He knew nothing of Russian, Chinese or Arabic, but he knew what Chinese characters looked like. The imprinted marks on the metal bore a certain resemblance to the Chinese language, but yet were not the same. It consisted of strange marks that were like nothing Brice had ever seen before.
“There are similar markings on the control panel,” Dickson said into the silence.
“Crap,” Sam Morgan snorted. “I say Russian. How about you, partner?”
Cartwell furled his blond brows. “I think I’d rather let an expert look this piece over before I make any kind of guess as to where that wreck flew from.” He turned to Nolan. “Where can we find an expert, Brice?”
“Everett College would be the only place I know of.”
“Okay, we’ll give them a try. Where’s Lieutenant Peters?”
Morgan jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the other side of the clearing. “Over there,” he said, “dressing down one of his Weekend Warriors.”
“Sam. How about going over and remind him to keep any characters off the site. I have a horror of having the news boys scoop us on this.”
Sam nodded and took off to talk with the Army. Dickson looked at Cartwell.
“Anything for me?” he