The Color of a Promise (The Color of Heaven Series Book 11) by Julianne MacLean Page A

been so glad to see Gary walk through the door. He was a tall, large African American man in his early sixties, with a voice like James Earl Jones. As soon as he entered a room, it felt like everything was about to be wrestled under control.
    On top of all that, he was like a father to me.
    “That’s what’s still not clear,” he replied as he moved behind his desk, sat down and booted up his computer. “From the video, it looks like some of it went down in the water just off the beach, and other parts, on land. And there are some reports of more wreckage a mile or two off the coast, which suggests the fuselage broke apart at high altitude, long before impact. Those are rough waters off Cape Elizabeth, so the crash site will be a challenge, if that’s what happened.”
    “So there might have been an explosion,” I said, already considering the implications of that.
    Gary gave me a look. “You know better than that, Meg. Don’t make any assumptions until you see the evidence.”
    “I know, I know,” I said. “I’m just eager to get there.”
    “Me, too. Hannah’s working on our flights and hotel rooms, and we need to find a suitable location to set up command headquarters. You can help out with that. You know the drill. We’ll need plenty of phone lines and scanners.” His cell phone rang and he checked the call display. “Shit. It’s the FBI. I have a feeling this one’s going to be complicated.” Before he answered the call, he waved a hand to usher me out of his office. “Keep your eye on CNN and everything Jack Peterson is reporting. He saw the whole thing and he’s right there. Let me know if they find any survivors.”
    I hurried out of Gary’s office.
    o0o
    While I worked at getting our team assembled to leave for the crash site, I continued to watch CNN, and was amazed at the footage Jack Peterson had managed to capture—which they replayed constantly, over and over—not to mention the fact that the plane had gone down, practically in his front yard. At times I had to stop, shut everything out, and focus my eyes on the television screen, because I was a structures specialist and the footage was giving me a sense of the timing and direction of the aircraft’s fall from the sky.
    I was looking to determine how much of the plane was intact when it impacted the ground. I listened carefully to the roar of the engine just before it landed—which suggested that the problem had not been engine failure. But we wouldn’t know anything for sure until we arrived on site and the systems specialists got to work on the evidence.
    There was no question in my mind that we were going to need a copy of that video, so our specialists could analyze every detail.
    It was now 11:25 p.m., and Peterson was broadcasting live from the site with a professional cameraman and a satellite van nearby. He was capturing more footage of the firefighters combing through the wreckage for survivors, all the while speculating about what might have caused the crash.
    “So far, we don’t know exactly what happened here, but based on reports from eyewitnesses, myself included, it appears that there was an explosion, which occurred while the plane was still in the air. We do not yet know if there was some sort of explosive device on board, or if it was caused by a mechanical issue. We hope we will have those answers soon, when the investigators arrive. But the first priority is, of course, the continuing search for survivors.”
    I shook my head at him, wishing he wouldn’t start suggesting that there might have been a bomb on board, when we had no idea—at least not yet—what happened, or why. The last thing we needed was the media fanning flames of panic and suspicion before we even got there.
    As far as survivors were concerned…
    Based on what I had seen so far, I knew there was very little possibility that anyone could have survived that crash. Although, I never stopped praying for miracles.
    Just then, the phone rang at