Razing Beijing: A Thriller (31 page)

McBurney heard the accountant say, “One obvious place to
cut is East Asia Division’s T&L. It’s the largest of all in the director’s
budget...”

A knock at the door preceded a security guard poking his
head inside the conference room: telephone call for Samuel McBurney. “You can
take it outside.”

McBurney snatched the telephone from the wall booth in the
lobby. “This is McBurney.”

“Sam, this is Ed Hildebrandt. Are we alright to talk?”

“The line’s not secure, if it matters.” Recalling
Hildebrandt’s less than collegial parting words, he said, “I take it you tend
not to hold grudges.”

“For what? Swingin’ through town and fuckin’ up my
investigation? Just have your folks help our legal attaché run a
pre-naturalization check on Emily Chang. We’ll call it even.”

“Consider it done. What’ve you got?”

“Phone records from the subpoena for both Thompson and
Chang. They were on my desk when I returned last night.”

“Ed, you caught me in the middle of a meeting. Can you give
me the punch-line?”

“There’s an unusual link between the two, actually three
sets of records if you include Sean Thompson’s cell phone. Both Thompson and
Chang made numerous calls to an unlisted number in Richmond, Virginia. Turns
out to be their previous manager, a wealthy bigwig who got the boot recently
from Thanatech and who lives outside Richmond. His slate appears to be clean,
so far.”

“I don’t see anything compelling in calling their old
boss,” McBurney observed. “Maybe he’s still interested in their work. Maybe
they want him to get them a job wherever it is he now works.”

“I’ve asked Richmond to send somebody out to question him
about it. What is compelling about these calls is the timing. The frequency of
calls placed by Thompson to this guy uh, this guy Stuart, occurred during the
last few nights he was alive and from his
home
, mind you. More
compelling yet is that the very
last
phone number dialed from his
cellular phone belongs to Stuart. The time stamp falls within the coroner’s
range for the time of his murder. We’ve asked the phone company to investigate
which cell—”

“You’re sending somebody to meet with this guy?”

“As we speak.”

McBurney absorbed the implication of a curious link between
Thompson, his murder, Chang, and this Stuart. The phone records certainly
reinforced the appearance of impropriety whereby a Chinese naturalized citizen,
who possibly laundered money, had also turned up in a homicide investigation.

“You there, Sam?”

“Interesting.”

“I’d say this tilts things in the direction of a possible
conspiracy to commit espionage. There’s credible suspicion of ‘making common
cause with the enemy,’ or whatever it is you need. I know how mindful of
obeying the law you CIA are.”

“My task force status already covers me for domestic
investigation.”

“I know. We’ll come back to that. Another question I have
is what role and how much of this information did that hidden recording device
yield, and to whom.”

“That you may never know. You say this Thanatech airplane
crash took place in Mojave?”

“Mojave, California is about a ninety-minute drive from Los
Angeles.”

McBurney glanced at the closed door to the conference room.
“Do you think you could get me into that place for a little walk around?”

He heard Hildebrandt chuckle.

“What’s so damn funny?”

“Thanatech Service Operation has your name on their
visitor list. They expect you any time within the next two days.”

MCBURNEY GULPED DOWN
the
last of his afternoon coffee. Steadying his eyes on the road, he tossed the paper
cup onto the passenger floor beside two others, then fumbled with the onboard
GPS presently tracing his progress along Highway 14 in southern California. He
confirmed his location when the car streaked by a weather-beaten road sign with
letters barely legible, ‘Wel ome to Mojave - Home f The V yager.’ Beside a vast
array of wind-turbine generators someone had posted a billboard which read,
‘OPEC GO POUND SAND.’ McBurney eased the Ford down to the posted limit of forty
miles-per-hour.

A short distance ahead he saw a small billboard at the access
road to the municipal airport. McBurney slowed the car to a stop and scanned
the directory of businesses located there and found the name he was looking
for, ‘Thanatech Aviation Service Operation - Hangar 103.’

