The Fast and the Curious

Ahlstrom was prepared for a similar conversation when one of Fossett's representatives called him on the first Tuesday of September. Instead, the scientist answered the phone in the Sparks warehouse and heard that his boss was missing. The details confounded Ahlstrom: One of the most decorated pilots in aviation history had disappeared shortly after taking off alone from a friend's ranch near Yerington, Nev. He had been flying no faster than 160 mph in a single-engine propeller plane on a clear day.

The next morning, Ahlstrom gathered three team members and went to Yerington to assist with the search. Like hundreds of other pilots, he flew across the high desert and scanned for plane wreckage among the Sierra Nevada mountains, boulder fields and playas strewn with sagebrush. Because Fossett had been flying a plane that was both fragile and flammable -- a craft made primarily from wood, cloth and aluminum tubing -- Ahlstrom searched the landscape for scattered remnants or burn marks.

After several days with little sleep and no results, Ahlstrom returned to Sparks and coordinated search tips sent in by e-mail. He received more than 200 messages each day from Internet users who scanned satellite images of Nevada for clues of Fossett's plane. In the first two weeks, the search effort located evidence of six previous plane crashes -- none of them Fossett's.

As the search dissipated, Ahlstrom told his team to maintain its regular schedule of 10-hour days spent working on the car.

"We're working for the world's greatest boy scout, so you never know if he's going to walk back in here," Ahlstrom told the crew. "We're going ahead with 100 percent effort until anybody tells us otherwise."

* * *

On the last Tuesday morning in November, Ahlstrom gathered his crew in the warehouse for a weekly meeting. Almost three months had passed since Fossett's disappearance, but little had changed in Sparks. The paneled exterior of the car sat in a heap on the concrete, exposing a turbine and afterburner that still required work. Eleven employees wore winter hats and jackets in the unheated garage. Many of them held coffee cups in one hand and mechanical tools in the other.

"Another busy week," Ahlstrom told the group. "Remember, we want to do our engine test about 10 days from now. There's a lot of work ahead of us, and we've got to be ready. I'm not going to waste your time. You know what you have to do."

The night before, Fossett's wife, Peggy, had asked the courts to declare her husband dead -- a development that fueled insecurity in Sparks. Some of Fossett's crew wondered how much longer they would have jobs. Peggy had continued to fund the team at her discretion, communicating with Ahlstrom through occasional e-mails. But Ahlstrom planned to search for outside sponsors who could contribute to the budget.

Ahlstrom had also begun a search for the next driver. He hoped to find a graduate of the Navy or Air Force test pilot school, someone with experience traveling at supersonic speeds. More than anything, Ahlstrom wanted a driver with experience working at the cutting edge of technology who would be willing to accept the risks inherent in discovery. When Ahlstrom explained the project to outsiders, he refused to refer to the car as a prototype.

"It's what scientists call a proof of concept," Ahlstrom said. "We still can't be sure what works until we drive it."

Ahlstrom had outlined a plan to begin testing the car in February, with a record attempt possible as early as July or August. In case potential drivers hesitated to stake their life to the project, Ahlstrom had roughly prepared a sales pitch:

Here, Ahlstrom believed, was a chance to move across the earth faster than any person in history, alone in the driver's seat on the last record Steve Fossett would ever help set.