Turbulence

by Nance, John J. ;

  The copilot glanced to his left, wondering whether to point it out, but Phil Knight was head down in the operations manual and the last time he’d pointed out something below to the captain, Knight’s response had been curt and frosty.

  Garth sighed inwardly and nudged a bit closer to the forward panel, almost hanging his chin over the edge of the glare shield as he listened to the continuous whoosh of the slipstream flowing past them at 81 percent of the speed of sound.

  “Meridian Six,” the Spanish controller said in a heavily accented, bored tone, “change now to Algiers Control, one-two-six-point-five.”

  Garth triggered the small transmit rocker switch on the back of the control yoke. “Roger, one-two-six-point-five. Buenos tardes.”

  The Spanish controller merely clicked his transmitter in response, and Garth made the frequency change on the forward panel before triggering the transmitter again.

  “Algiers, Meridian Flight Six checking in. Level, flight level three-seven-zero.”

  “Roger, Meridian Six, flight level …”

  The remainder of the air traffic controller’s words were suddenly drowned out by a loud bell coursing through the cockpit, momentarily disorienting Garth. There was a red light somewhere to his left, but he was too close to the forward panel to realize it was coming from one of the four engine fire handles.

  A flurry of confused sounds broke out to his left as Phil Knight fought to be free of the operations manual in his lap, finally shoving it off to one side and letting it clunk to the floor.

  “What?” Knight asked, thoroughly startled.

  “I don’t … Wait!” Garth leaned back, focusing on the fire handle, which was mounted with three other identical handles on the forward glare shield, each one capable of instantly shutting down its respective engine when pulled.

  “We’ve got an engine fire warning on number-four engine!” Garth yelled over the noise as he reached to press the button that silenced the cacophonous warning bell.

  Phil was staring at the fire handle with wide eyes. “Number four?”

  “Yes.” Garth looked out the right window, remembering he could barely see the outboard engine from the cockpit but unable to restrain himself from the effort. A sudden blur of motion caught his attention to the left, and he glanced over in time to see the captain’s right hand snake out and grab the number-four thrust lever and pull it to idle. The 747 yawed immediately to the right before the autopilot could compensate.

  “Phil …,” Garth began, but the captain’s right hand was in motion again, this time moving to grab the number-four engine fire handle.

  “NO!” Garth heard himself yelp. “DON’T PULL IT!”

  Phil Knight was glowering at his copilot. “What the hell do you mean, ‘don’t pull it’? It’s on fire!” Phil replied, completely shocked at Garth’s intervention, yet holding back.

  “No it isn’t. That’s a false alarm.”

  Phil Knight’s hand was still resting on the T-handle. “What are you talking about, Abbott?”

  “There’s a long history of false fire alarms with that engine, Phil. Really. What you’re seeing isn’t real.”

  Knight was hesitating, trying to decide what to do as he cranked in left-rudder trim to compensate for the loss of thrust on the right wing. “How do you know that?”

  “Because I know it’s been doing this periodically for the past three months—giving false fire indications. I briefed you in London when we couldn’t get the engine started. Remember?”

  “I don’t recall you saying anything about that.”

  “I DID! I sat right here and told you that number four has been giving false fire alarms while airborne and maintenance can’t seem to find out why, and we’re all … well, kind of unofficially carrying the engine along.”

  “Doesn’t matter. A fire warning is a fire warning.” Garth could see Knight tighten his grip on the T-handle, preparing to pull.

  “Phil, don’t do it! The second you shut down that engine, we’ll be forced to make an emergency landing for nothing. Ever heard of the concept of supporting indications?”

  Phil Knight turned toward the copilot. “Don’t you dare take a superior tone with me, Abbott.”

  “I’m not, Phil, I just …”

  “I’m the captain. When I want your goddamned advice, I’ll ask for it.”

  “Phil, the company says you’ve got to listen to my advice. Look at the damned panel.” The copilot pointed to the center instrument readout. “See the exhaust gas temperature gauge? It’s reading normal. Fuel flow is normal. Rpms are steady. Everything’s normal but the fire light.”

  Knight was looking, too. A hopeful sign, Garth concluded as he pulled the interphone handset from its cradle. “Let me check with the cabin and see if they see anything burning out there.”

