Fly by Wire: A Novel by Ward Larsen Read Free Book Online Page B

that you slept when you could.
    As he began to drift off, he thought about what Dr. Black had told him. Did Earl Moore really have a run-in with the police last week? Maybe he'd gotten in trouble. Maybe he'd been pulled over after downing a couple of beers, didn't get a DUI, and went to Dr. Black to scare himself straight. It was a convenient theory -- and probably not much more. Right now, there were a lot of possibilities.
    Then Davis remembered the photo of the crash site he'd seen in Sparky s office. The debris had been strewn over a very large area, at least a mile. Which didn't fit. The airplane had fallen over six miles in two minutes. On a trajectory like that, it should have gone straight in and made a hole like a meteor crater. He'd seen it before. Deep impact, the densest parts burying themselves in fifty feet of earth. But that hadn't happened to World Express 801. It had been really moving, but the impact was low angle.
    Once again, a lot of possibilities.
    CHAPTEK SIX
    Beaumont, Texas
    The black-clad figure was quick, skirting around the flood of a streetlight and edging up to a chain-link fence.
    The fence marked the property line of the sole manufacturing site of Colson Industries. By Texas standards, it was a modest operation, one acre of land with a single large building situated at the center. Around the outside of the place, stacked against corrugated sidewalls, was a sea of pipes, casings, scaffolding, and machinery. Some of the equipment was nicely organized, while other parts lay in haphazard piles, discarded in the course of day-to-day operations and waiting for the annual scrap heap collection. The whole collection suffered from varying degrees of oxidation, the depth of red and brown measuring the length of time each component had been surrendered to the elements.
    At two in the morning, the workers had long gone home. The man in black had been watching for two weeks, and so he knew there was no night shift. He had expected a longer window for his surveillance, at least another week. But the orders from Damascus had come early -- tonight would be the beginning.
    The lone night watchman was a man in his sixties. His presence, according to Caliph, was not intended to repel invasion, but a mere ploy by the owners to gain more favorable insurance premiums. There was little of true value in the place -- lathes, casting dies, heavy machinery. Colson Industries' very specialized product weighed in at over nine tons per unit, so no common thief was going to break down a door and drag one off.
    The man in black moved, pulling along a heavy canvas bag. His name was Moustafa, and until recently he would have been described as an unemployed Palestinian accountant. Four years out of Hebron University, his prospects had turned increasingly bleak. It was one thing for a country to educate a million doctors, lawyers, and professionals. Quite another to create a society, an economy that could put them to good use. Unemployed and frustrated, Moustafa, like so many of his friends, had heard the calling and turned to his faith. Turned hard.
    Moustafa was glad he had encountered no one on the streets because his English was miserable. Since arriving in America two weeks ago, he had remained secluded in a safe house run by a Saudi, a student at one of the local colleges. Moustafa had only ventured from the house late at night in order to study his two targets. Other than that, he prayed, read the Koran, and watched the decadence of American television. And yesterday he had made his martyr's video. This night, in fact, would not be his time of glory. If everything went as planned, he would survive. But Moustafa's appointment with destiny was near.
    At a shadowed section offence he brought his first tool to bear, a pair of heavy cable cutters. As he worked, Moustafa eyed the razor wire woven along the top of the barrier, twelve feet over his head. A dramatic selling point for the traders of security fence, he supposed, but