Free Razing Beijing: A Thriller by Sidney Elston III Page A

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when suddenly the interior of the tram idled beside the Swissair jet was
illuminated. Two passengers stepped down to the tarmac—McBurney felt a stab in
the pit of his stomach. Instead of boarding the flight, the figures headed for
the trio with the wheelchair—the man pushing the wheelchair redirected it
toward them.
    “Is there a problem?” asked Schuetter.
    They were close enough now for McBurney to recognize the
physicist; in the wheelchair, his wife’s head lolled and she appeared to be
unconscious. One of the men from the tram unbuttoned his suit coat, perhaps to
reveal to Zhao a pistol holstered under his armpit. The words presently being
exchanged between the physicist and the men were not difficult to imagine; sick...quietly...immediately...hospital...die.
    Zhao rather abruptly elbowed the airport hospitality escort
aside and began wheeling his wife toward the passenger tram. He paused only once
to look back at the jumbo jet’s boarding stairs—at the freedom he was being
denied. Above the din the tram’s engine roared to life for the return to the
terminal.
    McBurney swore loudly and slammed his fist against the side
of the cockpit.

10
    Monday, April 20, Four Weeks After the Crash
    Cleveland, Ohio
    STUART UNDERSTOOD IT was
posible to be both drawn and repulsed by the very same image. The enlarged
aerial photograph of Mojave Municipal Airport was taken the day after the
crash, the twisted and charred aircraft debris vaguely reminiscent of a World
War II bombing raid. Whenever he looked at the chart, Stuart still found it
difficult to prevent other images from forcing their way into his thoughts
until, finally, the tightening in his chest forced him to look away. At the
same time, he was by necessity drawn to it. Its role in re-creating the
sequence of events would eventually allow them to isolate the single flaw that
had precipitated so much destruction.
    Yet another unproductive meeting had come to a close. Those
leaving the conference room with their various tablet devices in hand included
the usual twenty or so of Stuart’s staff, engineers who for the most part went
about investigating the crash with a sort of detached objectivity. These folks,
by their very nature, would normally be drawn to so daunting a forensic puzzle—though
not one involving body parts belonging to people whose lives they had
previously shared. Stuart wondered how each was coping with the explicit
details, especially in the evening while home with their families.
    He turned his attention back to the chart. Aircraft and
engine fragments had been recovered and catalogued, thousands of items, each a
potential key to solving the riddle. Engineers kept track of that information
by pinning onto the chart a mosaic of small labels and multi-colored thread. Red-colored
thread fanning out both sides of the runway depicted the sequence of release
and trajectories of projectiles upon ripping free of Thanatech’s disintegrating
engine. Surrounding the charred hulk of what was once a satellite video
transmission van were labels identifying many of the victims: Mulally, Karen,
office director California state legislature, age 27; Hickok, Thomas,
cameraman, WMJV-TV, age 33; Greene, Candace, journalist, WMJV-TV, age 25;
Kress, Charles, Thanatech executive officer, age 53; fourteen others labeled as
deceased or with various injuries. A mile and three-quarters further down the
runway from the van was where the forward fuselage had come to a fiery halt: Reilly,
Victor, age 51, and Harris, Christopher, age 54, Thanatech test pilots. Not far
from where the tail section and both of the engines had tumbled to a stop were
found the remains of Sandra Cole, Thanatech engineer, dead at the age of 29.
    Stuart reached to pick up the phone ringing from the
center of the conference table. “He’ll see you now, Mr. Stuart,” he heard the
caller say.
    STUART OBSERVED with
profound pity Jim Cole’s effort to project what simply had to be an
unsustainable