“I’m afraid there’s been a terrible . . . let’s call it an incident—we don’t really know what it is yet,” the officer said.

Stone produced his NYPD badge that had been a gift of the police commissioner and that identified him as a detective first grade. “You mind if I have a look around?” he asked.

“Go ahead but be careful where you tread—as you can see, we’ve marked a lot of airplane pieces and body parts.”

“Whose body parts?” Eagle asked.

“We don’t know yet. We’re about ready to search the body.” He beckoned them over to where a large lump was covered by a rubber sheet. “Those of you with weak stomachs better stay back.” He pulled away the sheet, revealing the torso of a good-sized man; it had only one arm and was missing a head. “Anybody any of you know?” the sergeant asked.

Everyone shook heads silently.

“Anything in his pockets?” Stone asked.

“Okay, Ralph,” the sergeant said, “roll him over gently and check his pockets.” Ralph did as he was told, came up with a wallet, and handed it to the sergeant. “California driver’s license in the name of Harry S. Gregg. That ring a bell with anybody?”

The Eagles shook their heads, but Stone was looking thoughtful. “I’ve heard that name,” Stone said. “Let me make a call.” He got out his cell phone and pressed a button.

“Hello, Billy Burnett.”

“Billy, it’s Stone Barrington.”

“Good morning, Stone, what can I do for you?”

“Isn’t there a guy working at the Centurion armory named Gregg? He helped the president and the first lady when they were firing rifles the other day.”

“Yes, Harry Gregg.”

“Where are you, Billy?”

“I’m on the way to work.”

“I think you’d better come to Santa Monica Airport and see what’s going on here. I’m with the police at Atlantic Aviation, around the corner of a hangar from the main building, where a lot of airplanes are parked. We’ve got a corpse. It doesn’t have a head, but a driver’s license has the name Harry S. Gregg on it.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Billy said.

Stone hung up. “Someone is coming who may be able to identify the body,” he said to the sergeant.

“I’ll be glad to see him,” the sergeant replied.

“Tell me, from what you see here, what do you think happened?”

The sergeant pointed at the wrecked airplane, which Eagle was inspecting.

Stone and the sergeant walked over. “Ed, is that your airplane?” he asked.

“What’s left of it,” Eagle said. The nose of the airplane had disappeared, and the fuselage rested on the two main gears and the tail cone. Bits of the aircraft were scattered all over the taxiway and other airplanes, some of which were blown askew.