TOTAL CONTROL By: David Baldacci

officer and he nervously nodded toward her, pain in his eyes.

There was pain, apparently, everywhere. These men too would have rather

been home with their families. Here there was death; it was everywhere.

It seemed to cling to her clothes, much like the snowfall.

“Ms. Archer, when you’re ready to leave, you tell Billy over there and

he’ll radio me. I’ll come right up and get you.”

As he started to get back in his cruiser, she called to him. “What’s

your name?”

The officer looked back. “Eugene, ma’am. Deputy Eugene McKenna.”

“Thank you, Eugene.”

He nodded and touched the brim of his cap. “Please don’t stay too long,

Ms. Archer.”

As the car drove away, Billy led her toward the lights. He kept his

eyes straight ahead. Sidney didn’t know how much Officer McKenna had

told his partner, but she could feel the distress emanating from his

body. He was a slender straw of a man, young, barely twenty-five, she

thought, and he looked sickened and nervous.

He finally stopped walking. Up ahead Sidney could see people moving

slowly across the property. Barricades and yellow police tape were

everywhere. Under the artificial daylight, Sidney could see the utter

devastation. It resembled a battlefield, the earth seemingly inflicted

with a terrible surface wound.

The young police officer touched her arm. “Ma’am, you oughta stay back

around here. Those folk from Washington are real particular about

people messing around up here. They’re afraid somebody might stumble

over… you know, mess up stuff.” He took a deep breath. “There’s just

things everywhere, ma’am. Everywhere! ! ain’t never seen anything

like it and I hope I never do again so long as I live.” He looked off in

the distance again. “When you’re ready, I’ll be down there.” He pointed

in the direction from which they had come and then headed back down.

Sidney wrapped her coat around her and brushed the snow from her hair.

She unconsciously moved forward, then stopped, then started advancing

again. Directly under the umbrella of light, mounds of dirt had been

thrown up. She had seen that on the news now countless times. The

impact crater. They said the entire plane was in there, and though she

knew it to be true, she could not believe it was possible.

The impact crater. Jason was in there too. It was a thought that had

become so deep, so wrenching, that instead of sending her into

hysterics, it simply incapacitated her. She clenched her eyes shut and

then reopened them. Thick tears rolled down her cheeks, and she did not

bother to wipe them away.

She did not expect to ever smile again.

Even when she forced herself to think of Amy, of the wonderful little

girl Jason had left her, not a trace of happiness was able to break

through her utter sorrow. She stared ahead as cold winds buffeted her,

her long hair swirling around her head.

While she continued to watch, several large pieces of equipment headed

over to the crater, engines whining, black, smoky exhaust gushing up

from their bowels. Steam shovels and earth movers attacked the pit with

great force, lifting up huge mouthfuls of earth and depositing them in

waiting dump trucks, which headed out on special routes over terrain

that had already been searched. Speed was the overriding concern, even

paramount to the risk of further damaging the aircraft’s remains. What

everyone wanted desperately to uncover was the FDR. That was more

important than worrying about turning a quarter-inch fragment into

something smaller by the accelerated excavation work.

Sidney noticed the snow was adhering to the ground–an obvious concern

to the investigators, she assumed, as she saw a number of them racing

around with searchlights, only stopping long enough to stick small flags

in the rapidly whitening earth. When she moved closer, she made out the

green-clad figures of the National Guardsmen as they patrolled their

sectors, rifles slung over their shoulders, their heads turning

constantly in the direction of the crater. Like an omnipotent magnet,

the crash site seemed inexorably to demand everyone’s attention. The

price to be paid for the innumerable joys of life, it seemed, was the

constant threat of swift, inexplicable death.

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