Our Little Secret Ch 02 4

Chapter 2 – The God Child

A pounding at the door ripped Joel from a deep sleep. "Mister Winkman" a man's voice called out between loud raps. Joel looked at his clock. It was 12:45. He'd slept only 45 minutes.

"Who is it?" he growled from the bed.

"My name is Darryl McNoughton," a man's voice called through the door, "I am from the NTSB. We need to interview you."

"For fuck's sake!" Joel swore at the door. "I need some sleep."

"I'm sorry," the voice called back, "but we need to interview you now." The NTSB was unaware Captain Granger had deputized Joel as cabin commander until their interview with the pilots. NTSB investigators interviewed both the pilot and co-pilot while Joel sat six hours in the holding room, waiting to be examined by Doctor Brighton. In his NTSB interview, Captain Granger praised Joel's quick thinking and cool leadership, not to mention his critical role in keeping the passengers safe and secure.

Joel subsequently rose to the top of the priority list among passengers to be interviewed. His last name, beginning with W, had originally relegated him near the end of the alphabetical passenger interview list. All other passengers were being interviewed by secondary NTSB investigator teams, but upon hearing of Joel's central role in the cabin management, the lead investigator decided to interview Joel himself.

"Can't this wait to tomorrow?"

"No, sir," the voice called back through the door. "I must insist. I have a bellhop with me sir, who will open the door if necessary."

"Fuck me!" Joel cursed. "Give me fifteen minutes," he called out loudly. He got up, walked to the bathroom, and used the toilet. Joel started the shower, and stepped in when the temperature was ready. He finished the tiny shampoo bottle the undead doctor opened earlier that morning. As he lathered his hair, he realized that was the first time he had a one-night stand with someone. And he didn't even know her first name. What a cliché.

Joel toweled off, remembering feeling up Doctor Strange-Love only two hours ago. As he prepared to dress, Joel realized he had no clean underwear. His carry-one luggage was still being processed. He cringed as he pulled on his only pair of underpants inside out. The undershirt he slept in was damp with sweat, so he decided not to use it. The hotel room was too warm, and he must have sweated during his 45 minute sleep.

Joel combed his hair. He didn't even have a toothbrush – the one he bought at Target in Atlanta was in his missing carry-on suitcase.

Back in the bedroom, he pulled on the same socks from yesterday, and tied up his shoes. Joel opened the hotel room door, and there stood Darryl McNoughton from the NTSB. He was a young, stalky fellow. His straight, dark hair had short, wayward tufts that pointed straight up. His pants, shirt, tie, and jacket didn't match, to the point of clashing. An NTSB ID badge with his picture hung around his neck. "Mister Winkman," he gestured, "please come with me."

Darryl led Joel to the elevator. "I need a coffee," Joel protested as they stepped inside the elevator car.

Darryl pressed the button for the second floor. "There's coffee in the interview room," the NTSB man explained.

"I'm hungry too," Joel realized. He couldn't remember the last time he ate.

"There are muffins in the room," Darryl nodded. Joel realized Darryl was a gopher, not an investigator.

The elevator door opened at the second floor. Two guards standing across from the elevator recognized Darryl, nodded, and let him pass. Darryl led Joel down a corridor past a grand ball room. The NTSB took over several smaller conference rooms in the hotel. It made logistics and security easier to convene the interviews in the same building the passengers and crew were housed in. Considering the guards, doctors, conference rooms, and he didn't know how many hotel rooms were booked, Joel started wondering what it cost to conduct an accident investigation. Probably millions.

Darryl led Joel through a door into a small conference room. There was a single rectangular table with twelve chairs around it. In the corner was a small table with coffee, muffins, and pastries. There were five people in the room, other than Darryl and Joel.

"This is Mister Joel Winkman," Darryl announced to the group.

"Mister Winkman!" a tall, grey haired man with glasses looked up and smiled. He walked to Joel and extended his hand. "Thank you for joining us," and Joel shook his hand. "How are you?"

"I'm tired, hungry, and cranky," Joel complained. "You guys kept me on the plane for twelve hours, then you locked me up in some waiting room for six more hours. I got 45 minutes sleep before you banged on my door."

