Flying Too Close to the Sun by George Jehn (most inspirational books TXT) 📗

the T and L sheets pointed to the flight, his hypothesis changed once he looked at the evidence garnered thus far. The fact Shepard and Preis were virtually penniless and that Montgomery saw or heard nothing meant things pointed elsewhere, in another direction. But where? Maybe it was during the transport or counting process, with an insider knowing how to fool the system? The torn-up newspapers indicated New York, although the lock purchases were closer to Boston. Daly knew he had to keep an open mind on everything. He reviewed the videos of the counting process a number of times, but they showed nothing out of the ordinary.

This meant despite his high security clearance, Chris Norton might be involved. Since he was a Federal employee, Daly got a court ordered wiretap, and his home phone, cellphone, computer, financial statements and personal life were intensely scrutinized. They discovered his bank accounts contained large balances, more than expected based on his government income. From the wiretaps they learned he had another business. It was decided to bring him to Morganthaler’s office for questioning. Morganthaler was running late, so Daly watched Norton through a one-way mirror as he sat in the interrogation room alone, cooling his heels. He reminded Daly of new age cop, young and handsome with a dapper appearance, lots of hype and similar bullshit. Morganthaler finally arrived and both cops entered the room. “You know why you’re here.” They purposely hesitated, sipping coffee. “We want to know where you get your money. Your accounts contain way more than someone with your job should have.”

“I own a business.”

“We know that. What type? And don’t bullshit us.”

“Since you already know so much about me, then you should also know I’m a personal trainer and nutritionist. Those were my majors in college and I provide diet and workout guidance, mainly for Baby Boomers like you,” he said nodding toward Daly. “Older, normally heavier people who want to lose weight or tone up.” Daly quickly glanced at his protruding gut, hopefully covertly. Speaking directly to Daly, he said, “After my clients answer questions pertaining to their lifestyle, daily routine, eating and drinking habits, I recommend a combination of exercise, diet and supplements. Since I have mornings off, I train and counsel them. I get paid hourly and recently expanded my business by instituting a specific regimen in conjunction with a doctor who specializes in geriatric medicine for people with age-related problems like high blood pressure, high cholesterol or diabetes.” Daly thought of his own blood pressure, which was elevated the last time he had it checked. “Because of the aging U.S. population this has plenty of potential and the results so far prove this correct.”

“What’s this doctor’s name?”

“Michael McCaffrey. His office is in Manhattan.” He sighed. “Look, you’re wasting your time. Every movement of the armored car was tracked by GPS units.” Without waiting for a reply he continued, “So you know my vehicle was always moving. I couldn’t, wouldn’t be involved,” he pleaded. “You think I like this happening on my watch? We’re on the same side.”

Ignoring his comment, Morganthaler asked, “Shut up. You see or hear anyone open the cargo compartment?”

“No. If someone opened it I would probably have heard and would have gone to the cockpit and told the crew to return to the gate. I have that power. It’s in the contract with the airline.”

“You’re saying it would have been impossible?”

“I don’t like to use the word impossible. Highly unlikely would be better.”

Daly continued. “There are GPS units locked onto each bag when they leave the downtown Boston location, correct?”

“Yes.”

“But they’re removed just before they’re loaded onto the plane. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I made the suggestion they be left on, but the airline wouldn’t allow it, said it might interfere with the plane’s navigation system. So, the seat position was the next best thing. The GPS units are reattached immediately at LaGuardia.”

The cops confirmed everything Norton stated. With nothing more to go on all they could do was continue monitoring him, but nothing surfaced. “I just can’t dismiss this guy,” Morganthaler declared a week later. “Maybe there’s a dark secret somewhere in his personal closet and he’s being blackmailed, or caught up in some kind of conspiracy? His explanations are a bit too pat. I’d like to continue his surveillance.”

“Even if all of that is true it still doesn’t even begin to explain how he pulled this off,” Daly sighed but reluctantly went along. No subsequent findings even remotely pointed to Norton, so Daly downgraded him to a lower priority in his book. The entire investigation was going nowhere. It was like playing poker without a full deck and frustration set in. This latest dead-end meant they needed to start over again, maybe look elsewhere.

.     .     .

The time between when the plane began taxiing until takeoff and between taxiing and arrival at the gate continually surfaced on the T and L sheet as a high possibility, so the new definition of elsewhere was FAA ground controller Bill Francis. They knew Francis was in trouble for the near miss. Heinz had downplayed Francis’ blunder as the controllers for each runway operated on different radio frequencies, meaning besides speaking with the pilots they also needed to coordinate with each other. A harried Francis stated he had done so, but the other controller denied it. The investigation came down to who they believed. Francis became the fall guy.

Another court order was secured and Francis’ financial records were scrutinized. Nothing of substance turned up, so Daly and Morganthaler flew to Boston, rented a car and visited him at his New Hampshire home. It was a modest, old clapboard farmhouse with an adjacent small plot where he, his wife and two young daughters grew organic vegetables; very bucolic.

They knocked on the door. “Mister Francis?”

“Yes.”

“I’m FBI Chief Inspector John Daly and this is Sergeant Frank Morganthaler.”

Francis’ face went pale and the two cops immediately took note of that.

“May we come in?”

Francis didn’t utter a word, just motioned