I could see the familiar NTSB trailer, with its satelite dish and generator shed. Refrigerated trucks were parked beside it, and stacks of body bags lay on the ground. This temporary morgue would be the staging site for transfer of remains to a more permanent incident morgue.

Backhoes, cherry pickers, dump trucks, fire engines, and squad cars were scattered here and there. The solitary ambulance told me that the operation had officialy changed from 'search and rescue' to 'search and recovery.' Its vigil was now for injured workers.

Lucy Crowe stood inside the barricades talking with Larke Tyrel.

'How's it going?' I asked.

'My phone never stops.' Crowe sounded exhausted. 'Almost turned the damn thing off last night.'

Over her shoulder I could see the debris field where searchers in masks and Tyvek jumpsuits moved in straight lines, eyes to the ground. Occasionaly someone squatted, inspected an item, then marked the spot. Behind the team, red, blue, and yelow flags dotted the landscape like colored pins on a city map.

Other white-suited workers miled around the fuselage, wing tip, and engine, taking pictures, jotting notes, and speaking into tiny Dictaphones. Blue caps identified them as NTSB.

'The gang's al here,' I said.

'NTSB, FBI, SBI, FAA, ATF, CBS, ABC. And, of course, the CEO. If they've got letters, they're here.'

'This is nothing,' said Larke. 'Give it a day or two.' He peeled back a latex glove and checked his watch.

'Most of the DMORTs are at a briefing at the incident morgue, Tempe, so there's no sense you suiting up now. Let's head in.'

I started to object but Larke cut me off.

'We'l walk back together.'

While Larke went to decontamination, Lucy gave me directions to the incident morgue. It wasn't necessary. I'd spotted the activity while driving up the county road.

'Alarka Fire Department's about eight miles back. Used to be a school. You'l see swing sets and slides, and the engines parked in a field next door.'

On our hike up to the holding area the ME filed me in on recent developments. Foremost among them, the FBI had received an anonymous tip of an on-board bomb.

'Good citizen was kind enough to share this information with CNN. The media are slathering like hounds with a brisket.'

'Forty-two dead students is going to make this a Pulitzer event.'

'There's the other bad news. Forty-two may be a low number. Turns out more than fifty booked through UGA.'

'Have you seen the passenger list?' I could barely get the question out.

'They'l have it at the briefing.'

I felt icy cold.

'Yessir,' Larke went on. 'We screw up on this one, the press wil eat us alive.'

We separated and hurried to our cars. Somewhere along the road I drove into a pocket of reception, and my phone beeped. I hit the brakes, afraid of losing the signal.