Fly by Night by Ward Larsen Read Free Book Online Page A

chair had caught fire.
    “What the hell are you doing here?”
    From across the room Davis watched with inner satisfaction. The veins at Schmitt’s temples bulged, and his face went from red to purple, like some kind of arterial kaleidoscope. Right there, Davis’ first question was answered. Schmitt hadn’t known he was coming.
    A number of smart-ass replies came to mind, but Davis just said,
    “I’m here to investigate your crash.” He liked the sound of that. Your crash. One of the hits you had to take when you ran a flying unit. “The aviation authorities here in Sudan don’t have a lot of experience with investigations like this, so they had to call in help. It fell to the NTSB.”
    Schmitt settled into the same angry look Davis had last seen, on the day when he’d been drummed out of the service. It was a look that said a lot—the man still hated him. For Davis, that alone made the trip to Sudan worthwhile. All thirty-nine hours.
    Schmitt seemed to recover. If there was anything positive about the man, it was that he kept control. He was confident and couldn’t be intimidated. Davis knew because he’d tried. Schmitt strode around the desk and puffed out his thick chest.
    He said, “And you’re with the NTSB now.”
    “Small world, huh?”
    “No, not that small. Whose ass did you kiss to get this assignment?”
    One minute, maybe less, and the interchange was already going down like a MiG in flames.
    “Just another investigation to me,” Davis said.
    “Sure. And you want my complete cooperation.”
    Davis shrugged. “If you were to make things difficult for me, I’d have to put that in my report.” Davis tried to say this in earnest, as if he was going to write a report.
    Schmitt didn’t respond.
    “For starters,” Davis said, “why don’t you tell me about this outfit. Who controls FBN Aviation?”
    Schmitt made him wait a moment before answering. “His name’s Rafiq Khoury.”
    “What’s he like?”
    “He signs my paycheck.”
    “Is he a hands-on kind of owner?”
    “In what way?”
    “You know, does he tell you what to put on the airplanes, where to take them? That kind of thing.”
    “You know what kind of operation this is, Davis. Want to see load manifests and flight plans? I’ve got lots of them.”
    “Yeah, I’ll bet you do. And I’m sure Khoury is a real stand-up guy. Not the kind of boss who’d throw a chief pilot under ICAO’s bus if he needed a scapegoat.”
    Schmitt scowled, his squat forehead plowed with furrows. “I’ve been under the bus before. Fact is, I’ve still got your tire tracks on my ass.”
    Again, Davis smiled inwardly. Outside nothing changed. He said, “Look, let’s cut the crap. You lost an airplane, and I’m here to find out why. Agree to put our background aside, and I’ll call this crash like I see it.”
    “And if I don’t?”
    “Get in my way, and I’ll make this crash an anchor. I’ll tie it to your civilian license, and drop everything into the deep end of the ocean.”
    “Just like last time.”
    “Last time? I didn’t bust you out of the Air Force, Schmitthead,” Davis said, reverting to the old squadron nickname he hated, “you were always going to crash and burn. This time it might be different. Maybe you’re clean.”
    Schmitt stood there thinking, calculating. Dealing with him was going to be tricky. When organizations got investigated, the people in charge were always cautious. But Davis and Schmitt had a past, and from it, a residue of mistrust that wasn’t going to wash away under a beer or two.
    “Okay,” Schmitt said. “What do you want?”
    “For starters, a few answers—since you are the chief pilot.”
    “Chief pilot?” Schmitt gestured toward the door. “Of that bunch? I’m more like a parole officer.”
    Davis thought, He still has his people skills . Yet there was a grain of truth in the comment. The pilots here would be journeymen, a global collection of the adventurous, furloughed, and