Final Approach by John J. Nance Page A

one of the gates directly to the scene? He decided on the latter. The airport police would be the primary controlling agency for now.
    He rocketed through an intersection near the Marriott, ignoring the stop sign, heading for one of the entrances to the airport ramp where he braked to a halt long enough to flash his ID at the officer who had just arrived to guard the gate.
    â€œI’m from the NTSB. Where will I find your chief?”
    The officer took a close look at the identification card before answering. “Go between these two buildings, sir, then turn left on the grass in front of the parallel taxiways. Be careful, that’s where most of the wreckage is, on both surfaces. You’ll see several squad cars right there. Captain Baldwin is in there somewhere.”
    â€œThanks.” Rich accelerated through the gate, following the instructions until he had passed between the two hangars, suddenly finding himself nose-to-nose with an incredible mass of burning wreckage and mangled metal. “Jesus Christ!” His words had been spoken out loud, but they drowned in the tidal wave of sounds that met his ears now—the noise of frenzied activity amidst the macabre scene before him.
    There was debris strewn everywhere. Debris and bodies. He could see several in his headlights before he swung the car to the left, following the grassy strip adjacent to the taxiway as instructed until the police cars came into view. He put on the parking brake and got out, thoroughly shaken, as one of the officers came over with a questioning look, appearing surrealistically in his headlights out of a swirl of smoke.
    â€œWho are you ?”
    â€œCarloni from the NTSB.” The answer took extreme effort. Half his consciousness was captured by the scope of the wreckage, which seemed to be everywhere.
    â€œGood. Chuck Baldwin, airport police.” The man extended his hand and Rich shook it weakly. “Okay, Carloni, this is your show. I’ve got eight men out here, and three more coming in. Command post is in North America operations at the terminal for right now. Tower is the backup. I’ll brief you on the frequencies available on our hand-held radios, the ambulance and injured situation, et cetera, as you want it. I assume this will bring in a team from Washington?”
    â€œYes. Yes it will. They’re, uh, probably on the way. I don’t have an arrival time.”
    Baldwin waved his Kellite flashlight toward the south end of the field. “The plane that was landing? A few got out from the front section, which broke off—the first-class section forward. Nothing but bodies down in this area. The plane it hit was back at the other end on the hammerhead. We’ve got more survivors out of that one. Both pilots, a couple of flight attendants, about two dozen passengers.” Baldwin paused, noting the glazed look in Carloni’s eyes. “You with me? I know this is a hell of a mess …”
    Rich looked at the airport police captain for a moment, trying to overcome his shock and think clearly. This wasn’t a crash, it was a holocaust. What in the world should they do first?
    â€œHey? Your name is … Carloni?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œSnap out of it, Mr. Carloni. You’re in charge. My department is here to help, but something this big … well, I’m not going to make the decisions on something this big with the NTSB here. So, what do you want us to do?”
    The officer was dead serious, and intimidating. In his early fifties, probably ex-military, in control and waiting for an intelligent answer from the shorter, twenty-nine-year-old federal hotshot standing before him. Rich was the one legally in command, and the one expected to swing into action. But he had never felt so inadequate, alone, and out of place.
    â€œIs this the newsroom?” The voice was deep and gruff, but the words were clearly enunciated.
    â€œYes.” The reporter said it