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RT-86 was a very solid, state-of-the-art commercial jetliner.
    So what could’ve caused the problem?
    Don’t overthink this. Wait until all the facts are known, he thought. But it was impossible not to consider theories. He was a detective. Probing crashes and incidents was all he’d done since he’d got his degree in aeronautical science from Arizona State University.
    Hooper had been among the top graduates of his class. Right out of school he’d been hired as a civilian at Naval Air Systems Command in Virginia, where he’d examined United States Navy and Marine Corps aircraft accidents.
    Along the way, he’d become a licensed pilot, then a flight instructor, and he’d obtained an engineering degree. He’d left Virginia when he’d been hired by the MacCalleb Aircraft Company in Wichita, Kansas, as a flight test engineer. He’d taken part in dozens of accident investigations, providing technical help to Federal Aviation Administration safety inspectors and the NTSB. He’d frequently and successfully challenged their findings.
    Hooper’s exceptional work led to a position as an NTSB regional investigator then, eventually, a job with Major Investigations Division at their headquarters in Washington. His insights impressed seasoned experts and he was not afraid to challenge supervisors. Hooper didn’t care because he adhered to the belief, as did all investigators, that safety was paramount; that with each tragedy, each incident, his job was to find information that would prevent other accidents and enhance the safety of air travel.
    He was obsessed, almost pathologically so, with ensuring that nothing in an investigation was ruled out without being triple-checked and triple-checked again.
    Today, he was anxious because this was his last time on a Go Team as a senior air safety investigator. After this investigation, he’d be promoted to investigator-in-charge, the IIC, and would lead his own team.
    Hooper’s cab stopped at Departures and he headed for the American Airlines desk. The NTSB comms center had sent him an electronic ticket for the next flight to LaGuardia. Tapping his mobile boarding pass and showing his ID, Hooper made his way through security to the preboarding area of his gate, where he recognized members of the Go Team.
    â€œHey, Jake, you old tin-kicker.” Swanson, the expert on power plants, shook his hand.
    They were joined by Willet from maintenance. From human performance, sitting off alone working on a laptop, was Irene Zimm. She was known as Good Night Irene, because if she found that a pilot had violated any aspect of safety procedures, it meant a world of pain.
    The one man who didn’t greet Hooper was on the phone: Bill Cashill, a case-hardened veteran. He had no love for Hooper, who’d once corrected Cashill at an investigation, something Cashill had never forgotten and never forgiven. Cashill was set to retire after thirty years as a leading investigator on some of the board’s biggest crashes. He was the investigator-in-charge. He glanced at Hooper then resumed concentrating on his call before he finally stood and surveyed his team.
    â€œWhat do you think about this EastCloud incident, Bill?” Willet asked.
    â€œI think this is overkill, even with a partial team.”
    â€œBut it’s a new-generation aircraft,” Swanson said.
    â€œI’m aware of that, but my gut’s telling me that this thing has all the indications of an overreaction by the crew to clear-air turbulence.”
    â€œBut the crew said—” Hooper started.
    â€œI know what the crew said, Jacob.”
    Hooper preferred to be called Jake, and Cashill knew it.
    An uneasy moment passed before Irene Zimm broke it.
    â€œBill, would you come over for a second and look at this?”
    Cashill went over to Zimm, who turned her computer so he could see the screen. They chatted quietly. A short time later, they boarded their jet