by Peter Parken
“Wow. I hope you’ll keep it anyway.”
Nate nodded. “We’re one of the financial sponsors of an amusement park museum in Vegas. It’ll go there. That’ll be its new home.” He motioned with his hand. “Come, follow me. Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, I’d love some.”
“Great. I have one of those Keurig machines in my office—a fresh cup every time!”
He led her into his office—a nice bright corner one, with framed photos of rollercoasters on the walls. “Are those all yours?”
Nate nodded. “Some of them—and others are just some famous ones from different parts of the world.”
She noticed some photos of snakes, too. “You like snakes?”
Nate chuckled. “I’m fascinated by them. Weird, eh? And all of my coasters are named after them.”
Shelby sat down in one of the guest chairs while Nate brewed their coffees.
“I guess you’re surprised to see me.”
“How do you take your coffee?”
“Just a bit of cream, thanks.”
Nate handed her the coffee and she took a sip. “Um…good. Just what I needed.”
He sat down in the chair beside her. Shelby thought that he was similar to John Fletcher that way. Both of them chose not to have the barrier of a desk in the way of a conversation. She was impressed.
“Yes, Shelby, I am surprised that you’re here. Oh…you don’t mind if I call you Shelby, do you?”
She smiled. “No, and what should I call you, Mr. Morrell?”
“Definitely not ‘Mr. Morrell.’ Call me ‘Nate.’”
“Not Nathan?”
“I hate that name—too formal.”
“Well, I think you suit ‘Nate.’ You look like a ‘Nate.’”
He laughed. “These days, I’m not sure what I look like. I’m not sleeping too well—that’s no doubt a problem you’ve had, too.”
“It’s getting better. But sometimes the nightmares come.”
Nate scratched his forehead. “You know, you probably shouldn’t be here talking to me—not with the lawsuit pending.”
Shelby took a long sip of her coffee. “I’m not joining the Class Action. That’s not to say that I won’t sue you—I still might. But if I do, it will be with my own lawyer.”
Nate nodded. “Is that wise? Your best chances are with a Class Action.”
“I don’t like the lawyer leading the action—and I don’t feel comfortable with it all. There’s something terribly wrong with this whole thing, Nate. Some things, like integrity, are more important than money. I’m kind of strange that way. Which is why I wanted to see you. I’m sorry for how I reacted at the hospital. I was just shocked to discover who you were and my emotions got the better of me.”
Nate stood up and walked over to the window. “I understand, Shelby. It’s been hard for me to accept that one of my inventions caused such horror. I don’t understand it either. I know we did nothing wrong, and that’s the frustrating part.”
“Well, you’ll get a chance to defend yourselves, I would presume.”
“No—it’s not turning out that way. We haven’t even seen the wreckage and now it’s gone. To some secret location. The NTSB report says that the track split at a faulty weld joint.” Nate turned away from the window and looked at Shelby. “There were no welds on the hills, Shelby. It was all solid steel. It’s impossible for the track to have split the way they said it did.”
Shelby stared back, feeling sorry for this man who was obviously troubled—and for good reason. What he was saying reinforced the uncomfortable feelings she was having over this whole thing.
Shelby rose from her chair and moved closer to Nate. “I visited the NTSB myself. Met with a man named John Fletcher. He was the one who did the investigation. I asked him why he never interviewed me. He couldn’t answer me. I asked him why his report stated that the lap bars disengaged upon impact with the broken track, when that wasn’t true. Again, no explanation.”
Nate frowned. “What happened with your lap bar?”
“It disengaged a few seconds before the train went off the track. I discovered that by pulling up on it. I was scared out of my mind—knew that I wouldn’t survive the steep drop of the hill. But then it didn’t matter anyway—the train went off the track and I pushed up all the way on the bar and shoved myself up and out of the car.”
Nate started pacing his office. “Wow. This is interesting news. It supports something we discussed here the other day.”
