Chapter 8 - The File That Should Not Exist
Captain Sloan reviewed Dale's statement twice.
Then a third time.
She sat across from Nora in a restricted conference room with Commander Holloway and a civilian investigator from the Naval Criminal Investigative Service.
Special Agent Marcus Reed was forty-one, broad-shouldered, and so calm that Nora initially found him difficult to read.
He had listened without interrupting.
Now he placed his pen on the table.
"Lieutenant Ketterman says he received a threatening message referencing aircraft Eight-Seven-Four."
Nora nodded.
"Yes."
"And that number matches the aircraft involved in your accident."
"Yes."
Reed looked at Sloan.
"Has the message been recovered?"
"Digital forensic personnel are working on it."
"Have you ruled out a prank?"
"No," Sloan replied.
Reed turned toward Nora.
"Do you believe Captain Shaw sent the message?"
Nora hesitated.
"I don't know."
"Do you have evidence that he did?"
"No."
"Then why does his name keep appearing?"
Nora's jaw tightened.
"Because he led the investigation that ended my flying career."
"That creates a possible connection."
Reed paused.
"It doesn't prove a crime."
Nora looked down.
"I know."
His voice softened.
"Good."
She looked up.
"Why is that good?"
"Because if you're right about what happened, the evidence needs to withstand scrutiny from people who don't want to believe it."
For the first time, Nora found herself respecting him.
Reed continued.
"Your recollections are important."
He tapped the table.
"But we're going to test them against records, witnesses, and physical evidence."
"Understood."
Sloan opened a file on the display.
"We've obtained Ketterman's aircraft maintenance history."
A series of entries appeared.
Briggs leaned forward.
"That isn't the record we saw yesterday."
Sloan nodded.
"Correct."
Holloway frowned.
"Why not?"
"Because the live maintenance system and the archived maintenance system do not match."
Nora stared at the screen.
Two entries.
Same aircraft.
Same date.
Same discrepancy number.
Different corrective actions.
One record stated that the oxygen-system issue had been corrected by inspection.
The other listed an additional component replacement.
Briggs's expression hardened.
"Those are materially different entries."
Reed looked at him.
"Explain."
"If you inspect a component and determine it is serviceable, that's one maintenance history."
Briggs pointed toward the display.
"If you replace it because it failed, that's another."
Sloan nodded.
"Exactly."
Reed asked the obvious question.
"Which record is authentic?"
"That's what we're investigating."
Nora leaned forward.
"Check the component serial number."
Sloan looked at her.
"What?"
"If a replacement occurred, there should be a traceable serial number."
Briggs nodded immediately.
"Removal and installation records."
Holloway turned to the captain.
"Do we have them?"
"Not in the current archive."
Nora felt her stomach tighten.
"Of course not."
Sloan held up a hand.
"That doesn't mean they've been destroyed."
Reed nodded.
"Electronic records are sometimes incomplete for ordinary reasons."
Nora looked at him.
"Do ordinary reasons also send threatening messages to pilots?"
He met her eyes.
"No."
Silence followed.
Then Reed spoke.
"Which is why we're investigating both matters separately until the evidence connects them."
The door opened.
A civilian cybersecurity specialist entered with a laptop.
"Captain Sloan."
"Go ahead."
"We recovered a fragment of the message displayed on Lieutenant Ketterman's terminal."
Reed straightened.
"What does it show?"
The specialist connected her computer.
A partial message appeared.
The beginning was missing.
The ending was damaged.
But the central words were readable.
874 WAS NOT AN ACCIDENT.
Nora stared.
Her heartbeat thundered.
Three years.
Three years of being told she'd made an unforgivable mistake.
Three years of listening to people describe her as irresponsible.
And now those five words were sitting on a government computer.
Holloway broke the silence.
"Can you identify the sender?"
"Not yet."
"Can you recover the entire message?"
"Possibly."
Reed leaned forward.
"Preserve the original system image and document the recovery process."
"Already in progress."
The specialist hesitated.
"There's another issue."
Sloan frowned.
"What?"
"The message appears to have originated from an internal maintenance-support network."
Briggs looked up sharply.
"Internal to the base?"
"No."
She shook her head.
"Internal to the larger aviation logistics system."
Reed asked.
"Who had access?"
"A large number of authorized users."
"Can you narrow it down?"
"We're working on the access trail."
Nora watched the incomplete message.
The words seemed to burn through the screen.
874 WAS NOT AN ACCIDENT.
It could be a warning.
A threat.
A confession.
Or bait.
She didn't know.
But for the first time, she had evidence that someone else had questioned the official explanation.
That evening, Nora returned to her apartment.
The place was small.
One bedroom.
A faded blue couch.
A kitchen table covered with maintenance manuals.
Above her desk hung a framed photograph.
Five pilots standing beside a Super Hornet aboard an aircraft carrier.
Nora stood in the middle.
Twenty-three years old.
Smiling.
Wearing her wings.
She hadn't taken the photograph down.
But she hadn't looked at it properly in years.
Tonight, she did.
Her eyes moved from face to face.
Lieutenant Rachel Kim.
Lieutenant Owen Foster.
Commander Adrian Cross.
Lieutenant Nora Valdez.
And Lieutenant Samuel Price.
Nora frowned.
Samuel Price.
She stared at the photograph.
The name brought back a conversation from the final week before her crash.
Samuel had worked closely with squadron maintenance during their deployment.
He'd once mentioned unusual paperwork involving breathing-system components.
Nora closed her eyes.
She remembered standing beside him in a passageway.
Somebody's moving parts through the system without proper traceability.
At the time, she'd been exhausted.
She hadn't asked enough questions.
Now she searched for his name in her old contacts.
The number was disconnected.
She tried an email address.
It bounced.
Then she searched an archived squadron roster she had saved years earlier.
Samuel Price had transferred into a defense logistics assignment after the Coral Sea incident.
Nora stared at the screen.
Price.
The same surname as Caleb Price, the technician Dale had identified.
It might be coincidence.
She couldn't assume otherwise.
She called Agent Reed.
He answered on the third ring.
"Reed."
"I have a name you need to look into."
"Go ahead."
"Samuel Price."
"Connection?"
"He served with me."
"Why is he relevant?"
Nora took a breath.
"Because before my crash, he told me someone was moving oxygen-system components without proper records."
There was silence on the line.
Then Reed asked.
"Do you know where he is now?"
"No."
"Have you contacted him?"
"His old number doesn't work."
Another pause.
"Nora."
"Yes?"
"Do not try to locate him yourself."
She frowned.
"Why?"
"Because we've already encountered that name."
Nora went still.
"Where?"
Reed exhaled.
"In a list of people who accessed a restricted aircraft-component tracking system."
"When?"
May you like
His answer made her sit down.
"Three hours before Ketterman's flight."