  Phil Knight nodded without comment, his jaw set and his eyes remaining on the engine gauges and darting every few moments to the fire light, which was still glowing red and pushing at him to do something.

  Garth lowered the handset within a half minute. “Nothing’s different out there, Phil. They can see no fire or smoke. Nothing. It’s another false alarm.”

  Phil Knight looked at Garth in confusion and sat back suddenly. “I can’t fly on like this. Declare an emergency, Abbott. Ask them for immediate clearance to”—he glanced at the flight computer—“Algiers International.”

  “ALGIERS? No! Good Lord, Phil, Algiers is bad. They’ve got a big airport but it’s a dangerous place, and I can guarantee you the company would string us up. Remember, they already know about this glitch.”

  “I said, get me the damn clearance.”

  “Phil, please listen. If you divert in there and declare an engine fire or shut it down, we’re stuck in Algiers and the flight’s over. We have no maintenance there.”

  “We have to land at the nearest suitable airport with an engine fire indication even if we don’t shut it down, or have you forgotten the rules?” Phil snapped.

  “Out here, Captain, you’ve got to temper the goose-stepping rules with reality. We’ve got Spain behind us, and Gibralter, and other airports much better suited to us than Algiers if you just have to land and imperil both our careers, especially when the damn engine isn’t burning!”

  The sound of an interphone call chime interrupted them, and Phil Knight yanked the receiver to his ear.

  “Yes?”

  “Captain, the aircraft just kind of shuddered and threw us to the left. What’s happening?”

  “We’ve got an engine fire, and we’re going to make an emergency landing in Algiers.”

  “Really? Are you going to tell them?” Judy asked.

  “No. You do it,” he said, terminating the exchange and replacing the receiver as he turned to Garth. “Algiers is the nearest suitable. There’s no room for quibbling.”

  “There’s no friggin’ fire, Phil, and no reason for an emergency landing. Can’t you understand that? THERE’S NO FRIGGIN’ FIRE!” Garth was shaking his head and trying desperately to hang on to his temper. “Phil, listen to me. I know you attended the same required crew resource management courses I did. Don’t you remember anything they taught you?”

  “I said SHUT UP, Abbott. I listened to you, and I’m rejecting your suggestion.”

  But Garth saw him pull his hand away from the T-handle.

  “You haven’t been listening, Phil. The company requires you to seriously take into account what your first officer recommends, and your first officer recommends in the strongest terms that we NOT divert to Algiers for a nonexistent problem.”

  For a moment Garth considered taking over the aircraft and ordering Knight to let go of the yoke. But there was no way the captain would relinquish command, and all he’d accomplish would be an airborne fight for control. No, better to go along with whatever he decided, no matter how ridiculous.

  He glanced down at the satellite phone control head. “Phil, we should call the company before we do anything drastic.”

 
; “Why? I’m in command.”

  “Why? Well, maybe you hadn’t noticed, Captain, sir, but we both work for Meridian Airlines, not Phil Knight’s Airline. They’re going to be light years beyond pissed off if we divert. This is the international division, Phil. It runs differently from domestic.”

  Phil Knight remained silent.

  “Hoo—kay!” Garth said. “Let the record read that I tried to advise you.”

  Phil snapped his head to the right. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Garth looked at him in puzzlement. “What?”

  “What’s that ‘let the record read’ stuff?”

  The copilot motioned to the overhead cockpit voice recorder microphone, then dropped his hand. “Nothing. Forget it.” Garth pulled the satellite phone from its cradle and punched in the appropriate numbers, aware that Phil Knight was glaring at him. A voice from the Denver Operations Center came on the line, and he quickly summarized the problem. He could hear Judy Jackson in the background on the PA system downstairs telling the passengers they were diverting to Algeria’s capitol city.

  “Say again, Flight Six,” the Denver dispatcher requested.

  “I say we’ve got a fire indication again on number four,” Garth repeated. “We’ve got no supporting indications, but the captain feels we ought to declare an emergency and divert into Algiers.”

  There was a flurry of noises on the other end, and Garth could hear the phone being passed urgently to someone else.

