Broken Wings

“There isn’t anything to find, Addison,” one of the crew members maintained. “Our first conclusion was the right one.”

  Addison paced slowly to the instruments displayed on the counter, touching one of them. “I’m beginning to think you’re right. Maybe it’s time to file the report.”

  “And go home,” Horace added anxiously.

  “Yeah,” Addison muttered. “Home.”

  The men watched him with steadfast interest, waiting for his “maybe” to become something more definite, something they could tell their families. Suddenly, Hank spoke up again.

  “Uh, Addison, come here a minute. You might want to take a look at this.”

  Addison stepped over several pieces of seared metal until he was beside Hank. “Whatcha got?”

  Hank frowned and gestured toward the reassembled pieces. “I don’t know. Maybe something, maybe nothing. Just like you said, we’ve been trying to piece together the elevator system…And take a look at this.”

  Addison looked where Hank was pointing, saw that two pieces were broken apart at what should have been their attachment point. Hank pried out a bolt about four inches long, broken in two pieces. “I found this. It was easy to overlook before.”

  Addison took the bolt, his frown cutting deep fissures in his forehead. “The problem,” Addison said as he studied the pieces, “is determining whether the bolt broke as a result of the crash or before it.”

  “If it broke before it, we’ve got a case,” Hank said.

  “That’s right,” Addison said, excitement filling his eyes. “A broken bolt in the elevator system could affect the steering. It could very well have caused the crash.” Addison stood up and took the bolt to a table where microscopes lay under stronger light. “This bolt is sheered,” he said. “And it’s chalky at the break.” He held it under a magnifying glass and examined it closely as his heart began to pound harder. “There’s some corrosion inside…a little rust…”

  “Sounds like a fatigue break,” Hank said. “A stress break brought on by the crash would be shiny and stretched. But if it’s corroded inside, it’s probably been ready to break for a while.”

  “You’re right,” Addison agreed, leaning back from the microscope with a smile on his face. The other team members gathered around the table, intent on seeing the bolt for themselves. “If it broke before the crash, and the push rod broke loose, Mick Hammon had absolutely no control over the elevator. Right up until the last minute, he would have thought he was pulling the plane up. But the elevator wouldn’t have connected. If that was the case, there wouldn’t have been one blasted thing he could have done to save the aircraft.”

  “So he would be completely exonerated,” Hank added. “If that’s, indeed, what happened.”

  Addison peered into the microscope again, then backed up to allow each team member to see for himself. “Man,” said Horace, who’d done the most complaining in the four weeks they’d been there, as he examined the broken bolt. “We almost made the poor guy look negligent.”

  “Almost,” Addison said, the gravity of their oversight becoming more and more apparent as his heart filled with righteous purpose. “But not quite.”

  He put the bolt in a small bag, tagged it, and handed it to Hank. “I want you on the next flight to Washington. You’re going to hand deliver this to headquarters for metallurgical analysis. Tell them I want the works—spectrographic, microscopic, destructive. I want to know everything there is to know about this bolt, and I want it fast.”

  “Sure, Addison,” Hank said, eyes dancing. “I’ll call you as soon as I hear.”

  “Rush it,” Addison called, as Hank started out of the hangar. “The sooner we know, the sooner we can wrap this up.”

  As Hank disappeared from sight, the team erupted into congratulations and laughter. Addison accepted their handshakes and backslaps, but his mind was already on his next step. For the first time since this whole investigation had begun, he might just have some good news for Erin.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Addison was at home that night, waiting for Erin to bring over Chinese take-out food, when Hank called with the results.

  “You’ll never believe this,” Hank said, his voice solemn but anxious. “Not only were we right about the bolt being the cause of the crash, the metallurgical analysis showed that the bolt was counterfeit. Who knows how many others were in that plane?”

  Addison sprang from his chair. “Counterfeit! Are they sure?”

