Page 74 of Identity Unknown
“Anything that might be there,” Benton says. “And the person didn’t want to spend a lot of time in the pitch dark goingthrough the truck while trying to manage a hostage. And perhaps worrying about another motorist rolling up while all this is going on. Even if Sal was drugged and manageable, better to grab everything out of the truck. Then go through it later when you get where you’re going.”
“Makes sense…,” Lucy starts to say. “Hold on.” She must see something in her “smart” glasses.
She steps away to make a call, her back to us as she paces. I can’t hear what she’s saying but know from her body language that the news isn’t good. She’s walking in fast small circles, pushing back her hair the way she does when frustrated.
“What’s happened now? What next?” I say to Benton as he scrolls through red-flagged alerts landing on his phone.
“A small aircraft just crashed not too far from here,” he says as I watch Lucy talking and gesturing. “Off the shore of Fort Monroe…”
Dana Diletti’s helicopter has gone down into the Chesapeake Bay twelve miles from where we are at NASA Langley. Rescuers are on the way but it’s not sounding hopeful. Benton tells me what he’s seeing in emergency alerts.
I remember from the news that the celebrity TV journalist was supposed to film at Berkeley Plantation this morning for Virginia’s Historic Garden Week. Anybody paying attention would be aware of what she was doing and when. I watch Lucy as she gets off the phone and stops pacing not far from Sal’s pickup truck, investigators covering it in white plastic.
They’ll use heat guns to shrink-wrap it like a boat stored for the winter. I wonder what will happen after they have no further use for the old Chevy that Sal had as long as I’ve known him. Maybe it will be crushed into a cube. Or sold for parts. Or someone ghoulish will try to buy it.
“You’ve heard what’s going on?” Lucy asks as she trots back to Benton and me.
“We know about Dana Diletti’s helicopter but nothing more,” he tells her.
“Who was on board?” I ask.
“Bret Jones, one of several pilots she uses. I’ve seen him around and he was always nice enough. But I didn’t know him,” Lucy explains. “He landed at Berkeley Plantation to drop off Dana and three members of her crew. The plan was for him to head to Newport News. He’d refuel and wait until they were done filming.”
It appears he was the only one on board, but that hasn’t been confirmed yet, she goes on to say. His last radio call was fifteen miles northwest of the Newport News-Williamsburg International Airport. At 11:10A.M.he contacted the tower, saying that he was inbound for landing. He was told to radio back when he was five miles out. He didn’t do that or call the UNICOM at the private terminal to request fuel and parking.
Entering the Class C airspace without clearance, he didn’t answer repeated radio calls. The airport declared an emergency, halting all traffic as F-16 fighter jets were scrambled to intercept the small white helicopter. It continued on the same southeast heading at an altitude of twelve hundred feet, overflying shopping malls, crowded neighborhoods, a hospital.
“Had it gone down over land, it could have killed a lot of people,” I reply.
“I suspect that was the intention,” Benton says.
“Obviously, it was on autopilot,” Lucy continues. “When the F-16s flew close enough for the pilots to see inside the cockpit, they reported that Bret Jones was slumped forward in the right seat either unconscious or dead. It didn’t seem that anyone else was on board, and there was nothing to be done except wait for the inevitable.”
“I have a feeling you may be here for a while.” Benton says this to me.
“That’s how it’s looking,” I reply. “I’m disappointed I won’t be riding home with you.”
“It will be very lonely.” He smiles into my eyes. “Most of all be safe and stay out of trouble.”
“Don’t worry. Tron and I will take good care of her,” Lucy promises.
“I’m not so sure.” He puts on his sunglasses. “I don’t trust it when the three of you are together.”
We walk out of hangar 1112 and into the noon glare. I hug and kiss Benton goodbye for now. I’ll see him tonight if not sooner, I promise as Tron roars up in a black Dodge Charger.
“Did someone call Uber?” She jumps out, folding down her seat so I can squeeze in back.
“Jesus. What have you got in this thing? An anvil?” I haul a heavy tactical backpack out of my way.
“Field glasses. A spectrum analyzer. And other surprises. Just like Cracker Jack.” It’s Lucy who answers.
She drops her own heavy backpack on the floor in front of the passenger seat, climbing in.
“You know the Boy Scout motto. Be prepared.” Tron slides behind the wheel.
“Also the Girl Scout motto, just so you know.” The seat is so low I feel I’m sitting on the ground, the engine shaking my bones.
“I didn’t know you were a Girl Scout once.” Lucy directs this at me.