”

  “Listen carefully, just listen. I just got a phone call from Gregg Kaplan, that air traffic controller.”

  “Uh huh, I remember,” he said, smiling at the phone. He noticed McGill making the call to the FBI.

  “You need to get away from there right now. This Kaplan guy told me some things. I believe him. It all makes sense now. Jake, you were right. Remember what that guy said in the room, ‘Trust no one.’ Well, he meant it. Don’t trust anybody. Kaplan wants to meet you right away. He said to meet him at Barry’s Pub on River Street in one hour, that’s eleven o’clock. I’ll be there too. Hurry. ”

  She hung up.

  A quiver of panic ran down his spine.

  He glanced at Pat. “All right, babe. An early lunch would be great, we’ll beat the crowds ... yeah, I love you too. Bye, now.”

  He hung up his phone. McGill did the same.

  McGill walked over to Jake. “The feds will be here in a couple of hours. I called the Atlanta office. They have to call it in to D.C., and then they will dispatch a Special Agent from Savannah. The efficiency of the federal government. You’d think I could just call the Savannah office myself and save everyone a lot of time.”

  “Good. That was Beth. She wants me to come have an early lunch with her like I promised. I hope you don’t mind. I should be back by the time the feds get here.”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. No problem.”

  As he walked
toward the Mustang, McGill shouted out, “Jake. That was good work.”

  “Thanks, Pat.”

  He drove the black Mustang out of the hangar.

  In his rear view mirror, he noticed McGill on the phone again. But his mind was on the phone call from Beth. Is she alright? Did he make a mistake in telling Kaplan his suspicions? Could he be trusted?

  CHAPTER 36

  The drive back to the Westin took him longer than anticipated. In the Westin parking lot, he called Beth’s cell number to see if she was still at the hotel, but there was no answer. He assumed she was on River Street and, with the already crowded festival, might not have heard her phone ring.