“Yes, sir. Hold the line while I get the ball rolling on this.”
Johnson flipped through the book in front of him.
Malone came back on the line. “The search-and-rescue operation will be rolling shortly. Is there any chance they could still be flying?”
“Always a chance. Incidentally, when was the last time you heard from them, Mr. Malone?”
There was a short pause. “At eleven o’clock they radioed their position.”
Johnson nodded. “Why didn’t you call us?”
“Well … we were trying to contact them. Actually, we didn’t try until they’d missed their next mandatory report. It should have occurred at 12:18, so it’s not that long. And all the airlines’ 797s have a little radio trouble because of the altitude and—”
“I understand. We’ve been a little lax here too, I’m afraid. My dispatcher didn’t have his regular one-o’clock update from them and he let it go for a while.” He would have to fill in the missed 12:00 update. “Then, when he tried to radio, he experienced the same trouble that you apparently did. But, of course, he wasn’t concerned.”
“That’s understandable, Mr. Johnson. But what exactly happened to the aircraft? How did you finally make contact with them?”
“Well, we’re not certain exactly what happened. A short while before I called you, we received a message on our company data-link. It was a distress message. It said only SOS.”
“SOS?”
“Yes. No identification of any sort. We thought, of course, that it was a hoax of some sort.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then, some time later, a dispatcher discovered another message sitting in the data-link. There is no way to determine how long either message sat in the data-link.”
“What did the message say?”
Johnson pulled the message toward him and read, “‘Emergency. Mayday. Aircraft damaged. Radios dead. Mid-Pacific. Need help. Do you read?’”
“That was it?”
“My dispatcher acknowledged immediately, then called me. Are you writing this all down?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. They did not immediately call you, I’m afraid, because there was some confusion over the way the message was received and because of the wording in our company emergency handbook.”
“Wording?”
“Yes. It says—let me read it.” Johnson placed the handbook over the big book in front of him. “It says, ‘When Air Traffic Control notifies you of a midair emergency, contact the following.’ So my dispatcher called the numbers on the list but never thought to call Air Traffic Control, since your number wasn’t listed in the FAA-approved handbook. He may also have believed that someone else was calling you already. You know how it is, when you see a fire, you think everyone’s called. … Anyway, it was a damned stupid oversight and he will be properly reprimanded. In any case, there is nothing lost except some time in getting a search-and-rescue underway.”
“Yes, I see.” Malone’s voice sounded apologetic. “Do you know what the nature of the emergency was?”
“I suspect that the damage to the aircraft was too great to continue flying.”
“What damage is that?”
Johnson put a tone of sadness and anger in his voice. “A bomb—or structural failure … two holes in the hull. Decompression killed or incapacitated the crew and passengers.”
“Good God. … Then … who … ?”
“A private pilot was in a positive pressure area. The lavatory, probably. He made the transmissions and turned the aircraft at our suggestion. I suspect, too, that he may have touched something in the cockpit that led to the final … led to the possible … crash. I hope to God it’s only because of a malfunction of the data-link machine …” Johnson found something in the book that he needed.
“Yes. Let’s hope so. Do you have copies … ?”
“Yes. I’ll send copies of the printouts to you right now. It shows everything we know and everything we’ve done.”
“As soon as possible, please.”
“There won’t be any further delay on our part. I’m taking personal charge of the operation at this end.”
“Yes. Very good. I’m still a bit concerned—”
“There has, of course, been an unconscionable delay in getting the ball rolling here, and we will take full responsibility.”
“Well, of course, Mr. Johnson, it was an unusual set of circumstances, to say the least.” There was a pause. “What time did you say you received the first data-link transmission?”
Johnson took a deep breath. He had figured that it must have been at about 12:15. He looked at his watch. It was now 1:30. “About one o’clock.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Not when you’re trying to deal with an unusual set of circumstances. But, of course, you’re correct. And please keep in mind that the Straton was still flying up until a few minutes ago, and may still be flying this way, I should add.”
“Yes. Well, we’ve all been a bit … slow.”
“Please keep me up-to-date on the search operation.”
“Of course.”
“Meanwhile, the printouts are on the way. I’ll have them faxed to this number we show for you.”
“Good.”
“And we’ll keep transmitting on our data-link at three-minute intervals in the event …”
“Yes, very good. I’m sorry.”
“So are we.”
“Thank you.” He hung up and turned to Metz. “Well, that went all right. A little trouble with the Federal Aviation Agency is better, I guess, than losing my job and bankrupting the company.”
“I’d say so. Will the ATC people come here?”
“Not them. FAA air carrier inspectors. But as long as they think we’re out of contact with the Straton, they won’t be in any rush to get here.”
“How about the rescue operation you just set up?”
“They’ll probably call the Navy and Air Force, and commercial shipping in the area. That’ll take hours. By that time we’ll have …” Johnson stopped, then looked directly at Metz. “By then, we’ll be finished with this.”
Metz nodded. “How about your Trans-United people? Will they want to come here?”
“I’ll take care of that in a minute.”
“Good. What’s that book you’ve been looking at?”
