Jake heard the ire in his voice.
“I know, I know. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and figured I’d look things over out here. Anyway, when I got here there was this old farmer from South Carolina waiting with a pickup full of debris he found on his property. Some of it was compromised by his mower but most of it is okay.
“Pat, there’s something here you need to see. The missing section from the Challenger is here, and it has explosive residue on it. You need to get over here right away.”
“Okay, I’ve heard enough about explosions. Are you sure? Did you check it?”
“Yes, Pat, it checked out positive. Come see for yourself.”
“All right. I’ll leave right now. I’ll be there in twenty or thirty minutes. Secure the hangar. Let no one, I repeat no one in until I arrive. I’m bringing my kit and for your sake, Jake, you better be right. After I look at the debris, if I’m not convinced, then you’re on your way back to Atlanta. Do I make myself clear? ”
“Crystal.”
Exactly twenty minutes later, McGill’s NTSB Suburban pulled into the hangar. McGill and Jake spent the next hour studying and discussing all the ramifications and details of what the old man had brought in his pickup.
McGill conceded, “Jake, this changes things. Although certainly not conclusive, it’s enough to warrant suspicion and notify the FBI. For the record though, I’m still more than a little upset that you’ve gone behind my back, not followed orders and withheld information.”
The last comment startled Jake. Did McGill know about the man in his room? “What did I withhold?”
“That piece about the primary radar being out?”
“I didn’t withhold it Pat. I just hadn’t had an opportunity to share it with you yet.”
Jake knew he needed to tell McGill about the man but now he realized that if McGill knew, he would certainly relieve Jake of duties. He couldn’t allow that. He had to work this investigation to its conclusion.
Just then Jake’s cell phone rang.
“Uh-oh, It’s Beth. She’s probably pissed.”
“Why is that?”
“I told her I’d be back in less than two hours … and it’s been much longer than that.”
“You better answer it then.”
Jake flipped open his phone. “Beth, I’m sorry. I know it’s been longer than two hours, but something very urgent came up at the hangar.”
“Jake, that’s not it. Are you alone?” Beth said.
“Nope, I’m standing here with Pat. We were just going over a few details on the crash.”
“Listen carefully, just listen. I just got a phone call from Gregg Kaplan, that air traffic controller.”
“Uh huh, I remember,” he said, smiling at the phone. He noticed McGill making the call to the FBI.
“You need to get away from there right now. This Kaplan guy told me some things. I believe him. It all makes sense now. Jake, you were right. Remember what that guy said in the room, ‘Trust no one.’ Well, he meant it. Don’t trust anybody. Kaplan wants to meet you right away. He said to meet him at Barry’s Pub on River Street in one hour, that’s eleven o’clock. I’ll be there too. Hurry. ”
She hung up.
A quiver of panic ran down his spine.
He glanced at Pat. “All right, babe. An early lunch would be great, we’ll beat the crowds… yeah, I love you too. Bye, now.”
He hung up his phone. McGill did the same.
McGill walked over to Jake. “The feds will be here in a couple of hours. I called the Atlanta office. They have to call it in to D.C., and then they will dispatch a Special Agent from Savannah. The efficiency of the federal government. You’d think I could just call the Savannah office myself and save everyone a lot of time.”
“Good. That was Beth. She wants me to come have an early lunch with her like I promised. I hope you don’t mind. I should be back by the time the feds get here.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. No problem.”
As he walked toward the Mustang, McGill shouted out, “Jake. That was good work.”
“Thanks, Pat.”
He drove the black Mustang out of the hangar.
In his rear view mirror, he noticed McGill on the phone again. But his mind was on the phone call from Beth. Is she alright? Did he make a mistake in telling Kaplan his suspicions? Could he be trusted?
CHAPTER 36
The drive back to the Westin took him longer than anticipated. In the Westin parking lot, he called Beth’s cell number to see if she was still at the hotel, but there was no answer. He assumed she was on River Street and, with the already crowded festival, might not have heard her phone ring.
After waiting in the long line at the landing, he boarded the second ferry that arrived. The ferry was at capacity. He stood on the bow for the three-minute trip to the City Hall landing, wondering what Kaplan so urgently wanted and why Beth had a tone of panic in her voice. He disembarked and walked along the river, as the group had the first night, thus avoiding the always overcrowded tunnel where River Street went under the Hyatt.
The breeze tousled his hair. When he left for the airport earlier in the morning, he was dressed for the cool morning — blue jeans, a long-sleeved yellow button-down, brown leather jacket and Timberland hiking boots. He was comfortable now but realized soon he wouldn’t be and wished he had changed his shirt and dropped off his jacket while he was at the Westin. It was too late now.
He rounded the corner of the Hyatt and right in front of him was Kevin Barry’s Pub, looking much different in the daylight than at night. The sunlight revealed its age. Faded wood panels had long since weathered and were in desperate need of paint. Sun bleached letters had lost their Irish green luster.
To his right a crowd had gathered around a young man breakdancing to funky Irish music playing from a boom box. He was dressed in traditional St. Patrick’s Day style — green. The music was loud.
He made his way toward the pub, craning his neck to see through the crowd watching the dancer and looking for any sign of Beth or Kaplan.
He turned around toward the pub and ran into four young men, college age, with painted faces. Painted green. Two of them wore tall fuzzy hats. Green and white. Cat-in-the-Hat style hats. The other two wore wigs — one, a green Afro-style wig, and the other, green dreadlocks. All of the young men held mugs of green beer, not their first mug of the day.
Jake worked his way through the crowded entrance of Barry’s and looked in. The pub was busy yet there seemed to be seats available at the bar. He noticed the sign over the bar he’d seen on his first visit. It read “CE’AL MI’LE FA’ILTE” across the top and, in an arch in the middle, “Kevin Barry’s.” He had no idea what the words meant.
A few patrons had come in for an early lunch. He looked around for Beth and Kaplan. He moved through to the main restaurant and scanned the dining area. A band was setting up equipment. He went upstairs and checked the Balcony Bar and Liberty Hall dining room. No Beth. No Kaplan.
He took a seat in the Balcony Bar. He figured it an ideal spot as it offered a clear view out over River Street. He should be able to spot Beth and Kaplan without much difficulty.
A female bartender walked up behind him and said, “Hello, welcome to Barry’s — may I get you something?”
He looked at her big brown eyes, warm and inviting. She was attractive, mid twenties, with thick brown hair pulled back in a pony tail. She wore a clingy white knit skirt that stopped just below the knees, along with a t-shirt bearing the Barry’s Pub name and logo. “Not right now,” he replied. “I’m waiting on a couple of friends.”
He noticed her right forearm and wrist were wrapped in a black Velcro arm splint. “What did you do to your arm?”