dk.solesurvivor-第26节

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to　reach　a　duty　officer　at　the　National　Transportation　Safety　Board　even　at　this　hour；　he　would　never　be　given　Christman's　home　number。
　　Nevertheless；　he　got　the　NTSB's　main　number　from　information　and　placed　the　call。　The　Board's　new　automated　phone　system　gave　him　extensive　options；　including　the　opportunity　to　leave　voice　mail　for　any　Board　member；　senior　crash　investigator；　or　executive…level　civil　servant。　Supposedly；　if　he　entered　the　first　initial　and　first　four　letters　of　the　surname　of　the　party　for　whom　he　wished　to　leave　a　message；　he　would　be　connected。　Though　he　carefully　entered　B…C…H…R…I；　he　was　routed　not　to　voice　mail　but　to　a　recording　that　informed　him　no　such　extension　existed。　He　tried　again　with　the　same　result。
　　Either　Barbara　Christman　was　no　longer　an　employee　or　the　voice…mail　system　wasn't　functioning　properly。
　　Although　the　IIC　at　any　crash　scene　was　a　senior　investigator　operating　out　of　the　NTSB　headquarters　in　Washington；　other　members　of　a　Go…Team　could　be　culled　from　specialists　in　field　offices　all　over　the　country：　Anchorage；　Atlanta；　Chicago；　Denver；　Fort　Worth；　Los　Angeles；　Miami；　Kansas　City；　New　York　City；　and　Seattle。　From　the　puter　at　the　Post；　Joe　had　obtained　a　list　of　most　if　not　all　of　the　team　members；　but　he　didn't　know　where　any　of　them　was　based。
　　Because　the　crash　site　was　a　little　more　than　a　hundred　miles　south　of　Denver；　he　assumed　at　least　a　few　of　the　team　had　been　drawn　from　that　office。　Using　his　list　of　eleven　names；　he　sought　phone　numbers　from　directory　assistance　in　Denver。
　　He　obtained　three　listings。　The　other　eight　people　were　either　unlisted　or　not　Denver…area　residents。
　　The　ceaseless　swelling　and　shrinking　and　swelling　again　of　moth　shadows　across　the　stucco　wall　of　the　service　station　teased　at　Joe's　memory。　They　reminded　him　of　something；　and　increasingly　he　sensed　that　the　recollection　was　as　important　as　it　was　elusive。　For　a　moment　he　stared　intently　at　the　swooping　shadows；　which　were　as　amorphous　as　the　molten　forms　in　a　Lava　Lamp；　but　he　could　not　make　the　connection。
　　Though　it　was　past　midnight　in　Denver；　Joe　called　all　three　men　whose　numbers　he'd　obtained。　The　first　was　the　Go…Team　meteorologist　in　charge　of　considering　weather　factors　pertinent　to　the　crash。　His　phone　was　picked　up　by　an　answering　machine；　and　Joe　didn't　leave　a　message。　The　second　was　the　man　who　had　overseen　the　team　division　responsible　for　sifting　the　wreckage　for　metallurgical　evidence。　He　was　surly；　possibly　awakened　by　the　phone；　and　uncooperative。　The　third　man　provided　the　link　to　Barbara　Christman　that　Joe　needed。
　　His　name　was　Mario　Oliveri。　He　had　headed　the　human…performance　division　of　the　team；　searching　for　errors　possibly　mitted　by　the　flight　crew　or　air…traffic　controllers。
　　In　spite　of　the　hour　and　the　intrusion　on　his　privacy；　Oliveri　was　cordial；　claiming　to　be　a　night　owl　who　never　went　to　bed　before　one　o'clock。　'But；　Mr。　Carpenter；　I'm　sure　you'll　understand　that　I　do　not　speak　to　reporters　about　Board　business；　the　details　of　any　investigation。　It's　public　record　anyway。'
