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  He ignored her as he sprinted toward the gap, then leapt up onto the wing at the last second. But he landed hard, his knees slamming into metal and sending him sliding backward. Groaning, he clutched at the wing to keep from falling off. Once he’d stopped moving, he shoved himself to his feet and lurched toward the fuselage.

  “Wes!” Dione yelled. “That thing could explode!”

  Wes reached the fuselage, then shimmied down a lip that ran from the wing to the cockpit. He could see the back of the pilot’s head now, tilted to one side, still motionless.

  He grabbed the back of the cockpit opening and threw himself forward, aiming his feet for the lip just outside the pilot area. But his toes barely touched the edge before slipping off. Immediately he clamped his hands tight to the rim of the cockpit to keep from falling to the ground. Below his dangling feet, he could feel heat from the burning brush.

  “Wes!” a different voice—Anna, it sounded like—called out.

  He heaved himself upward, scrambling with his legs until one of his feet found the lip. Ten seconds later he was exactly where he’d been trying to get, only now sporting a long scratch down the inside of his left arm.

  He leaned into the cockpit and pressed two fingers against the man’s neck. A pulse. Strong.

  “Can you hear me?” Wes said.

  No response.

  He quickly scanned the man’s dark green flight suit for any blood. When he saw none, he probed lightly down the man’s arm, across his ribs, then down his thighs.

  He was pretty sure the pilot’s left leg was broken, and possibly two of the ribs. But there were no other obvious injuries.

  “Hey,” he said again.

  The pilot remained motionless.

  He was about to give the man a shake when he noticed something that should have registered right away. The pilot was holding his helmet under his left arm.

  Holding his helmet. No way he’d been flying like that.

  “Hey,” Wes said, moving the man’s face side to side. “Hey, wake up!”

  There was a moan, but nothing more.

  “Come on, buddy. Wake up!”

  This time the man’s head rolled forward, then slowly tilted up.

  “Good, good,” Wes said. “We got to get you out of this thing.”

  Wes grabbed the buckle of the harness holding the man to the chair and tried to pop it open, but it didn’t budge.

  “Is there some kind of safety lock on this?” Wes asked.

  The man moaned again. “See the ground … trying … it’s not … it’s not …”

  Wes slapped the pilot’s face. “You’ve gotta wake up.” This time the man’s eyes blinked several times, then opened all the way. “I’m trying to get you out of here, but I can’t undo your harness. Help me. What am I doing wrong?”

  The pilot jerked his head right, then left, his consciousness returning. He focused on Wes. “What happened?”

  “You put your plane down in the middle of the desert,” Wes told him. “And if you help me, you’ll actually walk away.”

  “The crash,” the man said. “Oh, God. Tried to eject … followed protocols but … the display … the electrical … everything just … something …”

  “Yeah, okay. We can talk about that later,” Wes told him. He yanked on the harness, but it didn’t give. “Help me get this open.”

  The man looked down at his chest, staring for a moment.

  “Jammed,” he said. “Already tried. Wouldn’t open.” His head lolled back. “Must have blacked out.”

  Wes stared at the buckle. If it was jammed, how was he going to get the guy out? There had to be some way. His eyes moved from the buckle to—

  The straps! He could cut through them.

  He turned and looked out at the others. Dione and Anna were standing back by the SUVs, looking worried.

  “I need a knife!” Wes yelled.

  Dione pointed to her ear and shook her head.

  “Dammit,” he cursed under his breath.

  Just then something off to his right caught his attention. Danny. He was toward the front of the plane, holding his camera and shooting the wreck.

  “You have a knife?” Wes yelled.

  Danny moved his eye away from the viewfinder.

  “No,” he yelled back, shaking his head.

  Wes turned to the pilot. “Just hang on. I’ll be right back.”

  The pilot nodded, gritting his teeth. “I’m not going … anywhere.”

