Free Fly by Wire: A Novel by Ward Larsen Page A

hat, whip, and dust. His movement seemed stunted, locking in position now and again, and Davis realized he was posing for the photographer.
    The man addressed the gathering in English, under a heavy French accent. One look at the crowd told Davis why. There were clearly a lot of nationalities here. But then, CargoAir was a worldwide consortium, a far-flung archipelago of suppliers and designers and subcontractors. The inquiry would have to reflect it. There would be a hundred interested parties -- some helping, others getting in the way. For the most part, Davis would avoid them, because he wasn't here to make friends or build teams. He was here to solve a crash. And to do that, he preferred to work alone, a pelagic creature that swam where it liked and ignored the currents. There were always currents.
    "You can see the captain's station is largely intact," the speaker said. His words flowed with a carefree ease derivative of two possible sources -- competence or sublime overconfidence. "This indicates that the copilot s side of the aircraft was the first to impact. Of course, data will confirm this in time. But if proven, it will be a confirming indicator of which pilot was at the controls in the moments before impact." He paused, waiting for the obvious.
    "Why is that?" someone asked obligingly.
    "Empirical psychological studies have proven that in the last instant of any crash, be it aircraft or automobile, the operator will instinctively steer away from impact to save himself."
    Empirical psychological studies? Davis cringed.
    Another voice prodded, "Even if the outcome is hopeless?"
    The speaker emphasized, " Particularly if the outcome is hopeless. So, with regard to the captains thoughts, this section tells us--"
    "Nothing," Davis interjected.
    The speaker fell silent. A sea of heads turned.
    Davis said, "When an airplane hits, tons of metal hit the ground and break up -- it's chaos and it's random. Certain parts of the airframe, because of their inherent structural strength or frangible nature, tend to be the most intact. Wings, tail, landing gear. If a main body section this big survives, there's one of two reasons." Davis paused, but nobody asked. "You either have a low speed or low-angle impact."
    The speaker reestablished control. "I don't think we have met, sir."
    "Jammer Davis, NTSB."
    "Ah, yes. Our American liaison. Thank you for your . . . opinion. As you are leading the human factors group, you will be happy to know that this is my specialty as well. I am a resident professor at Ecole Normale Superieure in Paris, specializing in aviation psychology. "The man paused, and Davis had the impression he was mulling coverage of the rest of his curriculum vitae. Instead, he edged through the crowd and held out a hand. "I am Dr. Thierry Bastien, investigator-in-charge of this inquiry."
    Davis thought, Christ, a shrink at the helm. He said, "Nice to meet you."
    The two shook hands. Then the Frenchman arced out an arm and said, "The others here are also involved in our investigation. We will be gathering for lunch soon. However, since all the working group leaders are present, perhaps an impromptu meeting would be in order."
    "A meeting?"
    "Certainement! Your information, Mr. Davis, the seventy-two-hour profile of the captain -- it holds great interest for us all."
    "Really? Why is that?"
    Bastien did not answer. He only smiled politely, adjourned his lesson, and then asked for the key players to remain behind.

    Chapter EIGHT
    Lyon, France
    The meeting took place in a side room, a generic rectangular space that might have been a break room or an office in its previous life. There were a dozen scattered chairs and a white board was nailed to one wall. A square table sat empty in the middle, looking for all the world like it was waiting for a four-sided card game, and above that was a central light fixture. Someone had added a ceiling fan as an afterthought, and as it turned slowly its long blades clipped the incandescent