Shelby continued. “I told that to the sleazy lawyer and he didn’t seem to care. In fact, he hinted that that information could actually hurt the action’s chances of asserting something called ‘Strict Liability.’”
Nate nodded. “Yes, it could.” He continued pacing. “There are other things I could tell you as well, Shelby, but at this point I won’t. Maybe over a coffee sometime. I don’t want to sound like I’m defending myself by sharing stuff with you that’s just preliminary or even just speculative at this stage.”
“I understand what you’re saying—but in my view, you should feel free to defend yourself and should be allowed to do so. It sounds like you’re being denied that, which doesn’t seem fair to me.
“By the way, I told that John Fletcher the same thing about the lap bar that I told the lawyer—funny, even though he gave no indication of being willing to change his report, there was a look on his face that I thought was odd. It wasn’t the kind of look the money-grubbing lawyer had—it was more one of shame. Fletcher looked away, avoided my eyes. He looked ashamed. Then he just ended the conversation—not in an arrogant way. Very polite. But I got the feeling that he wanted to engage me, to say something supportive. He didn’t but I sensed that he wanted to tell me something.”
Suddenly, the door to Nate’s office flew open, and in strode Tom Foster, followed closely behind by Ron Collens.
Tom was breathing hard. “Sorry to disturb you, Nate.” He nodded at Shelby. “You too, ma’am.” He directed his gaze back at Nate. “It’s urgent that we talk.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“No, trust me.”
Nate gently put his hand in the small of Shelby’s back and ushered her towards the door. “I hope you don’t mind. I’ll walk you out.”
As they were walking down the hall, Nate turned to her and said, “Those are two of my best friends and also partners in the business. I was going to introduce you to them, but decided that you’ve probably heard enough condolences to last you a lifetime.”
“Yes, I have. And my stock answer is getting to be like a broken record. But…they probably recognized me anyway. In fact, your receptionist did.”
They reached the lobby and Nate took her hand in his. “Well, if I hadn’t seen you up close and personal, I would have remembered you from the News, too. The camera kinda likes you, I think.”
She smiled slyly at him. “Aw...that’s such a nice thing to say. But I think you’re just trying to be extra nice and charming so that I won’t consider suing you.”
As Nate was turning to walk back to his office he flashed her a sly smile of his own. “You’re right, Shelby. I’m damn good, aren’t I?”
*****
“Key West?!”
Tom nodded. “Yup, that’s what she said.”
Nate was wringing his hands together while his two friends sat in front of him, literally on the edges of their seats.
“Did you recognize her voice?”
Tom shook his head. “No, and she seemed nervous—her voice kind of cracked a bit while she spoke.”
“Jesus Christ—what were her exact words?”
“I’m not like you, Nate. I don’t have instant recall. She just said that the wreckage had been taken to the landfill site—Transfer Station—at Key West, Florida. And that it was going to be dumped into the ocean soon—think she said in a few days.”
Nate clasped his hands behind his head. “So, that’s the secret location. And if they’re going to dump it in th
e ocean, that says a lot. Normally, wreckage with that degree of high-grade steel would get melted down and recycled. It’s astounding that they’re going to just dump it at the bottom of the sea. They’re trying to hide something. But what and why? And…who?”
Ron Collens jumped in. “Nate, there’s a high crime underway here. This is just unbelievable. We can’t let this happen. This wreckage is the only thing that could save us. The lawsuit will be bad enough—it’ll probably bankrupt us. But, worse than that, all of us partners could be convicted of criminal negligence causing death. We could be facing years in prison. We’re fighting for our very lives here.”
Nate nodded. With one blue eye on Tom, and the other one on Ron, he grimaced and said, “I hear Key West is quite nice this time of the year.”
Chapter 16
If any place could come close to convincing you that the world is flat and that you’ve reached the end of it, it would probably be Key West, Florida. It’s the furthest point south a person can go in the United States while still being on land, and it’s actually closer to Havana, Cuba than it is to the nearest American city, Miami.