  “Positive,” Hank said. “They even took the pieces of the bolt and subjected it to measured stress to see at what point it would break. Addison, it broke at a much lower tensile pressure than it was supposed to.”

  “Where did it come from?” Addison asked bitterly.

  “We don’t know for sure,” Hank said. “But they think it was probably made outside the States. They said they’ve been seeing more and more of this lately, in all sorts of applications.”

  Addison sank back into his chair again. “I’ve heard about it,” he agreed, his voice barely audible as the implications of their discovery filled him with dread. “They’ve turned up in military tanks, ships, even the space shuttle. Apparently they’re made cheaper and somehow get rated at higher stress levels so they’ll sell for more money.” He leaned forward, grounding his elbows in his knees as the truth sank in. “Why didn’t it occur to me before?”

  Hank’s response was quick. “Don’t be so tough on yourself. We haven’t seen this in our investigations before. At least we can officially clear the captain.”

  “Yeah,” Addison said, pulling himself up again and setting a pace pattern across his rug. “He’s clear. But it’s a lot easier to make recommendations about future training programs to prevent panic than it is to find a solution to this. What do I say? ‘The National Transportation Safety Board recommends that in the future only authentic bolts be used?’ If we can’t tell which ones they are until they break, where does that leave us?”

  “You’re right, Addison. There’s no solution yet. But at least now we’re aware of the problem.”

  “What good is that if hundreds of people wind up dead?” Addison yelled. “I’m the one who had to probe the families and friends like a vulture looking for spicy little clues to what may have snapped in the pilot’s mind, when it was a stupid bolt that snapped! I’m the one who has to see the pain on those people’s faces and carry the guilt and responsibility for my conclusions. And who is really affected by those conclusions? Does it prevent any crashes? No. We have to just sit back and wait for another bolt to snap somewhere at a critical point in an approach. It stinks, Hank!”

  “Maybe so, Addison.” Hank’s voice was grim, but he didn’t sound as defeated as his boss. “But it’s our job.” He paused for a moment, then, as if uncomfortable with what he was about to say, went on. “And, speaking of our jobs, Sid is here with me. He wants to talk to you.”

  Addison flopped down onto the couch, bracing himself for more rage, more fury. Sid would still be angry and passing orders as if he were some Little League coach and Addison a nine-year-old player. Addison wasn’t in the mood.

  “Addison,” Sid said, when the phone had exchanged hands. “You did a good job. I owe you an apology for being so hard-nosed about the delays. I guess your instincts served you well this time.”

  “They always do,” Addison said, a dull edge to his voice. “You should know that by now.”

  “Yes, well…” Sid cleared his throat, paused a moment, then tackled what was really on his mind. “I want that report tomorrow. You can deliver it in person, and then you’re off to Albuquerque—”

  “Albuquerque?” Addison asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the crash that happened this morning in Albuquerque. Midair collision of two light engines. Should be pretty cut-and-dried. Can’t blame that on a bolt.”

  Addison raked his big fingers through his hair. “Albuquerque,” he repeated miserably. “Cut-and-dried.” He sighed, and racked
his brain for a way to keep from leaving Erin so soon. He wasn’t ready. It was too early.

  “Right,” Sid said. “There was a survivor, so it’s pretty simple. The pilot’s girlfriend can give you all the information you need. She’s in the hospital, but we can get you permission to question her. I suspect there were drugs involved.”

  “You want me to question a woman who just lost her boyfriend and her friends and is hospitalized herself?” Addison asked.

  “Of course. It’s the typical scenario.”

  “I don’t go by typical scenarios!” Addison shouted. He lowered his voice, expelled a ragged breath, and went on. “Besides, I can’t be there tomorrow. I’ll send my report on with one of the team members. I still have some loose ends to tie up here.”

  “Wrong,” Sid told him. “You’ll bring it yourself and then you’ll go on to Albuquerque. This isn’t a request, Addison, it’s an order.”

