Wild Storm by Richard Castle Read Free Book Online Page B

of the plane, strewn in a long line from the point of initial impact to their final resting places. The main fuselage had broken into several parts. He saw an engine here, a wing piece there, a tailpiece somewhere else. There were a lot of other plane parts that were even less identifiable. Confusing matters further was the plane’s cargo, which was scattered over a wide area.
    If Storm had an advantage going into this melee, it was simply that there were so many people—with so many different parts to play—and most of them didn’t know what the others were supposed to be doing. It would allow him a certain amount of anonymity. All he had to do was act like he belonged there and had a job to do.
    He bypassed the large tent that he could guess was serving as a temporary command center. Most of the people who would have known the FAA had no direct role in the initial phases of an investigation—and would have told him to get lost—were likely under that canvas awning.
    Storm made a direct line toward the field. He moved from broken piece to shattered bit, not knowing exactly what he was looking for but, at the same time, not wanting to miss anything. He made brief eye contact with any number of NTSB employees, none of whom seemed to register that he wasn’t one of them.
    He stopped to eavesdrop on a few conversations without being obvious. He heard bits of the jargon that Agent Bryan had hastily tried to teach him. But nothing really popped out. Much of it was just loose talk about colleagues, accommodations, travel, or other things that did not interest Storm.
    He had started at the back of the debris field and was working his way forward, if only because that was the opposite direction that most of the other people were going. That way, he wouldn’t see the same person twice. Eventually, Storm knew he might have to risk making contact with one of the men or women scurrying around him. For now, he wanted to be a fly on the proverbial wall.
    He had just reached a particularly interesting piece of metal and bent over to study it when someone decided to swat at the fly.
    “Excuse me? Who are you?” someone asked.
    “George Faytok,” Storm said, without a moment’s hesitation. “I’m with the FAA.”
    Storm stood. And then, because he had long ago learned the best defense was a good offense, he added, “Who are you?”
    “Tim Farrell. I’m with the Structures Working Group.”
    Storm nodded, knowingly. Bryan had explained this part to him. The NTSB’s “Go Team” consisted of eight working groups, each responsible for investigating certain aspects of a crash—everything from the Systems Working Group (which studied the plane’s hydraulics, pneumatics, and electronics) to the Human Performance Working Group (which studied the crew’s drug, alcohol, and medical problems).
    “Hell of a thing, isn’t it?” Storm said.
    Farrell wasn’t distracted. “I’m sorry, Mr. Faytok, but what is the FAA doing out here?”
    “Oh,” Storm said. “We’ve had some changes to 8020.11C. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about them.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Sorry, 8020.11C. That’s the number for our Aircraft Accident and Incident Notification, Investigation, and Reporting Policy. There have been some changes to Chapter One, Section Nine, Part…oh, jeez, C or D? I can’t even remember anymore. Don’t ask me to quote line and verse. It’s the part that governs our interactions with the NTSB. What it says is I actually have to lay eyeballs on what you guys are doing.”
    Farrell jammed his fists in his side. “I hadn’t heard about that.”
    “It’s still your crash site,” Storm said, raising his hands as if to surrender. “That hasn’t changed, obviously. It’s just one of those typical cover-your-ass things. I guess there was a superlight that went down in Ohio or something and some wires got crossed between you guys and us. Some higher-up who felt the need to justify his job decided we had to tighten up