He was pulling his headset off. “After fueling and eating some of Galvin’s popcorn,” he said, gesturing to the main lobby of the flying service whose ramp they were on. “Or, I could stay over.”
She climbed out on the right wing and stood up as he leaned over.
“Gracie, any chance you’d accompany an old retired airline birdman to dinner tonight?”
She put her hands on her hips. “Are you trying to date me, Captain?” she teased.
He looked startled. “Hey, now there’s a concept. I could use a new trophy wife. I wore out the last one.”
She began backing down the folding steps to the ground. “Okay, now I’m frightened. I’ll take a rain check, if you don’t mind. Besides, I’m going to be amazingly busy working on this thing.”
“Gracie, you do know I’m only kidding, right?”
She looked hurt. “You don’t want to date me?”
He waved and smiled. “In a few years, perhaps. When I grow up. Good luck with that judge.”
She hurried back to her Corvette in the parking lot and moved into traffic, heading for the office.
The lure of diverting to a nearby Starbucks after parking her car was strong, but her office had a coffeepot and she had several hours of drafting and proofing to do before the amended complaint and the accompanying papers would be fit to present to a federal district judge on the doorstep of his home. She swung through the door of her office feeling strangely out of place, as if Ben Janssen might be waiting for her in abject disapproval.
There were several others at work in the sprawling offices, but she slipped inside unnoticed and closed the door. She pulled her laptop out of her briefcase and secured it in the docking cradle on her desk just as the urge to talk to April became overwhelming.
Sitting on the forty-sixth floor had an added advantage of a direct shot to the nearest cellular phone tower, so the signal was clear and steady as she punched in April’s cell number, relieved when April answered on the third ring. The background sounds had diminished.
“Where are you, April?”
“About three hours out of Valdez.”
Gracie reported Arlie’s directive to withdraw on Monday whatever she’d filed.
“I don’t want to do it, April, but ethically I don’t have a choice if he won’t relent.”
“I’ll talk to him. I tried after you called.”
Gracie relayed the details of the call from Ben Cole. “I think you need to rendezvous with him as quickly as possible, before your dad orders you home, too.”
“Ben who?”
“Cole. Ph.D. I think he’s taking a big risk with his job, or something, so we’ll need to arrange a very discreet meeting.”
“Okay, go ahead. I’ll be here until we reach Valdez, then I’ll try to get a commercial flight or charter someone to get back to Anchorage.” There was a pause on the Alaskan end and some words exchanged in the background.
“Sorry, Gracie. Just talking to Jim. What’s the next step?”
“I’m going to sit here in my office and hammer out a new complaint, April. What I filed yesterday was a temporary restraining order to prevent the Coast Guard from destroying the tapes they took from you. Now we have missing wreckage. This may touch the laws of admiralty, so I’ve got some research to do very quickly, but what I need to accomplish is to have the judge order the government to disclose where the wreckage is, protect it, freeze it in one place, and give us the chance to inspect it.”
“So … we’re not suing them?”
“Well, it’s a bit tricky. The FAA is the government, and essentially they’re withholding evidence if any part of the government has something material. In this case they’ve gone out and snatched the prime evidence in open waters. I’m still working through the right theory, but they can’t charge the captain with violative conduct and then affirmatively go obtain and hide evidence to the contrary.”
“Can’t we sue them for damages, too? I mean, as long as Dad will relent. After all, I’ve already spent several thousand dollars for the privilege of being accosted, looted, deceived, and frustrated by my own government.”
Gracie was drumming her fingers on the desk in thought. “That’s perfect, April!”
“What?”
“Obstruction of justice. That’s essentially what they’ve been doing. First, there’s a process in place in administrative law for violations against pilots, and the process enables the licensed airman to defend himself or herself and present evidence. But if the same government—read: ours—tries to get in the way and obstruct that process, it’s arguable that they’re committing a criminal act, and at the very least they’re creating irreparable harm if the evidence is tampered with. And, civilly, let me see. I’ll bet I can hang my hat on admiralty law, in that what they’ve done, regardless of which government agency did it, constitutes tortious interference with property rights.”
“Admiralty law?”
“Yes. It governs things like this involving navigable international waters, and it’s a separate and distinct form of what we call legal jurisdiction. There’s common law, there’s equity law, which is what I used to get that restraining order, and then there’s admiralty, which goes way back to Great Britain.”
“What’s equity law?”
“In old England, as the common law developed, the regular courts could award money and property to injured or damaged people who sued other people and won. But the normal courts were powerless to act until an injury, or damage, had occurred. So another kind of jurisdiction developed we now call equity jurisdiction, handled by special courts that could order people to do something or not do something in order to prevent harm. In other words, if Lord Brighton threatened to come on Lord Smythe’s land and cut down a favorite tree, Smythe could either wait for the damage to be done and then sue Brighton, or he could go to an equity court and get the court to order Brighton not to cut down the tree in the first place.”
“Okay.”
“Today, in our country as well as the UK, almost all courts have equity jurisdiction along with their normal duties. So judges can preside over damage trials as well as issue court orders, known as temporary restraining orders and injunctions.”
