upposing he wasn't able to reach Laceroth first。'
'They're not your ideal public servants。 Maxine Wulce is the Chairman。 An attorney； young and politically ambitious； looking out for number one； a real piece of work。 Wouldn't give you two cents for her。'
'Vice Chairman？'
'Hunter Parkman。 Pure political patronage。 He's old money； so lie doesn't need the job； but he likes being a presidential appointee and talking crash lore at parties。 Give you fifteen cents for him。'
Although he had continued to study the woods at the foot of the meadow； Joe had seen no further movement among those trees。
Far to the east； a vein of lightning pulsed briefly through the dark muscle of the storm。
He counted the seconds between the silver flash and the rumble of thunder； translating time to distance； and ascertained that the rain was five or six miles from them。
Barbara said； 'I've given you only a Xerox of the transcript I wrote down that night。 I've hidden the original away。 God knows why； since I'll never use it。'
Joe was torn between a rage to know and a fear of knowing。 He sensed that in the exchanges between Captain Blane and First Officer Santorelli； he would discover new dimensions to the terror that his wife and daughters had endured。
Finally； Joe focused his attention on the first page； and Barbara watched over his shoulder as he followed the text with one finger to allow her to see where he was reading。
Sounds of First Officer Santorelli returning to his seat from the lavatory。 His initial ments are captured by the overhead cockpit microphone before he puts on his headset with the boom mike。
SANTORELLI： Get to L。A。 （unintelligible）； I'm going to chow down on so much （unintelligible）； hummus； tabbouleh； lebne with string cheese； big plateful of kibby till I bust。 There's this Armenian place； it's the best。 You like Middle East food？
Three seconds of silence。
SANTORELLI： Roy？ Somethin' up？
Two seconds of silence。
SANTORELLI： What's this？ What're we 。。。 Roy； you off the auto pilot？
BLANE： One of their names is Dr。 Louis Blom。
SANTORELLI： What？
BLANE： One of their names is Dr。 Keith Ramlock。
SANTORELLI： （with audible concern） What's this on the McDoo？ You been in the FMC； Roy？
When Joe inquired； Barbara said； 'The 747…400s use digitised avionics。 The instrument panel is dominated by six of the largest cathode…ray tubes made； for the display of data。 And the McDoo means MCDU； the multi…function control and display unit。 There's one beside each pilot's seat； and they're interconnected； so anything one pilot enters is updated on the other's unit。 They control the Honeywell/Sperry FMC； the flight management puter。 The pilots input the flight plan and the load sheet through the MCDU keyboards； and all enroute flight…plan changes are also actuated with the McDoos。'
'So Santorelli es back from the john and sees that Blane has made changes to the flight plan。 Is that unusual？'
'Depends on weather； turbulence； unexpected traffic； holding patterns because of airport problems at the destination。。。
'But at this point in a coast…to…coast flight…little past the midpoint…in pretty good weather； with everything apparently ticking along routinely？'
Barbara nodded。 'Yeah； Santorelli would wonder why they were making flight…plan changes under the circumstances。 But I think the concern in his voice results more from Blane's unresponsiveness and from something unusual he saw on the McDoo； some plan change that didn't make sense。'
'Which would be？'
As I said earlier； they were seven degrees off course。'
'Santorelli wouldn't have felt that happening when he was in the lavatory？'
'It started soon after he was off the flight deck； and it was a gradual； really gentle bank。 He might have sensed something； but there's no reason he would have realized the change was so big。'
'Who are these doctors…Blom and Ramlock？'
'I don't have a clue。 But read on。 It gets weirder。'
BLANE： They're doing bad things to me。
SANTORELLI： Captain； what's wrong here？
BLANE： They're mean to me。
SANTORELLI： Hey； are you with me here？
BLANE： Make them stop。
Barbara said； 'Blane's voice changes there。 It's sort of odd all the way through this； but when he says 〃make them stop；〃 there's a tremor in it； a fragility； as if he's actually in 。 。 。 not pain so much but emotional distress。'
SANTORELLI： Captain。 。 。 Roy； I'm taking over here now。
BLANE： Are we recording？
SANTORELLI： What？
BLANE： Make them stop hurting me。
SANTORELLI： （worriedly） Gonna be…
BLANE： Are we recording？
SANTORELLI： Gonna be all right now… A hard sound like a punch。 A grunt； apparently from Santorelli。
Another punch。 Santorelli falls silent。
BLANE： Are we recording？
As a timpani of thunder drummed an overture in the east； Joe said； 'He sucker…punched his copilot？'
'Or hit him with some blunt object； maybe something he'd taken out of his flight bag and hidden beside his seat while Santorelli was in the lay； something he was ready with。'
'Premeditation。 What the hell？'
'Probably hit him in the face； because Santorelli went right out。 He's silent for ten or twelve seconds； and then'…she pointed to the transcript…'we hear him groaning。'
'Dear God。'
'On the tape； Blane's voice now loses the tremor； the fragility。 There's a bitterness that makes your skin crawl。'
BLANE： Make them stop or when I get the chance。 。 。 when I get the chance； I'll kill everybody。 Everybody。 I will。 I'll do it。 I'll kill everybody； and I'll like it。
The transcript rattled in Joe's hands。
He thought of the passengers on 353： some dozing in their seats； others reading books； working on laptops； leafing through magazines； knitting； watching a movie； having a drink； making plans for the future； all of them placent； none aware of the terrifying events occurring in the cockpit。
Maybe Nina was at the window； gazing out at the stars or down at the top of the cloud cover below them； she liked the window seat。 Michelle and Chrissie might have been playing a game of Go Fish or Old Maids； they travelled with decks for various games。
He was torturing himself。 He was good at it because a part of him believed that he deserved to be tortured。
Forcing those thoughts out of his mind； Joe said； 'What was going on with Blane； for God's sake？ Drugs？ Was his brain fried on something？'
'No。 That was ruled out。'
'How？'
'It's always a priority to find something of the pilots' remains to test for drugs and alcohol。 It took some time in this case；' she said； as with a sweep of one hand she indicated the scorched pines and aspens uphill； 'because a lot of the organic debris was scattered as much as a hundred yards into the trees west and north of the impact。'
An internal darkness encroached on Joe's field of vision； until he seemed to be looking at the world through a tunnel。 He bit his tongue almost hard enough to draw blood； breathed slowly and deeply； and tried not to let Barbara see how shaken he was by these details。
She put her hands in her pockets。 She kicked a stone into the crater。 'Really need this stuff； Joe？'
'Yes。'
She sighed。 'We found a portion of a hand we suspected was Blane's because of a half…melted wedding band that was fused to the ring finger； a relatively unique gold band。 There was some other tissue as well。 With that we identified…'
'Fingerprints？'
'No； those were burned off。 But his father's still alive； so the Armed Forces DNA Identification Laboratory was able to confirm it was Blane's tissue through a DNA match with a blood sample that his dad supplied。'
'Reliable？'
A hundred percent。 Then the remains went to the toxicologists。 There were minute amounts of ethanol in both Blane and Santorelli； but that was just the consequences of putrefaction。 Blane's partial hand was in those woods more than seventy…two hours before we found it。 Santorelli's remains…four days。 Some ethanol related to tissue decay was to be expected。 But otherwise； they both passed all the toxicologicals。 They were clean