“This is isolated country,” Marquez continued, “very mountainous. The terrain is severe, and on the other side of the range lies jungle, some of the most dense in our country — which is to say, some of the most dense in the world. As I’m sure you know, a small aircraft can disappear in a place like this with little trace.”
“True,” Davis said as he studied the map, “but it depends on a lot of things.” He was relieved to be on familiar ground. For the first time in ten hours he was being productive, and felt an undeniable comfort in the mechanics of his job. “If the airplane was moving fast, or if it struck the forest at a low angle, we could expect a significant scar on the canopy. Fire is a near certainty, and that can be seen from satellites. Do you have any infrared imagery yet?”
“No,” Marquez lamented. “I made a request through defense ministry channels this morning, but nothing has come. There is commercial imagery, of course, but that is expensive and often has poor resolution. Getting recent images could also prove difficult.”
“I’ll call Washington and see what I can do. What about pings from an ELT?” he asked, referring to the emergency beacon that would be giving off a locator signal if the airplane had indeed crashed.
“We’ve been listening, but there is nothing yet.”
Davis thought this strange, but also comforting. “I think we should consider other scenarios. Is it possible the airplane diverted to an alternate airport and nobody has heard about it yet?”
Marquez eyed him steadily for a moment.
Davis waited patiently for an answer.
“There were no thunderstorms in the area last night to have caused such a diversion.”
“They might have diverted for a mechanical problem. What about the aircraft’s history? Have you checked the maintenance logs for discrepancies? Have there been any repairs recently or service issues?”
“We have people going over them now. There was an MEL for an inoperative anti-ice system on the port engine.”
MEL stood for minimum equipment list. Commercial aircraft were designed with built-in redundancies, allowing them to be dispatched for passenger flights with certain inoperative components, although often with operational restrictions. Everything was spelled out in the airline’s approved MEL manual for that type of aircraft. The anti-ice system Marquez was referring to was designed to counter buildups of atmospheric icing on engine fan blades.
“Engine anti-ice,” Davis said. “That could be pertinent.”
“As I said, there was no significant weather in the area.”
“Significant doesn’t matter. The CFB-22 engine is particularly susceptible to fan blade icing. I think there was an advisory circular sent out to operators last year.”
Davis saw the colonel stiffen ever so slightly, but he relented. “Yes, it bears looking into. Our first order of business, however, is to find the airplane.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Marquez crossed the room to a desk, and pulled a cell phone and charging cable from a drawer. “This is for you. A woman from the embassy stopped by and left it for you this afternoon.”
Davis took the device in hand. It was a satellite handheld unit that looked inordinately expensive, exactly the kind of thing the United States government would buy. “The U.S. Embassy? They came and left this for me?”
“Your government can be very efficient.”
“Is that what you think?” The phone was already powered, and Davis searched the contacts section but found nothing preloaded. It was either new or had been scrubbed clean. “Maybe I should give it a try,” he said.
Marquez excused himself to an adjoining room, leaving Davis alone. He typed in Larry Green’s number from memory and initiated a call. Twenty seconds later Green answered.
“It’s me, Larry. I’m in Bogotá.”
“Outstanding. Any news yet?”
“No, nothing.”
“What about the guy in charge, Marquez?”
Davis cocked a half smile. It was uncanny how he and the general held the same outlook on things. “The colonel seems okay… so far.”
“Thank God. You never know what you’re going to get at zero latitude.” It was a running joke between them — the closer you got to the equator, the greater the chance you’d end up as the de facto investigator-in-charge.
“Listen, I need one thing fast — some imagery. We’re looking at a really big search box, mostly deep forest.” Davis referenced the wall map and dictated the coordinates of a search area with plenty of slop built in. After Green read everything back, Davis added, “I also need IR pictures, and maybe some radar.”
“Enough resolution to see a small fire under the canopy?”
“Exactly. And we need time contrast data for any radar stuff — pictures within the last twenty-four hours, then something older to compare it to. We have to look for changes in the canopy that can’t be explained by logging or clear cutting by farmers. I think the DEA does some comparative imagery along those lines.”
“They do, I’ve seen it before.”
“Can you tell if this phone I’m using is secure?”
“I show a padlock on my end — but I never trust that kind of thing.”
“Me neither. Speed, Larry, speed. We really need this yesterday, just in case…” Davis checked himself, not wanting to say the wrong words, “in case there are any survivors out there.”
“I’m on it now. Bye.”
FOUR
The general didn’t waste time.
The first wave of images arrived at El Centro forty-five minutes later, infrared data blanketing the entire search box. It would take time to sort, so two junior officers from the colonel’s staff were put under Davis’ command. In a mix of English and broken Spanish he told them what to look for, and soon all three were scanning the images on a bank of computers that Marquez had ordered installed in the operations center. To Davis’ eye, El Centro was running smoothly. There was no wasted motion, and nearly all the equipment seemed operational. So far, the investigator-in-charge appeared eminently capable, and at the very least was a top-flight organizer.
Finally having something to work with, Davis hammered the keyboard, working with the manic intensity of a condemned man searching for a lost pardon. After an hour he was blinking to keep his eyes focused. At the two-hour point, with night having taken a grip outside, he drafted two more technicians, a pair of enlisted men spotted idling near the entrance. It was nearly midnight when Marquez gave a shout from the adjoining room.
“I have something!” He emerged with two printed images in hand. “This came in from Washington moments ago!”
Marquez dropped the pictures on a table, twin radar images of the same plot of forest. One was dated last week, the other thirty minutes ago. The older image showed virgin forest, the more recent a two-thousand-foot-long scar of broken timber and disturbed earth. It was exactly what they’d been looking for. Exactly what Davis feared they would find.
The new development brought excitement all around. Davis straightened beside the table, subtly holding onto the edge. “Okay,” he managed, “that’s probably what we’re after.”
Marquez said, “We didn’t see it sooner because this area is fifty miles south of our search box. The airplane must have drifted far off course.” One of his lieutenants hurried forward and dropped a new photo on the table. He said in halting English, “Another is here, Colonel. Infrared, the same place.”
Marquez cross-checked the reference grids. “The coordinates match.” He pointed to a cluster of white blobs, obvious hot spots, and checked the time-stamp. “There was a very recent fire. Sections remain warm even now.”