MICHAEL CRICHTON

3. The ConsortiumAN HOUR LATER THEY FOUND THE WRECKAGE OF the C-130 transport.The largest airplane in the world appeared in correct scale as it lay half buried inthe jungle, the gigantic nose crushed against equally gigantic trees, theenormous tail section twisted toward the ground, the massive wings buckledcasting shadows on the jungle floor.Through the shattered cockpit windshield, they saw the body of the pilot,covered with black flies. The flies buzzed and thumped against the glass as theypeered in. Moving aft, they tried to look into the fuselage windows, but even oncrumpled landing gear the body of the plane stood too high above the junglefloor.Kahega managed to climb an overturned tree, and from there moved onto onewing and looked into the interior. “No people,” he said.“Supplies?”“Yes, many supplies. Boxes and containers.” Munro left the others, walkingbeneath the crushed tail section to examine the far side of the plane. The portwing, concealed from their view, was blackened and shattered, the enginesgone. That explained why the plane crashed—the last FZA missile had found itstarget, blowing away most of the port wing. Yet the wreck remained oddlymysterious to Munro; something about its appearance was wrong. He lookedalong the length of the fuselage, from the crushed nose, down the line ofwindows, past the stump of wing, past the rear exit doors....“I’ll be damned,” Munro said softly.He hurried back to the others, who were sitting on one of the tires, in theshadow of the starboard wing The tire was so enormous that Ross could sit on itand swing her feet in the air without touching the ground.“Well,” Ross said, with barely concealed satisfaction.164