“My head’s spinning, Gracie.”
“Yeah, well, here’s what I think we’ll do. You went out there with Jim Dobler to begin the process of salvaging the wreck of your dad’s airplane as his appointed agent. There can be no question about abandoning the wreck, in other words. You never abandoned it.”
“Of course not.”
“But, you see, that’s a big, big deal, April. If you don’t abandon the wreck, no one can take the title away. A salvage operator can bring it up if you don’t specifically tell him not to and at worst you might have to pay the fair value of those services, but no one can take the title to it. Not even our government, without due process of law.”
“Which means?”
“The FAA or Navy or whoever would have to … I know this sounds silly, but … file suit against the Albatross.”
“What?”
“I told you it sounded silly. It’s called ‘in rem’ jurisdiction, where the title to property is being determined. I remember a case in law school that absolutely cracked me up. It was before the Supreme Court of the United States, and it was entitled: The United States of America versus One 1973 Rolls Royce.”
“Who won?”
“Not the Rolls.”
“So, unless we see the United States of America versus November Three Four Delta Delta …”
“That’s it … they can’t seize it, they can’t hide it, and they can’t interfere or claim you’ve abandoned it.”
“Good. Don’t listen to Dad. I don’t know what’s spooking him, but we carry on. Okay?”
“As long as I can do so ethically.”
“We’ll work it out. Don’t withdraw anything.”
“Call me when you get to Valdez, April. I’ve got to get this researched and written and find the judge bef
ore he goes fishing or something.”
“You’re hopeful, then, Gracie?”
“Heck, yes! They may just have saved your dad ten to twenty thousand dollars in salvage fees by illicitly interfering, as well as giving us the evidence we need to clear him.”
“Wonderful!”
They ended the connection and Gracie began the task of pulling up the right cases on the computer, finishing an hour faster than she’d expected.
She checked the firm’s carefully guarded listing of all the home addresses and phone numbers of the state and federal judges and found Judge Chasen’s listing, her hand hesitating over the dial pad as she went over what she was going to say.
A woman answered the Chasen phone and Gracie introduced herself, giving the name of the firm.
“I apologize for bothering you, but I need to come to your home and file some court papers with the judge.”
There was a sigh on the other end and a chuckle. “Let me get him. Hold on.”
The receiver clanked on a table and several minutes went by before a gruff, familiar voice came on the line.
“This is Judge Chasen.”
“Your Honor, Gracie O’Brien. I apologize for the necessity of this call, but there have been dramatic new developments in the case I’m handling regarding the crash of that private aircraft in Alaska last Monday.”
“What, exactly, are ‘dramatic developments,’ Counselor?”
“The TRO you granted, Your Honor, concerned a confiscated private videotape of the aircraft wreckage. That tape was taken away. Now the wreckage has also been seized by the government without notice, without process, and without assurance that it will not be altered or tampered with.”
“As I recall, this had to do with a Federal Aviation Administration license suspension, correct?”
“License revocation, Judge. Vastly more serious and damaging, but the evidence that will clear the plaintiff is in that wreckage, and this … unwarranted seizing of the evidence is, well, tantamount to obstruction of justice.”
“Wait a second here. Are you alleging a criminal violation by some government entity?”
“At the moment, Your Honor, I need to come file a petition with you for a new TRO, restraining whichever branch of the U.S. government has damaged, moved, or otherwise imperiled the evidenciary value of that wreckage, and to request a court order essentially arresting the wreckage and requiring it to be delivered to the court’s jurisdiction for inspection by us. I have a separate action against the FAA to file as well.”
There was a chuckle on the other end, and a sigh. “So you want me to arrest the airplane and the FAA?”
“That would be a nice start, Your Honor.”
“You have my address?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Be here in one hour and I’ll look at it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Thank me then, Counselor. Not now. I haven’t seen your pleadings yet.”
FORTY
SATURDAY, DAY 6 VALDEZ, ALASKA 3:42 P.M.
Jim Dobler’s coastal tug was closing on the Valdez dock when Scott McDermott’s Widgeon appeared overhead, maneuvering for a landing. They tied up almost simultaneously, Scott shaking his head as he alighted from the nose hatch after securing the lines.
“No ships in any direction?” April asked.
“Quite a few, actually,” he replied. “But none of them were candidates for carrying the wreckage. Whoever snatched it is probably already in port and the wreckage has been removed somewhere.”
“Can you fly me to Anchorage?” April asked.
“When?”
“Now.”
She explained the unexpected phone call from a man named Ben Cole, and the reservation she was holding on an evening flight back to Seattle.
“You’re … heading back?”
“Yes, why?” she asked, momentarily puzzled at his startled reaction.
Scott recovered and shrugged. “No reason. Just a lot happening.”
“Scott?” she probed, watching him carefully. “What are you thinking? Am I missing something?”
He laughed and tried to wave her away. “No! No, nothing.”
“Okay.”
“And yes, we can get started as soon as Jim puts some fuel in my aerospace vehicle.”
“The Widgeon is an aerospace vehicle?”
