Ridley Pearson - Hard Fall

Hard Fall [181-142-181-4.8]

By: Ridley Pearson

Category: Fiction Suspense

Synopsis:

Two years ago a little-known terrorist group, Der Grund, bombed a plane carrying FBI agent Daggett's family from Frankfurt. His parents perished; miraculously, his son survived, although the free fall from sixteen thousand feet has left the boy paralysed from the waist down. And now the investigation into Flight 023 is not only Daggett's responsibility, it is his life.

All but a handful of Der Grund operatives now rot in jail; the group has been decimated. And yet , Anthony Kort, the psychopath responsible for planting the Frankfurt bomb, still walks free -carrying enough hardware to blow two more planes from the skies. After fourteen months' planning, the most ambitious scheme Der Grund has ever attempted is under way.

With no hard evidence and with clues from forensic and aerodynamic experts that will not add up, Daggett follows his quarry's murderous trail across America. Forced to defy his superiors, his loved ones and the ghosts from his past, it is only by sensing the pattern to Kort's actions that Daggett can stop a full-scale disaster. And time is running out... By pitching two minds against each other, both equally brilliant, equally obsessed, divided only by a moral code, Ridley Pearson has created a thriller that is relentlessly paced, emotionally charged and every bit as absorbing as his previous bestsellers, Undercurrents and Probable Cause.

Last printing: 10/19/02 `@,70' Also by Ridley Pearson:

UNDERCURRENTS PROBABLE CAUSE

Macdonald Book

First published in Great Britain in 1992 by

Macdonald & Co (Publishers) Ltd

London & Sydney

The right of Ridley Pearson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Hardback ISBN: 0-7045- 356 20600 9 PTipprhurlr TSRN 0 35fi 20601.2-.

Printed and bound in Great Britain by

BPCC Hazells Ltd Member of BPCC Ltd

Macdonald & Co (Publishers) Ltd

165 Great Dover Street

London SE1 4YA

For Colleen

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Cameron Daggett, Chief of Police, Sun Valley, Idaho

Seattle: Dr. Christian Harris, Psychiatrist; Dr. Donald Reay, King County Medical Examiner, the Seattle Police Department; John E. Hope, Simulator Projects/ Training Boeing Commercial Airplane Group; Jerry Femling, Senior Manager, Security, The Boeing Company

Los Angeles: Detective Dennis Payne, Robbery/ Homicide Los Angeles Police Department; various anonymous members of the LAPD substation, Los Angeles International Airport

Washington, D.C.: David Dodge Thompson, National Gallery. FBI: (Washington Metropolitan Field Office) Thomas E. Duhadway, Special Agent in Charge; James E. Mull; (Hoover Building) Stephen D. Gladis; David W. Wade, Chief Telecommunications Services; J. Christopher Ronay, Chief Explosives Unit; I. Ray McElhaney, Jr.; Robert B. Davenport; Dr. Rose Anne Fedorko; and to the many other Special Agents who could not be named....

Thanks also to: Richard and Lynette Hart; Ollie Cossman; Louisa Jane Modisette; Jacques Bailhe; Franklin Heller; Ian Cumming; Darwin Ridd and Leucadia Film; Bruce Kauf-man; Carolyn Johansen.

Office Management: Mary Peterson

Manuscript Preparation: Colleen Daly, Maida Spaulding

Special Thanks: Al Zuckerman, Writer's House; the Warden and Fellows of Wadham College, Oxford, England; the Fulbright Commission

NOTE: A glossary of acronyms can be found on the final page.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual incidents, or persons living or dead is unintended and purely coincidental.

Some facts in this story (both in locale and of a technical nature) have been deliberately changed or altered for reasons of storytelling, or at the request of law enforcement or specific individuals who aided me in my research. Certain secrets remain intact, which is better for everyone. To the warm and generous people of Seattle, Los Angeles, and Washington, D.C." my advance apologies for any mistakes that could have been avoided.

ONE

CAM DAGGETT SHOOK his watch, questioning its accuracy, and glanced a quarter-mile ahead at the dirty, exhaust-encrusted sign that indicated the lane change for National Airport. Heat waves rose in fluid sheets from the pavement, distorting the distance, carrying gray exhaust into the canopy of smog. Given this traffic, they would never make it in time.

News radio explained that the congestion was the result of a three-car pileup with injury. Daggett checked the rearview mirror, wondering if he could pull some stunt with the car. He feared that if he didn't, there might be a hell of a lot more injury to come. And it wouldn't be a few cars on a highway; it would be the burning hulk of an airliner spread over several acres.

"What about a helicopter? We could call for a helicopter."

The big man on the seat next to him mopped his forehead and said nothing. Daggett's anxiety threatened again. He felt boxed in. By the traffic. By this obese man sitting next to him. He could feel his hair turning gray.

A yellow hamburger wrapper replete with golden arches fluttered like a bird with a broken wing and dove into traffic, adhering to the side of a Mercedes where it smeared catsup across the side panel doors like blood from an open wound.

He felt wounded, too, if pride could be wounded. Marcel Bernard had escaped FBI surveillance six days earlier in Los Angeles.

Now, through a fluke, a stroke of luck, they had the man in their sights once more. Daggett had no intention of losing him again. Bernard built bombs for a living. He was one of the best, or one of the worst, depending on which side of the interrogation table you sat. The interrogation. Impatience gnawed at Daggett like a stray dog at the mailman's heel. A bulging file back in his office at Buzzard Point contained a grainy black-and-white photograph of what had proved to be a portion of Bernard's thumbprint. Laboratory evidence. As good as a noose around the neck. Hopefully, the gallows might be traded for information vital to Daggett's continuing investigation into the downing of EuroTours flight 1023. The man who built the bomb was one thing; but the man who planted the bomb he was the real killer.

Up ahead, a driver climbed out of his car and popped the hood. The August heat and humidity had claimed another victim.

"Twenty-two minutes," he announced through clenched teeth to the overweight Bob Backman, enthroned in the seat next to him. Behind his back, they called him Falstaff because of his enormous gut. Coat off, wheezing like an asthmatic, Backman was soaked through in a sweat. "That plane goes in twenty-two minutes," Daggett repeated.

Backman attempted to appear calm. He was a bad actor. Perhaps he intended to part the traffic, a fat Moses at the George Washington Memorial Parkway.

Daggett had the leathery features of a major league first baseman. He had a hard brow, dark, intimidating eyes, and a prominent nose. His lips didn't move much when he spoke, a holdover from wearing braces during his adolescence. He was soft-spoken a family trait though by his build one might have expected more of a growl.

"Why exactly did you come along?" Daggett asked Backman.

"I wondered when we would get to that," Backman admitted, blotting a drip of sweat from his double chin. Backman was a bookish man, with a receding hairline and chapped lips. He tended toward shirt collars a size too big and suits a size too small. "You're not debriefing him. I am."