  Wes leapt from the plane and landed just beyond the edge of the burning brush. His knee howled in pain, but he ignored it and sprinted toward the SUVs.

  “A knife!” he called out. “There’s one in the Escape.”

  Anna shot to the back of the truck and threw open the rear hatch. As Wes neared, she popped back around and ran up to him.

  “Here.” She held out a utility knife, blade retracted.

  “Thanks,” Wes said as he grabbed it and turned.

  Anna didn’t let it go right away. Her fingers strayed against his palm, her face full of concern.

  Wes looked back. “I’m going to be okay.”

  With a reluctant nod, she let go, and Wes started toward the plane.

  “Wait,” Dione said, reaching out and grabbing his arm. “You’re not going back there.”

  “He’s stuck! The only way to free him is to cut his straps.”

  “I don’t care. It’s not safe.”

  He shrugged out of her grasp and began running.

  This time he angled himself so that he didn’t have to stop as he jumped onto the wing. Again his knees smashed against the surface, but he anticipated it this time and didn’t slip.

  When he stood up, he could see the pilot straining to look over his shoulder. Wes raised the knife. The pilot started to smile, then suddenly he craned his neck, as if he was trying to look behind his seat.

  The man’s eyes went wide. He started to yell at Wes. “Get ba—”

  Whoosh.

  An explosive burst of flames engulfed the cockpit.

  “No!” Wes yelled.

  He started to charge forward, hoping he could still get to the pilot.

  “Wes! Stop!” Anna screamed.

  He made it to the middle of the wing before the heat of the new blaze forced him to throw his arms up in front of his face. He staggered backward a few steps before the wing disappeared from under him.

  He hit the ground hard, knocking the air out of his lungs. Gasping, he rolled out of the burning brush.

  Hands grabbed him, pulling him farther away as he sucked in air, trying to fill his lungs again.

  “We’ve got you,” Anna said, her voice raised so she could be heard over the roar of the fire.

  Danny showed up a few seconds later and helped them lift Wes to his feet and half walk, half carry him farther back.

  Wes tried to turn back. “The pilot!”

  “It’s too late,” Anna shouted. “There’s nothing you can do for him.”

  Wes looked toward the cockpit. It was completely engulfed in flames. He sagged against his friends.

  “It’s all right. We’ve got you,” Danny said.

  Together the three crew members dragged Wes away from the heat of the fire into the cooler heat of the desert, finding shelter on the other side of the vehicles.

  Once Wes finally caught his breath, Dione asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah … Fine.”

  “Here.” Anna handed him a bottle of water.

  Wes took a sip, paused, then took another. “Thanks.”

  “What the hell were you—”

  “We’ve got company,” Danny said, cutting Dione off.

  Wes’s eyes, stinging from the smoke, were having a hard time focusing on anything. But before he could ask Danny what he’d seen, a not-so-distant thumping answered his question.

  Helicopters. A whole mess of them.

  “YOU’RE LUCKY.” THE SEARCH-AND-RESCUE paramedic applied ointment to Wes’s forearm. “A little singed h
air, first-degree burn, a few bruises, and that scrape on your arm. Could have been a lot worse.”

  Wes owed two people for his life that day: the pilot for changing his plane’s course, and Dione for delaying him. Those few critical seconds she’d blocked him from running back to the jet had kept him from being caught in the flames.

  He stared at the wreckage while the medic continued to work on him. The fire was out now, and several members of the naval rescue team were working to remove the pilot’s body, while others were moving around the plane, some taking photographs, others searching for God knew what.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Stewart?” Wes pulled his gaze away from the wreckage. Standing a few feet away was a naval officer. He was wearing a khaki uniform, not the olive green jumpsuits of the rescue team. “I’m Lieutenant Miller. When you’re through, there are a couple of questions we’d like to ask you.”

  “Of course,” Wes said.

  The medic taped a piece of gauze over Wes’s burn, then stood up. “He’s good to go.”