“Well, a bit on the suborbital side. Real low orbit.”
“I would think.”
He turned away, then turned back. “You … planning on coming back up sometime soon?”
“To Anchorage, you mean?”
“Wherever. Alaska.”
“Why?” April asked, suddenly understanding the uncharacteristic shyness she was misinterpreting.
“Well, you owe me a date, Miss Rosen.”
“I do?”
“I got you off that lake alive. That was the deal. And I’d like you to wear a tiny black leather miniskirt.”
“You don’t get to pick what I wear, Scott. Good grief!”
“Well, at least you’ll go out with me.”
“We’re here together right now. Can’t we consider this the date?” she asked. “After all, I just kinda spent the night with you last night.”
“Yeah, with me as your hired help. I wasn’t the dater, so it doesn’t count.”
“Dater?”
“Yes. I’m the dater, and you’re the datee.”
“Now, that’s romantic,” she said.
Jim Dobler had turned with a fuel hose in his hand headed for the Widgeon. “Did I miss something, kids?”
April inclined her head toward Scott. “How long have you known this horn dog?”
“Too long.”
“He always been like this?”
Jim chuckled. “We used to lock up our daughters and wives when he’d come to town.”
“I thought so,” April said, turning and putting a finger gently on Scott’s chest. “Get me to Anchorage, please, and we’ll arrange something next time I’m up here or you’re down there.”
“Great. By the way, a low-cut see-through blouse works really well with the miniskirt.”
“Scott! Enough?”
He winked at Jim as he turned to help him with the fueling, leaving April to her cell phone and the task of arranging the meeting in Anchorage.
The sun was on the horizon by the time the Widgeon soared over the top of the Regal Alaskan Hotel and settled smoothly onto Lake Spenard. Scott backtracked to the hotel dock and helped April out with her overnight bag and purse, then pulled himself up to the dock to stand awkwardly for a second trying to decide how to say goodbye. She suppressed a smile as she watched the process, and kept a neutral expression when he finally extended his hand to shake hers.
Instead she stepped forward and hugged him, pulling back with a smile and looking in his eyes.
“I really appreciate everything, Scott, and if that check doesn’t cover your fees, I’ll send you the difference.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“But I thank you for going above and beyond.”
She kissed him, quickly and suddenly, pulling away before he could reciprocate.
“And we’ll go on that date.”
She slung her bag onto her shoulder and waved as she found her way into the hotel and onto the front drive. April pulled the information out of her purse, matching the description of the car she was looking for with the one sitting near the entrance to the hotel and making sure the license number was the same. She walked quickly to the passenger side and got in, offering her hand to the driver, while she kept the door ajar.
“Hi. I’m April. And you’re Ben Cole?”
“Ah … yes,” Ben said with a startled expression. “I’m sorry … I didn’t see you coming until the door opened.”
“You wanted to be circumspect, and I want to be safe,” she said, her right hand firmly on the door handle. “So please don’t be insulted, but I’d like to see some identification.”
He began fishing for
his wallet.
“I’m … with a company called Uniwave Industries, Ms. Rosen.” He pulled his ID badge from his shirt pocket, and then handed over his driver’s license, waiting until she handed them back. April closed the door then and nodded.
“Okay. I think you probably are who you say you are.”
He grinned. A good sign, she thought. He was in his mid to late thirties, nicely dressed and groomed, and altogether a good-looking man who would look even better with contact lenses. She was well aware that he’d been careful not to walk his eyes up and down her chest, and that restraint was appreciated. Instead, he met her gaze dead on.
“I assure you that I’m me, although quite often I’m also beside myself.”
“Yes, me too,” April chuckled. “You want to stay here, or …”
“If you don’t mind, let’s … just drive somewhere close.”
“Fine.”
He maneuvered the car out of the lot and turned northeast on Spenard.
“My dad briefed me on your call,” she said.
“Good. I understand you have a flight to catch tonight, right?”
She nodded. “In about two hours. We don’t have long.”
“Okay.” He pulled into the crowded parking lot of a restaurant called Gwennie’s, letting the motor run. He turned to begin talking at the same moment her cell phone rang. April glanced at the screen, recognizing her father’s number.
“Could you excuse me to answer this? It’s my dad.”
“Certainly. Should I step outside?”
She shook her head as she punched the button, her face hardening as she listened to Arlie’s unexplained request that she come home immediately.
“Dad, I’ll be on my way in an hour. What on earth is spooking you? Gracie said …”
She nodded in response several times before speaking again. “Look, let’s … let’s discuss this when I get home, okay? No … later, Dad. Just hang tight. Whatever’s got you worried, we’ll get past it. I love you, Dad.”
She disconnected and tried in vain to turn her full attention back to Ben Cole, but a significant portion of her mind was churning over the panic she’d just heard in his voice.
“I’m sorry. Go ahead.”
“Ms. Rosen, what I need to tell you has some big gaps in it because I am under severe legal constraints from my company because we do a lot of top secret defense work. If I cross a line and say too much, I could lose my job and go to jail, so I’ve got to be careful.”
Skyhook Page 33
