Page 13 of Gryphon

The pilots had been the first to die.

The nose was crushed inward until it was mostly within the forward part of the passenger fuselage. The entire passenger compartment had concertinaed behind it—the plane a third shorter in death than it had been in life. The entire empennage, along with the rest of the tail, had folded over forward—the vertical stabilizer punched like the can piercer on a church key can opener into the middle of the fuselage.

The wings and engines lay to either side, the inboard sections knifed into the snow by their leading edges. Angled as if still trying to fly straight down into hell. The wings had broken and crumpled badly outboard of the engines.

And along the left side of the slope, tracing the lines of the Poma lift—not running at the hour, its long poles hanging like hooks to fish for the souls of the dead—lay lines of body bags. Black on the white snow, each bag so dark it looked like a line of graves waiting to be filled.

He knew the scene would haunt him the rest of his days. He looked down at what he was wearing. When he was done, he would destroy all of his suits. He’d have Gertrude buy him a new one for nights out and entertaining. One suit in which he could pretend at least on the outside, at least for her, that he’d never seen any of this.

8

“You remember I’m rotorcraft, right? I don’t recognize half this shit.” Tad nudged a crumpled piece of metal with his boot. “Especially not in the dark.”

“Wing slat. Outboard by the look of it,” Holly twisted about to shine her headlamp on nearby wreckage. The port side engine was jammed into the snow close to her right. The broken-off end of the wing well to her left. “Mid-wing slat. It’s the bit that extends out from the front edge of the wing to give it more curvature, more lift for departure and landings.”

“So is it telling us anything? Or is it just a piece of broken crap?”

Holly used to leave this part of it to Miranda and Jeremy. Once he’d transferred from the West Coast office to DC, she’d picked up what slack she could. But why wasn’t one of her strengths.

“Well, it’s still tucked against the wing, rather than in the extended position. Means the pilots weren’t trying to take off or land. Not even an emergency landing. If they were, they’d have the slats well out to set maximum lift and achieve the lowest possible airspeed on touchdown. That’s unless there was a total failure of all systems and they couldn’t, which would be unlikely.”

“Meaning they dove into the hill while hustling.”

“Something like that.” Holly looked around but didn’t see any of the other team members. “Might be they were already dead.”

Miranda had started walking on the starboard-side perimeter, so why had Holly started them on the port side? She used to keep a close eye on Miranda. Something was off with Miranda, so was Holly avoiding the problem? That certainly sounded like the Holly she knew.

If he’d stayed true to form, Jeremy would be somewhere deep inside the wreck itself, oblivious to the danger. Sure enough, she spotted the bright wash of a photo flash strobe through the cockpit windows, or all that remained of them. He’d be going after the Quick Access Recorder and then be headed aft for the cockpit and flight recorders mounted in the tail section.

Mike was…over by the ski lift talking to a ski patroller in a blue-and-yellow parka. A patroller with long blonde hair spilling out from under her yellow safety helmet. Why wasn’t she surprised? Pretty women always went mush-brained around Mike. As if she hadn’t noticed that Klara Dahlberg woman at the conference giving him her card and the Call me soon, Baby look.

How did he do that?

And two in one fucking day. Blatantly.

She’d never caught him doing anything overt. Never overheard him flirting more than was normal to do. Hadn’t ever caught him having an affair.

An affair? Like being with another woman when he was supposed to be with her? They’d have to be a couple for him to have an affair just by definition.

Which they were. Which she’d sworn she’d never do.

Bloody hell! The man was messing with her head.

Like cutting up so stiff about Tad Jobson joining the team.

Except Mike never made mistakes about people. And Tad had clearly leaned on one of Mike’s buttons—hard.

“’ang on a sec.” She wasn’t sure if she was speaking to herself or Tad.

Mike was turning from the pert ski patrol girl and headed toward the nose of the wreck where Miranda must be on the other side. She’d have bet he’d be another half hour chatting up the ski patroller.

What if that’s wasn’t what he was doing? It meant…she had no idea what.

“Hang on?” Tad laughed. “To what? I still don’t know what any of this shit is.”

Holly jabbed a finger. “That’s an engine.” And again. “That’s a wing. Add two and two, Sherlock.”

“I’m just a big bad wolf,” he called after her. “Not some damn plane detective.”

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