  “Please,” the lieutenant said, “if you’ll follow me.”

  He led Wes to the helicopter farthest from the plane. A canopy had been set up beside it, and several portable stools were scattered about underneath. The other members of the Close to Home crew were all there, even Alison and Monroe, who’d been left back at the Pinnacles when the others had followed Wes to the crash site.

  The moment they saw him, those who weren’t already standing jumped to their feet and ran over.

  Anna was the first to reach him. She looked at the gauze bandage on his right arm and grimaced. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” Wes said. “I’m fine. Nothing major.”

  “Jesus, Wes, you could have been killed,” Dione said, not for the first time.

  Wes shrugged, but didn’t reply.

  Danny gave him a lopsided grin. “You going to be able to hold your camera up with that?”

  “Danny, seriously,” Anna scolded.

  “I was just joking,” Danny said.

  Alison glared at him. “Now might not be the right time.”

  The lieutenant put his hand on Wes’s back. “Sir, if you’ll please step into the helicopter.”

  “Are you taking me somewhere?”

  “No, sir. Just more privacy inside.”

  “They just want to know what you saw,” Dione said. “They’ve talked to the rest of us already. The guy inside said once they finish with you, we can get out of here.”

  The lieutenant stopped at the open door of the helicopter and motioned for Wes to pass through.

  Inside, another man sat on the bench seat that ran along the back of the passenger space, glancing at the top page of a notepad. He, too, was dressed in khakis, but he was older than the lieutenant, probably in his mid-forties. On the collar of his uniform were the silver leaves denoting a commander.

  The commander set the pad down as he rose from the bench, his back hunched slightly to compensate for the limited space. “Hello, Mr. Stewart. My name is Thomas Forman.”

  Wes shook his hand. “Good to meet you, sir.”

  “Have a seat.” Forman settled back on the bench, motioning to a spot near him. As Wes sat, the commander glanced toward the door. “That’ll be all for the moment, Lieutenant.”

  Lieutenant Miller saluted, then closed the helicopter door, leaving the two of them alone.

  Forman gave Wes a smile. “First of all, I want to thank you for reacting as quickly as you did. Your colleagues told me you didn’t hesitate to rush to the scene. Not many people would do that.”

  Wes shook his head dismissively. “I don’t know about that, Commander. It didn’t end up helping, anyway.”

  “I think you’re undervaluing your efforts, Mr. Stewart.” Forman picked up his notepad. “As much as I wish it wasn’t, my job is to investigate this accident, and try to find out what happened. Part of that means interviewing witnesses such as yourself and your colleagues.”

  “I’ll help however I can,” Wes said.

  “Thank you, I’m sure you will.” Forman smiled briefly, then turned serious. “As you can imagine, what you witnessed here is an event we consider very sensitive. It’s always a matter of national security when one of our planes goes down, but today we’ve also lost a member of our family.”

  “Of course,” Wes said. “I understand completely.”

  “Thank you. I promise I won’t take up much of your time. Just a couple of questions and you can go.” The commander glanced down at his pad. “Mr. Stewart, why don’t you start by describing what you saw?”

  “You can call me Wes, sir.”

  “All right.” Forman paused, his eyes seeming to assess Wes anew. “You’re a Navy brat, aren’t you?”

  Wes looked surprised. “Yes, sir. How’d you know?”

  “You called me Commander. Then the ‘sir,’ ” Forman said. “One of your colleagues, Miss Li, I believe, mentioned you’re actually from around here.”

  “That’s right,” Wes said. “I grew up on the base, then moved to Ridgecrest during high school.”

  “Hell of a homecoming,” Forman said.

  “You can say that again.”

  “Were your parents in the Navy?”

  “My dad made lieutenant commander.” Wes hesitated. “Retired when I was fourteen and took a job with one of the defense contractors in town.”

  “Was he a pilot?”

  Wes shook his head. “No. He did something out at the airfield, I think, but he never really talked about it.”