　　'That's　not　why　I've　called；　Mr。　Oliveri。　I'm　having　trouble　reaching　one　of　your　senior　investigators；　whom　I　need　to　talk　with　urgently；　and　I'm　hoping　you　can　put　me　in　touch。　Something's　wrong　with　her　voice　mail　at　your　Washington　offices。'
　　'Her　voice　mail？　We　have　no　current　senior　investigators　who　are　women。　All　six　are　men。'
　　'Barbara　Christman。'
　　Oliveri　said；　'That　had　to　be　who　it　was。　But　she　took　early　retirement　months　ago。'
　　'Do　you　have　a　phone　number　for　her？'
　　Oliveri　hesitated。　Then：　'I'm　afraid　I　don't。'
　　'Maybe　you　know　if　she　resides　in　D。C。　itself　or　which　suburb。　If　I　knew　where　she　lived；　I　might　be　able　to　get　a　phone…'
　　'I　heard　she　came　home　to　Colorado；'　Oliveri　said。　'She　started　out　in　the　Denver　field　office　a　lot　of　years　ago；　was　transferred　out　to　Washington；　and　worked　her　way　up　to　senior　investigator。'
　　'So　she's　in　Denver　now？'
　　Again　Oliveri　was　silent；　as　if　the　very　subject　of　Barbara　Christman　troubled　him。　At　last　he　said；　'I　believe　her　actual　home　was　Colorado　Springs。　That's　about　seventy　miles　south　of　Denver。'
　　And　it　was　less　than　forty　miles　from　the　meadow　where　the　doomed　747　had　e　to　a　thunderous　end。
　　'She's　in　Colorado　Springs　now？'　Joe　asked。
　　'I　don't　know。'
　　'If　she's　married；　the　phone　might　be　in　a　husband's　name。'
　　'She's　been　divorced　for　many　years。　Mr。　Carpenter　。　。　。　I　am　wondering　if。　After　long　seconds　during　which　Oliveri　failed　to　plete　his　thought；　Joe　gently　prodded：　'Sir？'
　　'Is　this　related　to　Nationwide　Flight　353？'
　　'Yes；　sir。　A　year　ago　tonight。'
　　Oliveri　fell　into　silence　once　more。
　　Finally　Joe　said；　'Is　there　something　about　what　happened　to　Flight　353。。。　something　unusual？'
　　'The　investigation　is　public　record；　as　I　said。'
　　'That's　not　what　I　asked。'
　　The　open　line　was　filled　with　a　silence　so　deep　that　Joe　could　half　believe　that　he　was　connected　not　to　Denver　but　to　the　far　side　of　the　moon。
　　'Mr。　Oliveri？'
　　'I　don't　really　have　anything　to　tell　you；　Mr。　Carpenter。　But　if　I　thought　of　something　later。。。　is　there　a　number　where　I　could　reach　you？'
　　Rather　than　explain　his　current　circumstances；　Joe　said；　'Sir；　if　you're　an　honest　man；　then　you　might　be　endangering　yourself　by　calling　me。　There　are　some　damned　nasty　people　who　would　suddenly　be　interested　in　you　if　they　knew　we　were　in　touch。'
　　'What　people？'
　　Ignoring　the　question；　Joe　said；　'If　something's　on　your　mind　…or　On　your　conscience…take　time　to　think　about　it。　I'll　get　back　to　you　in　a　day　or　two。'
　　Joe　hung　up。
　　Moths　swooped。　Swooped。　Batted　against　the　floodlamps　above。　Clichés　on　the　wing：　moths　to　the　flame。
　　The　memory　continued　to　elude　Joe。
　　He　called　directory　assistance　in　Colorado　Springs。　The　operator　provided　him　with　a　number　for　Barbara　Christman。
　　She　answered　on　the　second　ring。　She　did　not　sound　as　though　she　had　been　awakened。
　　Perhaps　some　of　these　investigators；　who　had　walked　through　the　unspeakable　carnage　of　major　air　disasters；　did　not　always　find　their　way　easily　into　sleep。