In fact, it actually used to be part of Cuba—until way back in 1815, when Cuba was still part of Spain. Around the time that Florida was transferred by Spain to the United States, the little island of Key West was sold to an American businessman and then later annexed by the United States. So…it became a flaky little part of Florida and has retained that reputation to this day. Eclectic and nutty—but strangely alluring.
If you were a rooster you’d feel at home in Key West—they roam the streets at will and are more adept at dodging traffic than humans. Even just getting to Key West is an experience. If you fly, you miss the fun of driving over the narrow ribbon of road that connects all of the tiny little islands that stretch southwestward. So narrow a motorway that you feel like you’re actually driving on the water. No less than forty-two bridges have to be crossed to get to Key West, including one called Seven Mile Bridge—made famous by the hair-raising chase scene in the movie, True Lies.
It’s a town…or maybe a city…but that’s a bit of a reach. It is indeed, though, an island unto itself and has an attitude all its own. There’s probably no place on earth quite like it. People live and work there, but everyone always seems to be on vacation, even those who are working…or who say they’re working. It’s quiet and irreverent as hell—no one in Key West apologizes for doing nothing. Being lazy is a way of life. Life revolves around the beaches, sunsets, shopping, sightseeing…and Happy Hour, which starts very early and ends very late. It’s the modern version of a Hippie enclave.
The buildings are painted in every color of the rainbow, and the arts community seems to dominate everything. But the word ‘art’ takes literary license with what your eyes see—most of it is probably created during Happy Hour. But the artists don’t care—to them it’s art and their way of looking at it is probably in an inebriated state anyway, so the creations probably look like masterpieces to them.
Ernest Hemingway must have found the little piece of paradise motivating. He wrote several of his books there and his famous home is on display for all to see, including the dozens of six-toed cats—and the odd seven-toed—that are all direct descendants of Hemingway’s actual beloved pets. They inhabit the house and the grounds and are free to come and go as they please, while tourists snoop through the rooms and the gardens. The authorities don’t even attempt to clear the cats out—they’re a piece of history and feline reminders of the island’s most famous resident. The cats are almost revered, sacred in their existence. Such is Key West.
Nate gazed out the window of the Embraer ERD—a small jet that only held about forty passengers. They were on the last leg of their trip—the first leg was a two and a half hour flight from Ronald Reagan National Airport in Arlington, Virginia, to Miami, Florida. That jet was thankfully a lot bigger than this one. Then several hours of layover in Miami until they could board this little puddle-jumper for the short forty-five minute flight to Key West.
He could see the airport off in the distance as they started descending—but they had never really gotten up that high anyway as the flight was so short. They had only flown at about 10,000 feet, so for the entire flight he had a great view of all the little islands that made up the Keys—a lot of them uninhabited, or barely inhabited.
He’d been to Key West before on vacation—he and Stephanie had come down here for a week many years ago. A week wasn’t enough though. Not because he loved it so much that he wanted to stay. He didn’t. But he knew the reason he didn’t love it was because he hadn’t stayed long enough.
It was one of the weirdest places in the world—but, strangely, also one of the nicest and most fascinating. Just the way of life—so foreign to what he was used to and what most people are used to. It was quiet, funky and fabulous—but a strange place with even stranger people. A single week didn’t permit him to let go of his work ethic, didn’t permit him to chase away the feelings of resentment he had felt for people that he’d labeled as ‘flakes.’ A week in Key West was only a blip—anyone who worked for a living back on the mainland wouldn’t have enough time to get that relaxed laid-back feeling Key West hypnotized people with. He’d just simply never had enough days there to get hypnotized…or as the locals affectionately referred to it…‘drunk.’
He bumped his elbow up against Tom’s. His buddy had fallen asleep, even though the flight was a short one. Then he turned his head around to see if Ron was awake. Sure enough, Ron Collens, the former Navy Seal, had his nose buried in what Nate assumed was some vitally important document. Nate whispered, “We’re landing.” Ron nodded and looked back down at his file folder.