  “But I told you, Sid. I can’t get away—”

  “Loose ends can be cut off,” Sid bit out. “Especially when there isn’t room for them. You had your fling, Addison. It’s time to come back to the real world. And in this world, there’s no room for that woman.”

  Addison sprang up, as if facing the man in person. “There will be room for her if I make room!”

  Sid chuckled mirthlessly, leaving Addison cold. “You don’t understand,” he said. “I can’t keep working with you while you dangle that woman under my nose. You have a choice, Addison. Either her or your job.”

  “You can’t force that on me,” Addison shouted. “There’s no rule against an NTSB investigator being involved or even married!”

  “I told you before, I don’t need a rule,” Sid warned him, his voice quivering with emotion. “All I have to do is pass along that you’ve become difficult and resistant to the NTSB’s procedures, and you can stand in the unemployment lines. It’s a promise, Addison.”

  For a moment, Addison was too amazed to speak. Instead, he stood with his mouth open, trying to gauge the intent behind the bluff.

  “Be sensible,” Sid went on, his voice feigning reason. “This is no life for a family. You travel constantly, and when you get where you’re going, you’re totally absorbed in your work. Next time, she won’t be connected with the crash. Next time, she’ll be left out of it, and you won’t be able to spend time with her even under the pretense of work. Take my word for it. There isn’t room in the field for marriage. I’m thinking of her as much as you.”

  “Your consideration stuns me,” Addison said caustically.

  “I’m right. You know I am.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Addison said through his teeth. “I just want to make sure I know where the lines are drawn. You’re telling me that either I get rid of Erin or I lose my job. Is that it?”

  “The choice is pretty straightforward,” Sid said smugly. “You can make an impact in this job. You have no idea how many accidents you’ve helped prevent. Even now, you can get on this bolt thing and make sure that something is done to find these counterfeits. When it was your wife who died in a crash, you knew how important it was to keep things like that from recurring. Get your thinking back in perspective, Addison. Don’t forget the grief that we both suffered when that tragedy happened. You’ve saved hundreds, maybe thousands, with your recommendations. Your work is too important to throw away on a little infatuation.”

  “So that is what you’re saying?” he repeated. “That it comes down to an ultimatum?”

  “I’m not an ogre,” Sid said, his voice full of emotion. “You’re like a son to me. You’re all I’ve got. I just want to see you do the right thing. If you turn your back on this job, then Amanda’s death was useless, wasted. Through working in the field you’ve had the chance to make some sense of it all, to use that in a positive way. Don’t bury that in a lot of useless emotions. Use your head, man. You need this job as much as we need you. You can no more walk away from it than I can.”

  “I can go over your head,” Addison threatened. “You can’t do this.”

  “Go over my head, then,” Sid said quietly. “And if you’re right, and my word doesn’t pack the weight it used to, then I’ll go. There won’t be room here for both of us.”

  The phone went dead in Addison’s hand, leaving him staring at the receiver, defeated, as if it were an explosive about to destroy his life.

  He hung up the phone and paced frantically across the carpet. How could it come down to this? His job or Erin? Sid knew his job had been his whole life since Amanda had died. Addison was his job, just as Sid was. Sure, there was a possibility that his superiors would veto Sid’s ultimatum, but if Sid quit the NTSB, where would that leave him? Would he take refuge in a dark house again, hiding out from the world because there was no one else to care? If Addison allowed that, wasn’t that in itself a betrayal to Amanda?

  Besides, Sid wasn’t crazy. At least not in his normal work affairs. It was just when it came to his daughter…to Addison…to the prospect of another woman taking Amanda’s place in Addison’s life.

  No, the choice was up to him. Would he leave the NTSB? The prospect sank uncomfortably in Addison’s heart, though a voice somewhere inside asked what good there was in keeping his job, when stupid things like counterfeit bolts caused crashes.

