Nelson DeMille - Night Fall

“And did you?”

“No. Two gentlemen-FBI agents-visited me the next day and told me they were going to do a follow-up interview and that Agent Mayfield had moved on to other witnesses. Apparently she did initial interviews… there were six to eight hundred witnesses according to a news report, and about two hundred of those saw the streak of light. The others saw only the explosion.”

“I read that, too. So these two guys-did you get their names?”

“Yes. And their cards.” He took two business cards from his pocket and gave them to me. I turned on the desk lamp and read the first card. Liam Griffith . That sort of surprised me, but not that much. The second card really surprised me. It was an FBI card, but the name on it was of a CIA guy-Mr. Ted Nash, to be more precise. This was the gentleman who I’d first met on the Plum Island case, then actually worked with on the Asad Khalil case. Ted had many annoying habits, but two stood out-the first was his pocketful of business cards and credentials that identified him as an employee of whatever government agency fit his purpose or his mood of the moment; his second annoying habit was his thinly veiled threats to terminate yours truly whenever I pissed him off, which was often. In any case, Ted and I had put all that behind us, mostly because he was dead.

I said to Captain Spruck, “Can I keep these cards?”

“Yes. Miss Mayfield said I could give them to you.”

“Good. And do you have Ms. Mayfield’s card?”

“No. Mr. Nash took her card.”

“Really? Okay, so what did these two guys talk to you about?”

“They had listened to the taped statements I’d given to Miss Mayfield and said they wanted to go over them again.”

“And did you ever get a transcribed statement of your taped interview to sign?”

“I did not.”

Very unusual. I said, “Okay, so these guys had a tape recorder, too?”

“Yes. Basically they wanted me to repeat what I’d said the day before.”

“And did you?”

“I did. They tried to find inconsistencies in what I was saying to them and what I’d said to Miss Mayfield.”

“And did they?”

“No.”

“Did they ask you about your eyesight?”

“Several times. I had perfect distance vision, then and still do.”

“Did they ask if you’d been drinking or on drugs?”

“They did. I told them I found the question insulting. I don’t take drugs, and I don’t sail when I’ve been drinking.”

To lighten the moment, I said, “I only drink with other people, or when I’m alone.”

It took him three seconds to get the joke, and he sort of laughed.

I said to him, “In other words-and I don’t mean this in a pejorative way-they tried to shake your testimony.”

“I suppose so. They explained that it was their job to do that in case I was ever called as a witness in a court of law.”

“That’s right. And how did this interview end?”

“They said they’d contact me again, and in the meantime they strongly advised me not to make any public statements to the news media, or to anyone. I agreed to this.”

“Did you see them again?”

“Yes. A week later. They had a third man with them who they introduced as Mr. Brown from the National Transportation Safety Board, though I never got his card.”

“What did you guys talk about this time?”

“The same. We went through my statements for another hour-a long time for an event that took less than two minutes. At this time they informed me that they thought the explosion may have been an accident, caused by a mechanical malfunction.”

“What kind of mechanical malfunction?”

“They didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”

“Why not?”

“I know what I saw.”

“Right. So you’re saying that what you saw-a streak of light and the subsequent explosion of the aircraft-were related.”

“I never actually said that. How could I?”

“I appreciate your sticking to the facts. So maybe the streak of light and the aircraft exploding were a coincidence.”

“Hell of a coincidence.”

“And yet, it could be. So how’d you leave it with these guys?”

“I had questions of my own by now. I asked them about radar sightings, about other eyewitnesses, about military maneuvers out on the ocean that night-”

“What military maneuvers?”

“It was in all the media. There’s a military zone out on the ocean of several thousand square miles called W-105, which was activated that night for war games.”

“Yeah, I remember that. So, did these guys answer any of your questions?”

“No. They said they were not at liberty to discuss anything about the incident while the investigation was in progress.”

“Were they nice about blowing you off?”

“They were polite, but firm.” He added, “The fellow called Nash, however, wasn’t as polite. He was…”

“Condescending?” I offered. “Snotty? A prick?”

“Something like that.”

That’s my Ted. Only Ted Nash could try to make an Annapolis graduate and combat veteran fighter pilot feel inadequate. I asked Captain Spruck, “How did they leave it?”

“They again advised me not to make any public statements, and they said they’d be in touch.”

“Were they?”

“No.”

“I’ll bet if you’d made a public statement, they’d have been on your doorstep real soon.”

He replied, “They understood that in my position-an officer in the active reserves-I’d do what the government asked.”

I nodded, then asked him, “So you left it that way? I mean, in your own mind?”

“Well… I assumed the investigation would move forward and that if they needed me, they’d call. There were so many other eyewitnesses… and then they started to dredge up the aircraft and put it together at Calverton… I figured that they were getting closer… FBI agents were interviewing everyone around here about suspicious characters, people who’d taken boats out of the marinas that night, background checks of the plane’s passengers… I followed all this on the news… it was a massive investigation… so, I waited.” He added, “I’m still waiting.”

I informed him, “The case is closed. You won’t hear from anyone ever again.”

He replied, “I’ve heard from your wife. And now you.”

“No, you haven’t.”

He nodded, then said to me, “I’ve been tempted over the years to call Nash or Griffith.”

I replied, “Ted Nash is dead.”

This took him by surprise, but he didn’t respond.

I added, “And if I were you, I wouldn’t call Liam Griffith.”

He nodded.

I stood and said, “I’m going outside. You can join me or leave.”

I went out through the screen door and onto the catwalk. I stood at the railing with my back to the door. It’s always a good idea to give a friendly witness a short break and a chance to reflect on what he or she was getting into. It was a chance for me, too, to think about what I was getting into.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The breeze had picked up and the temperature was dropping.

I heard the screen door open behind me and without turning I asked Captain Spruck, “Do you think it was a military war games exercise that went very wrong?”

“No.”

“I thought that was one of the stronger conspiracy cover-up theories at the time.”

He stood beside me and replied, “It is absolutely impossible to cover up an accident of that magnitude. Hundreds of seamen and airmen would have to be involved with a cover-up of an accidental or mis-aimed missile launch.”

I didn’t reply, and he went on, “The average sailor talks too much when he’s sober . When he’s drunk, he’ll tell everyone at the bar his sailing orders, fleet strength and capabilities, and anything else he knows. Where do you think the expression ‘Loose lips sink ships’ comes from?”