“Get me a cup of coffee.”
Wayne Metz had not gotten anyone a cup of coffee in ten years. But he turned toward the coffeepot.
Johnson slid off his stool and walked to the data-link. He took the printouts from the receiving basket and quickly read through them again. No times. No indication of spaces between the messages. Nothing that could be considered poor judgment on the part of Trans-United. The last messages since Miller’s “… working on bringing you home” looked a bit compromising, and he tore them off. With his pen he marked the SOS message:Discovered by dispatcher in link machine at approximately 1P.M. He walked to the door and opened it.
At Johnson’s appearance the room became quiet. Johnson’s eyes swept the room and fixed each man in turn. He said tonelessly, “Gentlemen, I’m afraid we’ve lost contact with Flight 52.”
There was a rush of moans and exclamations.
“I have called the Air Traffic Control and they have initiated a search-and-rescue operation. Of course, the problem may simply be the link, but …” He stepped a few feet into the room. “I will remain in the communications room and continue transmitting.” Johnson was aware of Metz behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw the man holding a cup of coffee. That was good for the dispatchers to see. There was no doubt that Edward Johnson ran things and ran people. He turned and took the coffee from Metz. He spoke in a low voice. “Get back in the communications room and close the damned door. If that alerting bell goes off and they hear it, we’re finished.” He turned and addressed the dispatchers. “Gather round, please.”
The more than two dozen dispatchers moved aroun
d him.
Johnson began in an official, but friendly tone. “Gentlemen, there is no doubt in my mind that Jack Miller,” he nodded to Miller, “Dennis Evans, and Jerry Brewster,” he looked at the two men, “did everything they could do as quickly as possible. However, there was a time lapse between the first link message and now of about half an hour.” He paused and studied the faces of the men around him. Some glanced at the wall clock, some at their watches. A few looked surprised, others nodded eagerly. “The first message came in at about one o’clock, I believe someone told me. There will be some problems with ATC and even with our own people over that lag, but I’m solidly behind you, so don’t worry too much about it.” He looked around the room.
There were more people nodding now.
Johnson looked at Evans. “You call everyone on the list, including our press office. Have the press office call me for a statement. To the president of the airlines and to everyone else, you say the following: Flight 52 has suffered a midair decompression. Radios dead. Amateur pilot flying and communicating on data-link. Communications lost at …” he looked at his watch, “one twenty-fiveP.M. ATC is initiating a search-and-rescue. I suggest an emergency meeting in the executive conference room. Got it?”
Evans nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.” He moved rapidly to his desk.
Johnson looked at the men around him. “Each one of you call your flights and tell them to keep off the data-link.” He scanned the faces of the men. “Brew-ster?”
“Here, sir.”
“Okay. Brewster, you will take these printouts and make only one copy. Then fax one copy to ATC at the number they show in the Emergency Handbook.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then send our copy to the executive conference room in the company office building. The original comes back to me. Quickly.”
Brewster took the messages and double-timed out of the dispatch office.
“That’s all, gentlemen. Thank you all for your help.” He paused. “If any of you are of a religious nature, please ask the man upstairs to look after that Straton and everyone aboard her. Thank you. Miller, come here.”
The dispatchers moved back to their desks silently. Jack Miller approached Johnson.
Johnson put his hand on his shoulder. “Jack, fill in the empty updates for 52 and note that they were posted at noon. Leave the oneP.M. updates blank, of course.”
Miller looked at the big man standing next to him. “Ed … we’re not going to get away with this.”
“Of course we are. I’m doing it for you and the company as much as for myself. There have been a series of errors and blunders here, and we have nothing to lose to try to cover it. If we don’t, you, I, Evans, Brewster, and about ten random scapegoats will be fired, then we’ll be investigated by the FAA and maybe be charged with something. Your lovely wife can bake cookies for all of us and bring them out to San Quentin on Sundays. Bring the kids along, too.”
Miller nodded. He started to move away, but Johnson held onto his shoulder.
“Are the men with us?” Johnson asked.
Miller nodded again. “It’s not the first time we’ve had to cover ourselves.”
Johnson smiled. “I always knew you bastards lied for each other. Now you have to lie forme. For yourselves, too, of course. Go fill in those updates.”
Miller moved off.
Johnson walked quickly back into the communications room. He looked at Metz, who was staring down at the big spiral-bound book. “You know, Wayne, the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that Stratonshould go down.”
Metz looked up at him quizzically. “I thought we agreed on that.”
“In principle. Everything I did just now is standard operating procedure. I’ve done nothing wrong yet, except delay.”
“You told everyone the plane went down.”
“Did I? I said we lost contact with them. You don’t see any new link messages, do you?” He turned and looked out into the dispatch office. “Actually, my responsibility in this screw-up is pretty light. Those idiots out there blew it. ATC was not too swift either.”
“They’ve all given us a chance to save it.”
Johnson nodded. “Yes. The man who can really testify to our mishandling of this whole thing is Berry.”
“And he’s heading home.”
“I know. God, I wish he’d just crash,” Johnson said.