"I'm very sorry for your troubles," he apologized without much sincerity, "but I'm afraid it could not have been avoided." He paused. "I'm Peter Johnson," he introduced himself. "I am the investigator in charge for the NTSB. This," he gestured to a heavy set black woman in her forties, "is Daniella Cook. She is the lead psychological factors investigator, also with the NTSB. Bruce Tanner," Peter gestured to a young man with short, dark brown hair and a crisp three piece suit, "is with the FBI, Susan Grennor is an epidemiologist with the CDC – that's the Center for Disease Control – and Mary Alwood is an investigation coordinator for the NTSB." Susan Grennor looked to be in her fifties, athletic, and trim. Mary Alwood was probably in her early thirties. She had short brown straight hair, brown eyes, and a round face. Neither skinny nor plump, Mary had the soft look of someone who hadn't been in the gym for years. She sat at the opposite end of the table with a laptop in front of her.

Joel nodded to each person in turn. "The FBI's role in this interview is as an observer," Peter Johnson explained to Joel. "It is routine for the FBI to join in an investigation until we rule out foul play." Joel nodded. He guessed that explanation was necessary to allay some people's anxieties. "Would you like to help yourself to some coffee before we get started?" Peter gestured to the table in the corner.

"I thought you'd never ask!" Joel smiled. He poured himself a coffee, double cream, double sugar, and took two muffins. "Sit wherever you'd like," Peter offered, trying to put Joel at ease. Joel sat at the end of the table, close to the coffee and muffins.

"Are we ready?" Peter looked to Mary Alwood, and she nodded. "Okay, before we start, I just want to inform you this interview is being recorded, and we are also taking detailed notes. So let's start with your full name and address." They took five minutes to cover all the basics, and Joel's first stumble was when they asked his occupation. Mary Alwood's fingers flashed over her laptop keyboard as she transcribed while they talked.

Joel described his job, and they asked several questions about his authority, responsibility, and technical knowledge. When they were ready to move on, Joel added "Actually, I've just been fired. I read an email from my boss when we landed. He fired me, so I guess I am unemployed." The FBI agent Tanner leaned forward in his chair for the first time.

"I am sorry to pry," Peter apologized in advance, "but you never know what's relevant until we have all the facts. Could I inquire, please, to the circumstances that led to your dismissal."

"It was a difference of opinion," Joel explained, "or more, I suppose, of willingness to accept accountability. Our company made a mistake – not a big one, but it was a mistake, and it cost our customer money. I explained the mistake to our customer, so that we could correct it and move on, and keep the customer happy. In fact my customer thanked me very much for my approach, and he told me he wished all of his contractors were as honest. But my boss was very angry at me for my actions, and he fired me."

"When you say mistake," Peter inquired, "was there any intent to mislead the customer?"

"Oh, no," Joel objected. "It was just a miscommunication. It was sloppiness, really – cut corners. The real issue was, I suppose, it was my boss who made the mistake, and when I pointed it out to my customer, my boss was very angry that I didn't cover up for him."

"Okay," Peter nodded. "And just to be clear, you did not know you were fired until after you landed here in Richmond."

"Technically that's right," Joel nodded, "although I see the point you are driving at. Just to make sure I'm not hiding anything, my boss phoned me before the flight, and he made his anger very clear to me. I was pretty sure I was going to be fired. I even sent a text message to my wife predicting I would be fired."

"And you sent that text message before you boarded the plane in Atlanta?"

"That's right," Joel nodded.

"Okay," Peter looked around the table, "let's move on." Joel felt a massive weight lift off his chest. He realized that, just by telling someone he'd been fired, it freed him from the bonds that imprisoned him by such a callous employer. Joel hated his job. More precisely, he liked the job itself, but hated his boss. Joel's only regret was he didn't have the courage to resign much sooner. The nicest things Quinton Systems ever did for him was to relieve him from the burden of ever working for Derrek McAlister again.

Back in the NTSB interview, Peter Johnson took several minutes to establish what seat Joel sat in on the plane, was that his assigned seat, did he move seats during the flight, how often does he fly, is he afraid of flying, is he sick when he flies, how was he feeling during this flight, did he drink, is he on medication, did he consume any alcohol or drugs before the flight, does he have any medical conditions, and a several other questions. Finally, he asked "Can you describe the flight?"