  “He still in town?”

  “He’s dead,” Wes said matter-of-factly.

  “I’m sorry,” Forman said.

  “Thanks. It … happened a long time ago.”

  Forman gave him a sympathetic nod, then said, “The crash. Tell me about it.”

  With a deep breath, Wes did just that, telling the commander about the noise, Danny’s initial reaction, running down the hill to see what was happening, then the realization that the plane was heading right for them.

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “I’m not an expert,” Wes said, “but I think he must have seen us.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, it seemed like at first he was going to hit us, then I’m pretty sure the engine flared, and he pushed past us and angled out here. At least that’s what it looked like to me.”

  The commander took this in for a moment. “And then what happened?”

  “I knew he was going down, so I ran for the car. But he hit before I got there. He skidded across the ground, then I took off to see if there was anything I could do to save him.”

  “I applaud your courage, Wes,” Commander Forman said. “Your father would be proud of you. But you should know the chances of surviving a crash like that are basically zero. There was little you could have done. The pilot most likely died the moment he hit the ground.”

  “Actually, that’s not true, sir,” Wes said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The pilot wasn’t dead. When I reached the cockpit, he was still alive. But his harness was stuck, so I went to get a knife. Before I could get back to him, the cockpit caught fire.”

  The commander stared at him for a moment. “Was he conscious?”

  Wes shook his head. “Not when I first got there. But he had a pulse, so I did what I could to bring him around, and he eventually came to.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  Wes struggled to remember. “Told me his harness was jammed. Then he was muttered some other things, but nothing clear.”

  “He was alive,” the commander said. Not really a question.

  “Yes,” Wes said. “I think Danny even recorded it.”

  “Recorded what?” The commander checked his notebook. “Danny DeLeon?”

  “Yeah. He’s our second cameraman. He shot everything.”

  The commander leaned back, his head nearly touching the wall of the helicopter as he stared past Wes. Then he suddenly sat
forward again.

  “It would be a huge benefit to me and my team if we could see what was shot.”

  “Of course,” Wes said. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  The commander stood up. “Maybe we should take care of that now.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  Forman opened the door, then let Wes exit first. Once they were both outside, the commander motioned to Lieutenant Miller. “Come with us.”

  Wes and the two officers headed toward the far corner of the awning, where Danny was standing with Dione and Alison.

  “Mr. DeLeon?” the commander asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Your colleague tells me you have footage of the plane from right after the crash.”

  “Um, yeah,” Danny said. “I’ve … uh … also got some from while it was still in the air, too.”

  “We’d really like to see that,” Forman said. “It could help the investigation.”

  “I can show it to you if you want,” Danny offered.

  “I was hoping we could take it with us,” Forman said. “I’d like some of our experts to take a look at it and see if it might help determine what went wrong.”

  Danny looked uncertain. “We don’t have any way to make you a copy right now. We could do it on one of the laptops back at the hotel.”

  “Copying’s not a problem. If you’ll just give us the tapes, we could—”

  “Digital card,” Danny interjected.

  Forman smiled. “Digital card, then. We can make the copies back on the base.”

  Dione took a quick step forward. “Hold on. That footage belongs to the Quest Network. It’s not leaving our hands. If you’d like a copy, you can send someone to pick it up at the hotel.”

  “Miss Li, I totally understand your reluctance,” the commander said, his voice calm and accommodating. “I promise you, we will return your original as soon as possible.”

  “Oh, no. No one’s giving anything to anyone,” Dione told him. “There’s a certain thing called freedom of the press.”

  “Again, I understand your reluctance,” the commander said patiently. “But this isn’t a matter of press freedom. It’s a matter of finding out why one of our men is dead, and trying to prevent it from happening to someone else. All I’m asking for is your help.”

  Before Dione could say anything else, Wes jumped in. “Sure,” he said. “No problem. We can get you the card.”