“He probably will. Right into San Francisco. You’ve got to put him in the ocean.”
“I know.”
Metz sat down behind the data-link. “Look, Ed, I know this is difficult for you—it goes against all your instincts. But believe me, there is no other way. Do what you’ve got to do. If it will make it any easier, I’ll type the message to Berry.”
Johnson laughed. “You stupid bastard. What difference does it makewho types the message? There’s no difference in guilt, only a difference in nerve. Get out of that chair.”
Metz quickly vacated the chair behind the data-link.
Johnson sat down. He glanced up at the dispatch office outside the glass. A few heads dropped or turned away. “As far as they know, I’m still trying to contact Flight 52.”
“What are you going to tell him to do?”
“There’s only a few things about a cockpit I know for sure. I’ve ridden in the observer’s seat enough times and had to listen to enough pilots give me unwanted flying lessons to know what’s dangerous and what can bring an aircraft down. That book I was looking at is the Straton’s pilot manual.”
Metz nodded appreciatively. “Any ideas?”
“A few. I’m trying to work them out. But they’re tricky.” He looked at his watch. “That meeting in the executive conference room will be rolling in a while. They’ll chew over those link printouts and wail and whine for a good fifteen, maybe thirty, minutes. Then they’ll ring me here.”
“Then you’d better hurry. Jesus, this is cutting it close, Ed. You didn’t leave yourself any room.”
Neither man was aware of the insistent rapping on the glass door.
Johnson finally looked up.
Jack Miller stood outside the door.
“Oh, Christ,” said Johnson. “If we let Miller in and Flight 52 begins transmitting, that would be the end of the game.” Johnson knew that if he turned off the machine, Miller would notice and ask why they weren’t trying to reestablish contact. He quickly went to the door and opened it.
Miller took a step in.
Johnson moved forward and edged him out a few steps, but couldn’t close the door without being too obvious. “What is it, Jack?”
Miller’s eyes moved past Johnson into the small room. He stared at Metz, and without looking at Johnson, handed him a sheaf of papers. “Here’s the data-link printouts. Faxed to ATC and copied for the executive conference room.” He looked at Johnson. “The chief pilot, Captain Fitzgerald, is on his way here in case we make contact. Mr. Abbot, the Straton Aircraft representative, is also on his way. Is there anyone else you want here?”
“I don’t wantanyone here, Jack. Have a dispatcher intercept them in the parking lot and tell them to drive over to the executive conference room in the company office building. Okay?”
Miller ignored the order as if he hadn’t heard it. He said, “I just don’t understand what could have happened up there. That aircraft was steady and that pilot—”
“It had two great big fucking holes in it. You wouldn’t fly too well with two great big damn holes inyou .” He pushed Miller’s chest with his forefinger and backed him up a step. “Go home and get some rest.”
“I’m staying here.”
Johnson hesitated, then said, “All right. Take over the Pacific desk from Evans.”
“I mean here—in the communications room.”
Johnson knew what he meant. “It’s not necessary.”
“Does that mean I’m relieved of my duties?”
Johnson, for some reason he couldn’t explain, felt that the data-link bell was going to ring momentari
ly. He began to perspire. “Jack …” He had to be tactful, careful. “Jack, don’t start getting sullen. You may have made a few mistakes, but you did a few heads-up things too. It’s like in the military. You’re somewhere between a medal and a court-martial. Now, don’t forget our conversations. Play it my way and we can all save our asses. Okay?”
Miller nodded. “Are you still trying to contact … ?”
“Yes. Every three minutes. And you’re holding me up now.” Johnson was becoming anxious. He kept glancing up at the door across the room. Soon, someone whom he couldn’t keep out of the communications room might walk into the dispatch office. In a way, he would almost have welcomed it.
Metz called out. “I have to finish this business with you and report to my people.”
Johnson turned his head. “Right.” He turned back to Miller. “Do me a favor. Go to the employees’ lounge—no, to the executives’ lounge—and while things are still fresh in your mind write a full report of everything that happened before I arrived. Make sure the times and actions tally with our estimates, of course. When you finish, report back here and give the report to me and me only.”
Miller nodded.
“Did you fill in the Straton’s updates?”
Miller nodded again.
“Good. When you come back you can resume your duties here in the communications room. See you later.” He stepped back, then closed and bolted the door just as the data-link bell sounded. “Oh, Christ!”
The data-link began to print.
Metz wiped his face with a handkerchief. “That was too close.”
Johnson was visibly shaken. “Wayne, just keep out of this. I understand what’s got to be done, and I don’t need any help from you. In fact, you can leave.”
“I’m going nowhere until that aircraft is down.”
Johnson walked over to the data-link and sat down. He glanced out into the dispatch office, then quickly pulled the message off and put it in his lap.
Metz looked down and they read it at the same time.FROM FLIGHT 52: IMPERATIVE YOU HAVE QUALIFIED PILOT BEGIN TO GIVE ME INSTRUCTIONS ON FLIGHT CONTROLS—NAVIGATION— APPROACH—LANDING. BERRY.
Mayday Page 23
