2:00November 1Patapsco State Park, near Baltimore, Maryland

Honor Mackenzie shivered, and not just because the temperaturehad dipped to near-freezing. The far-off wail of a coyoteharmonized with the moaning wind, and the creak of leaflesstrees only intensified the ghostly atmosphere.

Crisscrossing beams of high-powered flashlights slicedthrough the sleety black haze and shimmered from the river'ssurface. The Patapsco River seemed alive tonight, pulsing andundulating like a monstrous turbid snake. From deep in thewoods, Honor felt the cagey stares of a thousand unblinkingeyes and shivered again as she panned a wide arc, walkingbackward every few steps; the crash had probably sent everycritter scurrying ... but that's what she'd told herself thosescary hours with Uncle Mike, and the night a feral dog bulletedfrom the underbrush, teeth bared and snarling and—

"Is it just me," Elton huffed, jogging up beside her, "or do Ismell gas?"

She jumped, then jumped again to make the first one looklike an attempt to maneuver around a tree root. "Maybe it'sthat swill you claim takes off the chill." Elton was a good guybut got way too much pleasure from scaring her out of hershoes.

A puckish grin warned her to brace herself, but before hecould deliver a biting comeback, a frantic baritone blastedthrough the fog: "Over here!"

"Sending up a flare," hollered another.

Most of the Boeing 747 that plummeted from the mid-Novembersky during rush hour had landed square in themiddle of I-95. The cops shut down all lanes in both directionsto enable the two available medevac copters to airlift passengersof the airliner—and those in the vehicles it had crushed—toBaltimore's shock trauma. And because eyewitnesses reportedseeing fiery bits of the plane falling due north of the explosion,Honor's search and rescue squad was sent into Patapsco StatePark. Her unit included a couple of young guys just returningfrom Texas, where they'd earned wilderness certifications.Like thoroughbreds at the gate, both chomped at the bit toprove they could keep up with more experienced personnel.With any luck, they hadn't yet heard the rumors about her pastand wouldn't pummel her with the usual acerbic questionswhen the mission ended.

The scent of jet fuel grew stronger with every step, andshe thanked God for the sleet. Yes, it added to their physicaldiscomforts, but it would douse any embers hiding in thewreckage. Helped her focus on the task, instead of potentialtaunts, too. Elton stopped walking so fast that his boots sentup a spray of damp leaves. His voice was barely a whisperwhen he grated, "Oh, my God!"

Honor followed his line of vision. "Oh, my God" was right.

There, in the clearing a few yards to their left, was the tailsection of the airliner. Like a beached whale, it teetered bellyup on the bank, one mangled wing pointing skyward, the tophalf of the airline's logo submerged in riverbed muck. Twinwitch-finger pillars of smoke spiraled upward, as if reachingfor the treetops in a last-ditch attempt to pull itself free of thesludge.

A nanosecond later, they were on the move again, hoppingover rivulets carved into the earth by rushing rainwater,ducking under low-lying pine boughs as they picked their waycloser. Two pink palms slapped against a window, and betweenthem, the bloodied and terrified face of a boy no more thanten. The sight startled Elton so badly that he lost his footingin the slimy mud. Arms windmilling, he staggered backwarda step or two before regaining his balance. "Donaldson!" hebellowed.

"Kent? That you?"

"No," Elton snarled, "it's your old maid auntie." He mutteredsomething under his breath, then added, "Fire up the radio.Let 'em know we need more boots on the ground. And equipment,on the double. We've got survivors!"

Well, at least one survivor, Honor thought, closing in onthe craft. She hopped onto the rain-slicked wing and inchednearer the window, then lay her palm against the glass andmatched the kid's handprint, finger for finger. "You're okay,"she said, trying to look like she believed it. Not an easy feat,now that she'd aimed her flashlight's beam over his shoulder.Only God knew what he'd seen, or which of hisfamily members lay motionless at his feet. She'd seen that franticexpression before, and it reminded her of the day when theSusquehanna overflowed its banks and slammed through aBoy Scout camp. After hours of searching for one still-missingkid, something made her look up, and she found him, clingingto a tree. Though the water had receded, he'd been too franticto climb down. She'd probably said "Don't be scared" a dozentimes before he found his voice. "Why do grown-ups alwayssay dumb things like that?" he'd demanded.

And she'd never uttered the words again.

"You're okay," she repeated now. "Help is on the way."

"Mackenzie, get down from there."

The poor kid's pleading, teary eyes locked with hers, seekingreassurance and hope, and she couldn't look away. Wouldn'twalk away, either.

In the window's reflection, she saw Elton behind her, pointingtoward the biggest column of smoke. "I'm dead serious,Mack. Get down from there," he repeated, this time throughclenched teeth.

A second later, the heat of yellow and orange flames flaredon her right. The boy saw it, too, as evidenced by a pitiful wailthat, because of the thick, double-paned window, no one outsidethe airplane could hear. "Help is coming," she said again.

And please God, she prayed, let it get here fast.