duty in Paris, and so Davis had attended a high school for Foreign Service dependents. He'd grown to like the country, enjoy the people. In the course of it all he had picked up a new language -- and a new sport. Davis had played high school football in the States. In France he'd seen the local kids playing something similar, only without the pads. Davis liked the idea, and rugby had become his game.
The train flowed over the track easy and quick. Davis closed his eyes, tried to let his mind go blank. It didn't work. The upcoming investigation was already there, cluttering his mental screen like hard rain on a windshield. He had experience in both military and civilian investigations. The military versions were close to the vest -- clipped press releases, no-nonsense colonels staring down cameras. But what most people didn't see in the military boards was the infighting, the flag-grade politics that went on behind the scene. Colonels and generals trying to pitch blame and catch credit. But at least the military inquiries were quick. A month, two at the outside. Civilian accident boards, like the one he was about to wrestle, could take a year or more. And Davis, by nature, was not a patient man.
Aside from the time involved, there were other differences. Since 1947, the business of investigating civil aircraft accidents had been regulated by an agreement known as the Chicago Convention, or more specifically, an obscure subsection called Annex 13. Among the more important provisions was the tricky terrain of jurisdiction. Aircraft, by nature, were transient beasts -- they could crash in one country, be registered in another, and owned by a party in a third. Annex 13 declared that the "state of occurrence" governed the authority to investigate a crash, falling back on registration should an airplane go down in international waters. So it was, the investigation of World Express 801 would be administered by France. More specifically, the Bureau Enquetes-Accidents, or BEA.
Davis would have preferred that World Express 801 had gone down elsewhere. England, Ireland. Or Lichtenstein, for that matter. France was peculiar, one of the few countries that always ran dual investigations-- the traditional safety side that he would help guide, but also a parallel criminal version where prosecutors tried to make names for themselves, tried to tie someone to a post for cobblestone target practice. In the case of World Express 801, they might go after individuals who worked for the manufacturer, CargoAir; or the operator, World Express. Captain Earl Moore and First Officer Melinda Hendricks, posthumously, would at least be spared that indignity.
Davis dozed for the last hour of the trip. The TGV dropped him right at Lyon s Saint Exupery International Airport. He exited through the rail terminal's high, fan-shaped arches. From there he could have walked to the investigation command center. Instead, Davis found a cab.
It was late morning when he arrived at the crash site.
Chapter SEVEN
Solaize, France
The weather was hard winter, a gunmetal gray sky blurred by darker veils of rain in the distance. Light drizzle swirled on an arbitrary breeze that blustered back and forth, never seeming to settle on a direction. A French breeze, Davis mused.
He knew he wasn't going by the book. He should have checked in first at the investigation's headquarters. Signed off paperwork, gotten somebody's approval. But he always liked one initial look at a crash without distraction, without people pulling him by the elbow to places he didn't want to go.
The cab was at least a half mile from the crash site when an array of barricades and police cordoned off the road. A fleet of forklifts and sturdy flatbed trucks were parked nearby, lying in wait for the awkward task of moving the wreckage to a secure location. It was a difficult undertaking, as the pieces were often huge, some weighing tons. Through all the shifting and manhandling, evidence was invariably
The train flowed over the track easy and quick. Davis closed his eyes, tried to let his mind go blank. It didn't work. The upcoming investigation was already there, cluttering his mental screen like hard rain on a windshield. He had experience in both military and civilian investigations. The military versions were close to the vest -- clipped press releases, no-nonsense colonels staring down cameras. But what most people didn't see in the military boards was the infighting, the flag-grade politics that went on behind the scene. Colonels and generals trying to pitch blame and catch credit. But at least the military inquiries were quick. A month, two at the outside. Civilian accident boards, like the one he was about to wrestle, could take a year or more. And Davis, by nature, was not a patient man.
Aside from the time involved, there were other differences. Since 1947, the business of investigating civil aircraft accidents had been regulated by an agreement known as the Chicago Convention, or more specifically, an obscure subsection called Annex 13. Among the more important provisions was the tricky terrain of jurisdiction. Aircraft, by nature, were transient beasts -- they could crash in one country, be registered in another, and owned by a party in a third. Annex 13 declared that the "state of occurrence" governed the authority to investigate a crash, falling back on registration should an airplane go down in international waters. So it was, the investigation of World Express 801 would be administered by France. More specifically, the Bureau Enquetes-Accidents, or BEA.
Davis would have preferred that World Express 801 had gone down elsewhere. England, Ireland. Or Lichtenstein, for that matter. France was peculiar, one of the few countries that always ran dual investigations-- the traditional safety side that he would help guide, but also a parallel criminal version where prosecutors tried to make names for themselves, tried to tie someone to a post for cobblestone target practice. In the case of World Express 801, they might go after individuals who worked for the manufacturer, CargoAir; or the operator, World Express. Captain Earl Moore and First Officer Melinda Hendricks, posthumously, would at least be spared that indignity.
Davis dozed for the last hour of the trip. The TGV dropped him right at Lyon s Saint Exupery International Airport. He exited through the rail terminal's high, fan-shaped arches. From there he could have walked to the investigation command center. Instead, Davis found a cab.
It was late morning when he arrived at the crash site.
Chapter SEVEN
Solaize, France
The weather was hard winter, a gunmetal gray sky blurred by darker veils of rain in the distance. Light drizzle swirled on an arbitrary breeze that blustered back and forth, never seeming to settle on a direction. A French breeze, Davis mused.
He knew he wasn't going by the book. He should have checked in first at the investigation's headquarters. Signed off paperwork, gotten somebody's approval. But he always liked one initial look at a crash without distraction, without people pulling him by the elbow to places he didn't want to go.
The cab was at least a half mile from the crash site when an array of barricades and police cordoned off the road. A fleet of forklifts and sturdy flatbed trucks were parked nearby, lying in wait for the awkward task of moving the wreckage to a secure location. It was a difficult undertaking, as the pieces were often huge, some weighing tons. Through all the shifting and manhandling, evidence was invariably
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