McBurney drove along Belshaw Street past a series of
Quonset huts and finally to the PASO security shack. He had to sign himself in,
and the guard handed him a visitor’s tag and a parking pass to place behind the
windshield before waving him through. Thanatech’s aviation operation consisted
of one large aircraft hangar and what appeared to be several administration
buildings, all situated along a taxiway that paralleled the runway of Mojave’s
municipal airport.

Given the economic climate, McBurney was surprised to find
the place bustling with activity. Several dozen men and women in orange
overalls pushed carts and carried equipment back and forth between the hangar
and a large passenger jet not unlike the one he had taken to LAX. He had always
been fascinated by airplanes but understood little of how they worked. He could
not recall ever being able to walk up close to such a big jet. No one seemed to
mind him standing there, in fact it looked like anyone could walk up from
anywhere on the airport.

There seemed to be a lot going on at the tail end of the
jet. He decided to start there.

Walking past the airplane’s nose he noticed the word
‘Experimental’ highlighted in bold black letters below the cockpit windscreen. At
the tail end of the plane, one of the engines had been detached from the
fuselage and was now supported by a mobile crane and hydraulic lift. Several
technicians descended the ladder from the lift’s platform while two others
surveyed the area beneath; it seemed they were preparing to lower the platform,
with the removed engine, to the ground. Mindful to stay out of their way,
McBurney walked up and stood several yards from the lift.

He interrupted a technician walking by with a coil of
chrome tubing slung over his shoulder. “What’s with the jet motor?” He jutted
his chin toward the lift.

The technician, a slender man about forty with a mat of
curly red hair, looked at the Thanatech visitor tag McBurney had clipped to his
shirt. “We’re preparing the aircraft to flight test a new type of engine,” he
answered politely. “We’ll mount the new one in place of the one being removed,
that’s all.”

“I knew that,” McBurney said, shaking his head. “I’m
terribly sorry about what happened out here. It must have been extremely
difficult.”

The man nodded grimly. “Still is.”

McBurney glanced around, expecting to see the new engine
waiting on a pallet. On the side of the fuselage was the bare pylon to which
the engine would be attached, various metal tubes and bundles of multi-colored
wire protruding out of it. He jabbed a thumb toward the plane. “When do you
install the new one?”

“In three weeks they’ll ship us the new propfan. We could
fly in another six weeks if things go according to schedule. There’ll be a lot
of instrumentation to close and if I were to guess, the operations crew will
have us turn the wrenches a little more slowly this time around.”

McBurney said with obvious disappointment, “Oh.” It would
have been a bonus to actually witness a flight test before going home tomorrow.
Realistically, they probably would have asked all the visitors to leave. The
technician was glancing anxiously past his shoulder. McBurney wrestled over the
right inquiry to make. He thought: Emily Chang
.

McBurney guided the man by the elbow a few yards away in
order to be more easily heard. “I was wondering if you could help me. You can
probably tell I don’t know much about aviation.”

“Why are you here?”

“Actually, an acquaintance of mine back in Cleveland knows
a lot of the Thanatech engineers. I was out here on business and he got me approved
for a visitor’s pass. Can you steer me toward someone who knows about the
computers they use on this airplane?”

“Sure.” The technician nodded toward the hangar. “Why don’t
you try to find Tommy Kerns. He’s our resident geek—there he is now. See the guy
with the hair, walking beside the gal wheeling the cart toward the front of the
aircraft? He’ll tell you everything you’d like to know. And then some,
probably.”

McBurney thanked the man, who strode off briskly toward the
hangar. He approached the technician named Kerns and the woman with him as they
positioned the cart beside the forward landing gear. “Excuse me.”

The two technicians turned as he strolled up.

“I see you’re both busy. I asked to speak to the resident
computer expert and you’re who they sent me to.” He introduced himself. “I
promise not to take more than a few minutes of your time. All I’m looking for is
a general description of the computer system used in an aircraft like this.”