　　Joe　told　her　his　name　and　where　his　family　had　been　one　year　ago　this　night；　and　he　implied　that　he　was　still　an　active　reporter　with　the　Post。
　　Her　initial　silence　had　the　cold；　moon…far　quality　of　Oliveri's。　Then　she　said；　'Are　you　here？'
　　'Excuse　me？'
　　'Where　are　you　calling　from？　Here　in　Colorado　Springs？'
　　'No。　Los　Angeles。'
　　'Oh；'　she　said；　and　Joe　thought　he　heard　the　faintest　breath　of　regret　when　she　exhaled　that　word。
　　He　said；　'Ms。　Christman；　I　have　some　questions　about　Flight　353　that　I　would…'
　　'I'm　sorry；'　she　interrupted。　'I　know　you've　suffered　terribly；　Mr。　Carpenter。　I　can't　even　conceive　the　depth　of　your　anguish；　and　I　know　it's　often　difficult　for　family　members　to　accept　their　losses　in　these　horrible　incidents；　but　there's　nothing　I　could　say　to　you　that　would　help　you　find　that　acceptance　or…'
　　'I'm　not　trying　to　learn　acceptance；　Ms。　Christman。　I'm　trying　to　find　out　what　really　happened　to　that　airliner。'
　　'It's　not　unusual　for　people　in　your　position　to　take　refuge　in　conspiracy　theories；　Mr。　Carpenter；　because　otherwise　the　loss　seems　so　pointless；　so　random　and　inexplicable。　Some　people　think　we're　covering　up　for　airline　inpetence　or　that　we've　been　bought　off　by　the　Airline　Pilots'　Association　and　that　we've　buried　proof　the　flight　crew　was　drunk　or　on　drugs。　This　was　just　an　accident；　Mr。　Carpenter。　But　if　I　were　to　spend　a　lot　of　time　with　you　on　the　phone；　trying　to　persuade　you　of　that；　I'd　never　convince　you；　and　I'd　be　encouraging　you　in　this　denial　fantasy。　You　have　my　deepest　sympathy；　you　really　do；　but　you　need　to　he　talking　to　a　therapist；　not　to　me。'
　　Before　Joe　could　reply；　Barbara　Christman　hung　up。
　　He　called　her　again。　Although　he　waited　while　the　phone　rang　forty　times；　she　did　not　answer　it。
　　For　the　moment；　he　had　acplished　all　that　was　possible　by　telephone。
　　Halfway　back　to　his　Honda；　he　stopped。　He　turned　and　studied　the　side　of　the　service　station　again；　where　the　exaggerated　and　weirdly　distorted　shadows　of　moths　washed　across　the　white　stucco；　like　nightmare　phantoms　gliding　through　the　pale　mists　of　a　dream。
　　Moths　to　the　flame。　Three　points　of　fire　in　three　oil　lamps。　Tall　glass　chimneys。
　　In　memory；　he　saw　the　three　flames　leap　higher　in　the　chimneys。　Yellow　lamplight　glimmered　across　Lisa's　sombre　face；　and　shadows　swooped　up　the　walls　of　the　Delmanns'　kitchen。
　　At　the　time；　Joe　had　thought　only　that　a　vagrant　draft　had　abruptly　drawn　the　flames　higher　in　the　lamps；　though　the　air　in　the　kitchen　had　been　still。　Now；　in　retrospect；　the　serpentine　fire；　shimmering　several　inches　upward　from　the　three　wicks；　impressed　him　as　possessing　greater　importance　than　he　previously　realized。
　　The　incident　had　significance。
　　He　watched　the　moths　but　pondered　the　oil　wicks；　standing　beside　the　service　station　but　seeing　around　him　the　kitchen　with　its　maple　cabinetry　and　sugar…brown　granite　counters。
　　Enlightenment　did　not　rise　in　him　as　the　flames　had　briefly　risen　in　th