die-hard Air Force pilots still prefer that particular type of folder to the newer, plastic ones for holding their paperwork.”
Vixen 03 47p>
“Maybe it will tell us what the crew was doing that far off course.”
“I for one hope so,” said Steiger. “I want all the facts in hand and the mystery neatly gift wrapped before I drop it on a desk at the Pentagon.”
“Ah … Steiger.”
The colonel looked at Pitt questioningly.
“I hate to bear tidings that will screw up your well-laid plans, but there’s more than meets the eye concerning the enigma of Air Force 03-much more.”
“We’ve found the wreck intact, haven’t we?” Steiger fought to keep his voice down. He was not to be denied a moment of triumph. “The answers lie only afew yards away. Now it’s only a matter of salvaging the remains from the lake. What else is there?”
“A rather unpleasant dilemma none of us counted on.”
“What dilemma?”
“I’m afraid,” Pitt said quietly, “that we also have a murder on our hands.”
10
Giordino spread the contents of the folder on the kitchen table. There were six sheets in all. The small aluminum plate Pitt had found in the pocket of the pilot was simmering in a solution Giordino had concocted to bring out the traces of etching in the metal.
Pitt and Steiger stood before a crackling fire and sipped coffee. The fireplace was built of native rock; its heat warmed the entire room.
“You realize the enormous consequences of what you’re suggesting?” Steiger asked. “You’re conjuring up a serious crime out of thin air, without a shred of evidence… .”
“Stick it in your ear,” Pitt said. “You act as though I’m accusing the entire United States Air Force of murder. I am accusing no one. Granted, the evidence is circumstantial, but I’ll stake my life’s savings that a forensic pathologist will bear me out. The skeleton in the cargo hold did not die thirty-four years ago with the original crew.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Several items don’t jibe. To begin with, our unaccounted-for passenger still has flesh on his bones. The others were stripped clean decades ago. This indicates, to me at least, that he died long after the
48 VIXEN 03p>
crash. Also, he was tied hand and foot to the cargo tie-down rings. With a little imagination you could almost envision the earmarks of an old-fashioned gangland slaying.”
“You’re beginning to wax melodramatic.”
“The whole scene reeks of it. One mystery ties illogically to another.”
“Okay, let’s take what we know to be true,” said Steiger. “The aircraft with serial number 75403 exists not where it is supposed to. But nonetheless it exists.
“And I think we can safely assume the original crew sits down there in the wreck,” Steiger continued. “As to the extra body, perhaps the report neglected to mention his status. He might have been a last-minute assignment: a backup engineer or even a mechanic’who strapped himself to the cargo rings just before the crash.”
“Then how do you justify a difference in uniform? He was wearing khakis, not Air Force blues.”
“I can’t answer that any more than you can say for certain that he was murdered long after the crash.”
“There lies the catch,” Pitt said evenly. “I’ve got a solid idea who our uninvited guest is. And if I’m right, his demise by person or persons unknown becomes a fundamental certainty.”
Steiger’s eyebrows raised. “I’m listening,” he murmured. “Who do you have in mind?”
“The man who built this cabin. His name was Charlie Smith, Congresswoman Loren Smith’s father.”
Steiger sat there silently for a few moments, digesting the enormity of Pitt’s statement. Finally he said, “What proof can you offer?”
” Quite literally bits and pieces. I have it on good authority that Charlie Smith’s obituary says that he was blown to smithereens in an explosion of his own making. All that was ever found were a boot and one
Vixen 03 47p>
“Maybe it will tell us what the crew was doing that far off course.”
“I for one hope so,” said Steiger. “I want all the facts in hand and the mystery neatly gift wrapped before I drop it on a desk at the Pentagon.”
“Ah … Steiger.”
The colonel looked at Pitt questioningly.
“I hate to bear tidings that will screw up your well-laid plans, but there’s more than meets the eye concerning the enigma of Air Force 03-much more.”
“We’ve found the wreck intact, haven’t we?” Steiger fought to keep his voice down. He was not to be denied a moment of triumph. “The answers lie only afew yards away. Now it’s only a matter of salvaging the remains from the lake. What else is there?”
“A rather unpleasant dilemma none of us counted on.”
“What dilemma?”
“I’m afraid,” Pitt said quietly, “that we also have a murder on our hands.”
10
Giordino spread the contents of the folder on the kitchen table. There were six sheets in all. The small aluminum plate Pitt had found in the pocket of the pilot was simmering in a solution Giordino had concocted to bring out the traces of etching in the metal.
Pitt and Steiger stood before a crackling fire and sipped coffee. The fireplace was built of native rock; its heat warmed the entire room.
“You realize the enormous consequences of what you’re suggesting?” Steiger asked. “You’re conjuring up a serious crime out of thin air, without a shred of evidence… .”
“Stick it in your ear,” Pitt said. “You act as though I’m accusing the entire United States Air Force of murder. I am accusing no one. Granted, the evidence is circumstantial, but I’ll stake my life’s savings that a forensic pathologist will bear me out. The skeleton in the cargo hold did not die thirty-four years ago with the original crew.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Several items don’t jibe. To begin with, our unaccounted-for passenger still has flesh on his bones. The others were stripped clean decades ago. This indicates, to me at least, that he died long after the
48 VIXEN 03p>
crash. Also, he was tied hand and foot to the cargo tie-down rings. With a little imagination you could almost envision the earmarks of an old-fashioned gangland slaying.”
“You’re beginning to wax melodramatic.”
“The whole scene reeks of it. One mystery ties illogically to another.”
“Okay, let’s take what we know to be true,” said Steiger. “The aircraft with serial number 75403 exists not where it is supposed to. But nonetheless it exists.
“And I think we can safely assume the original crew sits down there in the wreck,” Steiger continued. “As to the extra body, perhaps the report neglected to mention his status. He might have been a last-minute assignment: a backup engineer or even a mechanic’who strapped himself to the cargo rings just before the crash.”
“Then how do you justify a difference in uniform? He was wearing khakis, not Air Force blues.”
“I can’t answer that any more than you can say for certain that he was murdered long after the crash.”
“There lies the catch,” Pitt said evenly. “I’ve got a solid idea who our uninvited guest is. And if I’m right, his demise by person or persons unknown becomes a fundamental certainty.”
Steiger’s eyebrows raised. “I’m listening,” he murmured. “Who do you have in mind?”
“The man who built this cabin. His name was Charlie Smith, Congresswoman Loren Smith’s father.”
Steiger sat there silently for a few moments, digesting the enormity of Pitt’s statement. Finally he said, “What proof can you offer?”
” Quite literally bits and pieces. I have it on good authority that Charlie Smith’s obituary says that he was blown to smithereens in an explosion of his own making. All that was ever found were a boot and one
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