"Perfectly normal. The boarding, the takeoff, everything was normal. And then, we were over West Virginia, and ..."

"Sorry to interrupt," Peter jumped in. "How did you know you were over West Virginia?"

"I was watching the flight progress on the entertainment system. I didn't like any of the movies, so I just set up that map thing and listened to some music on my app."

"Okay," Peter nodded. "Please continue."

"Well, I was sitting with a family, and the boy in the seat ahead of me said something like ‘Dad, what's that?' I looked out the window, and there was this incredibly bright light." Joel described how the light was moving in the opposite direction, and then banked left toward the aircraft.

"When you say banked left," Peter asked, "do you mean you saw wings that banked?"

"No," Joel answered, but then he thought back. Even when he saw that light in the aircraft, Joel remembered thinking it was banking left. Why did he think that? Joel closed his eyes, and recreated the event in his mind's eye. He opened his eyes. "I think it was not round – it was sort of oval shaped, and when it turned, I saw the horizontal axis bank to the left."

"Okay," Peter jotted something down on his notepad while Mary Alwood continued transcribing everything they said into the laptop. "What happened next?" Joel described how the light continued turning toward the airplane until it hit.

"Did you see it strike the airplane?" Peter asked.

"I don't know," Joel answered. "Its boundary was diffuse. I couldn't tell exactly where the edge of it was. But it enveloped the plane."

"Okay," Peter jotted something else down. "Then what?"

"I guess I passed out," Joel explained, "because the next thing I remember is I woke up."

"How long were you out?" Peter asked.

"I don't know," Joel offered, "but I think it was only seconds, maybe a minute. Actually," he recalled, "I remember looking at the map on the entertainment system a minute or two before the boy said ‘What's that' to his dad. We had an hour and five minutes of flying time left to go. And when I woke up, it said we had an hour and two minutes. So I couldn't have been out for more than three minutes." That alone was important information to the investigators. It told them the inflight entertainment system as well as the navigation system continued working, suggesting the aircraft did not suffer damage to those systems.

The interview went on for three hours as Joel painstakingly described his actions and his role as deputized commander of the cabin. He responded to hundreds of questions. Once they talked about his actions inside the cabin, Daniella Cook, the psychologist, took over a lot of the questioning. Finally, Joel stopped and said he needed a proper meal. At 4PM they agreed to reconvene in an hour.

As they started closing their notebooks, Darryl McNoughton, the NTSB gopher, poked his head in the door, and asked to speak with Peter Johnson. They stepped outside, and Joel could hear snippets of a conversation from the hallway. Joel could hear they were talking about him. Finally, Peter and Darryl stepped inside the room, and Peter closed the door.

"Mister Winkman," Peter explained, "it seems you have taken on somewhat of a celebrity status. There is a press conference convening in one hour with the pilots and crew, however Captain Granger has insisted that you join the conference because of your pivotal role as cabin commander."

"I'm not going to any press conference," Joel objected.

"I can see why you would be intimidated," Peter sympathized, "and it might be ..."

"No," Joel interrupted, "it's not that. You guys have my suitcase. I'm wearing the same clothes and underwear I put on two days ago. I am not going to any press conference wearing this."

"Find Mister Winkman's suitcase now," Peter ordered Darryl firmly, and Darryl slipped out of the room without a word.

"As I was saying," Peter continued, "we're not done with you. We have another hour, maybe two to go, and you are not permitted to attend a press conference until we complete our interview. Upon learning this, Captain Granger has insisted the press conference be delayed until you are available. So," Peter hesitated, drawing in a big sigh, as if he was speaking against his better judgement "if we can find your suitcase, or failing that, buy you new clothes, are you amenable to attending a press conference?"

"I guess," Joel shrugged.

"Mary?" Peter nodded at her at the other end of the table.

"On it," she nodded. She shut the laptop case and picked up her cell phone, and stepped out of the room to make the call.