Kerns appeared to be in his mid-thirties, bushy dark hair and
a neatly trimmed beard rimming his cheeks. He looked at McBurney uncertainly.

McBurney said, “I’m visiting today on behalf of the federal
government.”

“Huh. So, you must be familiar with computers. Have you got
any kind of a technical background?”

“Not...really. Actually, my background is in operations.” He
beamed a smile. “But I’m pretty fast on technical things.”

Kerns pointed overhead. “This aircraft is an old
predecessor to the MD-83. It’ll be Thanatech’s first test aircraft that’s fully
fly-by-wire, which means that instead of hydraulic lines and cables
transmitting the pilot’s control movements to the various control surfaces—wing
flaps, ailerons, the rudder and so forth—a flight deck computer will interpret
his commands and transmit them electronically to actuators located at each
control surface.”

McBurney thoughtfully nodded. He padded his coat pockets
and removed a notepad and pen. “I better take some of this down.”

Kerns went on to explain that there were three on-board
flight deck computers, collectively referred to as the Flight Management System
or FMS. Three provided redundancies, while each were also programmed to perform
their own unique function, including fly-by-wire as well as navigation, cabin
environment, power plant and fuel system management.

Kerns further explained that in their drive to reduce
costs, the airlines had succeeded in their push for the industry to adopt as
its standard the two-pilot cockpit; for years now all new aircraft excluded the
former position of flight engineer. Consequently, one of the main functions of
the FMS was what the industry referred to as ‘fault monitoring’ in order to
help ease pilot workload. Electronic warning signals received by the FMS from
sensors throughout the airplane were analyzed and categorized according to
level of criticality. “The flight engineer used to do all that,” said Kerns. “Now,
if the computer deems a certain ‘fault’ non-critical, like a clogged toilet
unit, or even a faulty sensor as is often the case, the ‘fault’ indication is
directed to memory for ground maintenance action. That prevents unnecessary
distraction for the flight crew.” Kerns frowned. “This too much detail?”

“It’s fine.” McBurney gestured with his hands. “I can
distill it all down if I have to.” It was in fact a lot to absorb, McBurney
realized as he flipped to the next blank page in his spiral notepad, not
knowing how or if he was going to use any of it. He suspected much of Kern’s
elaboration had more to do with impressing his female associate. McBurney
wished Hildebrandt had taken better notes during Chang’s interrogation. What
was it she had said, something about a digital computer controlling the
parameters of an engine...?

“I’m sorry, I am a little confused. Do these faults you
describe include problems in the engines?”

“Actually, each engine has its own computer, and they
perform a similar fault-monitoring task as the FMS but limited to the engine
system. They then communicate their results, if you will, to the FMS. In many
respects that’s a bigger and more complicated job than the aircraft computers
perform in the flight deck. The engines are a lot more complicated than wing
flaps and toilets.”

“Do these...what are they, digital computers?”

“We call them the engine control unit, ECU for short.”

“Besides monitoring faults, I presume these digital ECU’s
also control the engine parameters, as opposed to the FMS, which separately
controls the fly-by-wire stuff?”

Kerns turned to Sorensen. “I say we hire this guy.”

McBurney replied, “Would I get to wear orange? Kidding. So...”

“So yeah, the ECU takes a simple thrust command from the
pilot, through the FMS, and adjusts the dozens of engine parameters necessary
at any given instant to deliver that thrust.” Kerns glanced briefly at
Sorensen. “If you want to know more detail about the engine control, you might
want to speak to one of the control system design engineers.”

McBurney raised his eyebrows. “Are any of them here?”

“No.”

“Too bad,” McBurney said, his momentary panic subsiding. All
he needed was to run into Emily Chang. He actually found this more interesting
than expected. Discussion was finally heading in a direction that sounded as
though it might include Chang and Thompson’s job responsibilities. “So, the FMS
computers talk to the engine computers...” He remembered something Chang had
said:
Sean was a software designer. His expertise was ensuring the engine control
logic interfaced properly with other airplane systems.