  Rage over that particular injustice threatened to choke him again. How could that accident have been prevented? And why had so many people had to suffer and die? His investigation had hurt Jason, Maureen, Erin…

  Erin. What was he going to do? Sid’s words came back to him, his warnings about relationships and the nature of his job ringing a little too true. He didn’t want a long-distance relationship. They’d drift apart, learn to hate each other.

  But if he didn’t have her, his job would seem empty and lifeless. He’d hate himself and Sid and the whole NTSB. And soon he’d wind up seeing the victims and survivors as statistics, fact machines, from whom he could get answers in exchange for nothing.

  First things first, he told his frantic mind. He’d tackle one problem at a time. First, he had to deal with Maureen and Jason. He went to the phone, punched out Erin’s number, and felt his anger and confusion subside a little at the sound of her voice. Was there really a choice, after all? “Hi, babe,” he said, forcing his voice to sound lighter than he felt.

  “Hi. I was just on my way out the door.”

  “Look, about the Chinese food.” He stalled, trying to decide how much to tell her now. “I’m not really hungry. I was thinking, maybe we could eat later.”

  “You don’t want me to come?” she asked. The disappointment in her voice made him smile.

  “No, I still want you to come,” he assured her. “I…I was just thinking. Why don’t you run by the Hammon’s house and get Maureen and Jason to follow you? Something came up today, and I need to talk to all three of you.”

  There was a long silence between them. Finally, Erin spoke, a note of dread in her voice. “I’ll bring them,” she said.

  Addison knew she waited for him to tell her if the news was good or bad, but for the life of him, he wasn’t sure which it was. “I’ll be out on the bayou behind the condos,” he added quietly. “I need some air.”

  It wasn’t difficult to sense the despair in Erin’s voice. “All right, Addison,” she said. “We’ll see you soon.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The night breeze was pleasantly cool and playful, and Addison enjoyed it after the heat of the hangar. He looked out over the water behind his apartment complex. He found a rock, kicked it into the water, and gazed out over the dusk-darkened bayou. Banishing thoughts of his ludicrous choice from his mind, he concentrated on telling Maureen and Jason the results of his investigation.

  What would he say to them? How did he apologize for overlooking a malfunction in the airplane and laying the blame for all those deaths on the man who was father, husband, friend? How did he explain the senseless use of a cheap bolt?

  It had all seemed so simple wh
en he’d transferred to field work for the NTSB. He’d had a purpose. He had really believed his investigations and subsequent recommendations had prevented countless crashes. But had they really? Or had he just been deluding himself, because of his wife, into thinking he had an effect on other lives?

  And if, rather than Erin, he chose the job, where would he go from there? Albuquerque? Would it be any different there? Deaths and destruction? Few, if any, living witnesses? Grieving family members or friends who tried to keep him from reporting anything negative about their loved ones? Thousands of shattered and burnt pieces of wreckage that he and his crew were supposed to assess inside and out? And from there he’d go to yet another state, another crash, another set of lives that would never be the same.

  Even if he could make himself go over Sid’s head, find a way to have both Erin and the job, what would it do to Erin, to be in love with a man who confronted disaster on a daily basis? Already, he’d had a sample of how things could be. In the wake of almost every moment of joy between them came rage and fighting, then days of anger before the cycle started again. The rage was always due to his job. Yes, he realized that this job had been different, because it had focused on someone she loved. But the nature of all of his cases were the same. They were all accidents. There were often deaths. And there was usually someone at blame. Would she come to resent him the more she saw what his job entailed? And what about the constant separations, the profound distractions, the intense work on each and every case?

  He heard his name called behind him, and he turned back to the apartments and saw Erin walking toward him, followed by Maureen, who folded her arms defensively across her stomach, as if to say, “Don’t hurt me any more; I’ve had enough.” Jason followed, hands hidden in his pockets.

  He met the trio halfway, got the greetings out of the way, then sat down on the grass skirting the water. Erin sat next to him, facing the pond, in the same way she had on that first day they’d spent together at the lake. Little had changed, he thought. They were still talking about Mick.