Looking around the room, Peter realized his gopher and coordinator were now occupied with assigned tasks. The least important agency in the room to him was the FBI. "Agent Tanner," Peter asked, "could you indulge me please to show Mister Winkman the private dining room so he can get some lunch."

"Sure thing," Tanner said with no enthusiasm. The young Agent Tanner stood and led Joel out the room. Peter closed the door after they left.

"What do you think?" Peter asked Daniella Cook, the psychologist.

"I'm not getting any bad vibes," she said. "I liked how he described his job dismissal – I think he's even proud of it – he took the high road. Maybe a badge of honor. Nothing in his description of the cabin events seemed forced, manufactured, exaggerated, or guarded. He's tired, and his body language and memory are reflecting that. We might want to have the B team re-interview him after a few day's sleep." Peter nodded. He had mixed feelings about re-interviews. Sometimes the subject remembers new things, but as often as not, the subject unwittingly biases his personal memories with what he saw in the media or what he discussed with others. Peter considered second interviews useful to evaluate if the subject had rehearsed or fabricated their answers in the first interview, and less probative in terms of gathering new relevant information. "But I am not sensing any subterfuge or deceit," Daniella was continuing. "And I'm not hearing any hero syndrome either. This guy had a grave situation thrust upon him, and he dealt with it as best as he could."

"This situation of instantaneously knocking out all the females still scares the living shit out of me," Susan Grennor from the CDC added. "Not just because I'm a woman. But ever since Captain Granger's interview, I've been thinking if this is an airborne agent, it could have catastrophic global health, security, social, and political implications."

"Me too," Daniella nodded. "If we hadn't already had Captain Granger's account of the situation, I'd tell you this guy is experiencing a psychotic break. There is nothing in the DSMV or in the global pharmaceuticals catalog that accounts for this female only condition on an individual, let alone a group of women en masse. We're talking about something never before documented."

"Anything on the bright light?" Susan asked.

"Nothing yet," Peter shook his head. "I've got Rick working with both civilian and military ATC, but so far nothing. It's still early on that front." Rick Deltray was the NTSB air traffic control investigator, who was not part of this interview. He was conducting his own interviews with air traffic controllers and reviewing their radar display archives for the time in question. "Cas told me she has already crawled in and around every square inch of that airframe, and there is absolutely nothing to suggest it was involved in any kind of collision. She's sent out some leading edge surfaces for metallurgical testing, but she's being thorough – she is just confirming no anomalies. And Perry is looking at the engines. We don't suspect any trouble there, of course, because the aircraft landed normally under its own power. We listened to the first run of the CVR this morning. It supports everything the pilots and Winkman are saying. We'll play it through for you guys tomorrow." Peter always restricts first hearing of the cockpit voice recorder to a very small team – in this case, himself, his deputy (Cas, who was not in the interview room), and one technician. In many accident investigations, the voices he hears on the recording are the last words those people spoke on this planet. It can be a gut wrenching moment to hear the emotional voice of a person facing certain death. It is the closest thing Peter has ever experienced to a ghost. And like a ghost, some recordings still haunt him on sleepless nights. "Wong has done a once through on the FDR – nothing abnormal. He's diving into the details now and we'll see the results tomorrow." The flight data recorder captures the status and state of every pilot input, every system, and every flight control surface.

"Peter," Susan warned, "when those airline pilots go out to a press conference and say they saw a bright light attack the airplane, and every woman and girl fell unconscious, there's going to be pandemonium."

"I know," Peter nodded. "I've already punted this one up the channels. I think Vicker is talking to the White House right now." Charles Vicker is the NTSB Executive Director, and is accountable for the entire organization. "I don't see how we can stop it. All the passengers on the left side of the plane saw the light, according to Winkman. Every male onboard the airplane saw the unconscious women. The best we can do is get out in front of it."

"Do you know how many conspiracy theorists and extraterrestrialists are going to get major air time on this one?" Daniella warned.

"Tell me about it," Peter shrugged. "Right now I think I'm on their side." Both women stared at Peter severely. "Joking!" he defended himself.

"We also need to get in front of inappropriate conduct against unconscious girls and women," Daniella warned. "It's already insinuated in the tabloids."

"I hear you," Peter nodded. "The FBI is taking care of that."