Nate nudged Tom’s elbow again. He stretched, yawned, and leaned his head forward so he could peek out Nate’s window. Tom muttered, “Look at the color of the water. Beautiful.”
“Yeah, this is a tropical paradise alright. There are so many islands in the Keys, but Key West is really the only one worth visiting. But it’s so tiny—I think that’s why everyone here is either stoned or drunk. The place is only eight square miles at the most. It would definitely give me ‘island fever’ if I lived here.”
“So, I gather you didn’t enjoy it when you and Steph came down.”
“No, I wouldn’t say that—I just couldn’t get into the funky laid-back mood. Know what I mean? It’s just a weird place—no one has any ambition here. No one seems to care about anything. That’s not to say they don’t have the right idea though—they’ll probably outlive the rest of us poor slaves.”
“Yeah, you may be right, but I can only laze around for so long and then it starts to drive me crazy.”
The announcement came over the PA system to ‘fasten seat belts.’ The little jet descended faster and they could see the runway approaching.
Nate turned his head so both of his friends could hear him. “After we get off, we’ll chat inside the Terminal and do a status check. The hotel’s not far—well, nothing is far actually, but we have a potential problem that we need to be aware of. There’s a big naval station on Key West.”
*****
“I already chartered the helicopter when we were back in Virginia, so we’ll fly over the site first—make sure the wreckage is there and take a few aerial photos.”
Tom looked nervous. “Ron, I know you were a Seal and all that jazz, but you do know how to fly this thing, don’t you?”
Ron smiled at his friend. “Well, now that we know you’re afraid of heights, I might conduct some special dipsy doodles just for you!”
Tom grimaced. “No—don’t even joke about that!”
Ron squeezed Tom’s shoulder. “Don’t worry—I’m an expert helicopter pilot. We all got a lot of training in the Seals, skills that came in handy for those of us who finally came to our senses and eased back into the real world.”
Ron pulled two business cards out of his pocket and handed them to Nate and Tom. “I told you I would get these made up fo
r us. Pretty official-looking, don’t you think?”
Nate looked at his. His name would be ‘Charles Duggett,’ senior investigator with the NTSB. “I’m not crazy about my new name, but it sure looks like it’ll pass muster.”
Ron hoisted his carry-on bag over his shoulder. “Yeah, I think these will get us past the gate tomorrow so we can hopefully hike through the mess and get a close-up look.”
Tom slipped his card into his wallet. “What hotel are we staying at?”
“The Almond Tree Inn on Truman Avenue—very close to here. Nice place, but we won’t have much time to enjoy it.”
Ron started walking in his take-charge military fashion. “C’mon boys. Let’s get up in that chopper.”
*****
The former Navy Seal fingered the controls expertly and they lifted upwards into the heavy tropical air. They each had their earphones on, with microphones attached. Nate was in the front seat next to Ron. Tom was right behind him.
Nate pointed northward. “That’s where the naval station is, Ron. We have to stay well away from that.”
“Yeah, I know, Nate. I was stationed there for a while. The landfill site is actually on the south side of Stock Island—the naval station is on the north side. It’s tight. So, you’re right—we have to be real careful not to stray near their airspace.”
Ron turned the chopper on its side and swooped eastward. Within only a couple of minutes they were able to see the site, framed on the east by a deep waterway known as Safe Harbor, and on the other side by State Harbor. Nate could see that it wouldn’t be much of a problem at all for the Transfer Station to load the mangled mess of the rollercoaster onto a ship, with two deep harbors to choose from.
Nate pulled his Canon camera out of his pocket. “Ron, take us down as low as you can over the site.”
Ron nodded and fingered the controls. The helicopter began its vertical descent, and then slowly began swinging its way over the edge of the site. It was massive, and was piled high in several sections with what looked like construction materials and flattened automobiles. The place functioned as a scrapyard as well, by the looks of it.