  Someone new came on the line, his voice carrying a hard and urgent edge. “This is the DFC. Whatever you do, don’t divert into Algiers.”

  “Just a second, sir. This is only the first officer. I’m going to put Captain Knight on the line.” Garth thrust the phone toward the left seat. “The director of Flight Control wants to talk to you,” he said.

  Phil snatched the phone from his hand with undisguised disgust. “This is Captain Knight.” He listened, nodding several times before replying to whatever the DFC was saying. “But I still have a fire indication light up here.”

  Garth watched Phil’s face growing beet red. He could hear a raised voice on the other end without making out what was being said, but the captain’s end of the conversation was telling enough.

  “No, I told you it’s a full-blown engine fire warning. I was going to shut it down and Algiers is the closest suitable.… Yes … yes, I understand that, but the rules are clear. Okay. But I’m not flying this thing to Cape Town with a malfunctioning engine. Then where do you suggest I take it? Back to London?”

  A loud string of words flowed from the other end at a higher volume, and Garth could see Phil Knight working hard not to wince. “Okay. If it doesn’t go out, then we’ll return to London.” He sighed and nodded as he rubbed his temple with his free hand, carefully avoiding eye contact with Garth as he ended the call and disconnected the satellite phone.

  “You just couldn’t wait to call them, could you?” Phil said after several long, quiet moments had passed.

  “God, Phil, I told you they’d hate at the idea.”

  “Don’t touch it again.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Phil Knight turned to glare at Garth, the veins in his neck almost purple. “Don’t touch the damned satellite phone again! Only I make the calls. Understand?”

  “You want a clearance to turn around?” Garth asked.

  “Yes,” the captain replied.

  Judy Jackson stood in the entrance to the first-class galley and surveyed the wide-eyed reactions of the passengers arrayed behind her throughout the coach cabin. She could see two of her flight attendants coming forward equally alarmed at her PA that one of the engines was on fire and they were making an emergency landing. Judy punched up the cockpit again, surprised to get Garth Abbott on the line this time.

  “You want them in a brace position?” she asked.

  “No, Judy. There’s no fire and we’re not going to Algiers, but apparently the captain does intend to go back to London, even though it’s probably a false alarm.”

  “I’ve already told them it was Algiers,” she protested.

  “Well, tell them you were wrong,” Garth said. “Or I’ll do it if you …”

  “No!” Judy snapped. “I’ll do it. London, now?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Shit.” She toggled the handset off then punched in the PA code.

  Ladies and gentlemen, this is your lead flight attendant again. The captain tells me he’s now extinguished the fire, and instead of going into Algiers … which I’m sure you’d all like … we’re now going to turn around and return to London. We’re sorry for the inconvenience, but we’ve got to do things safely, and that’s just the way it goes. We should have enough fuel to safely return to London.

  She punched off the PA, stifling a grin. That little flourish of creative tension about fuel would keep them scared and obedient, she decided.

  The reaction in the cabin was an immediate eruption of voices and questions and ringing call chimes, and Judy pointed at Elle and gestured toward the back of the cabin. They could handle the bitching without her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  OUTSKIRTS OF WASHINGTON, D.C.

  9:05 A.M. EDT

  “Colonel David Byrd?”

  “That’s me … Hold on a second …,” David said into the cellular phone headset as he reached over to turn down the volume on the radio while simultaneously trying to keep his car from hitting the metal barrier dividing traffic moving in opposite directions on both sides of Highway 301.

  The female voice on the other end was insistent. “Colonel, this is Senator Sharon Douglas, chair of the Senate Aviation Subcommittee.”

  He’d been daydreaming down the highway on the drive from Annapolis, when the chirp of the cell phone rudely dissolved an interesting little fantasy starring the naked woman in John Blaylock’s bedroom. For a split second his mind pasted the senator into the same role—a silly juxtaposition, but it triggered an involuntary smile. Sharon Douglas was also a good-looking woman.

  “Are you still there, Colonel?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you, Senator?”

  “I need you to come tell my subcommittee the same thing you told the House subcommittee yesterday. My staff saw it on C-Span and told me your task force has done a remarkable job of putting this problem in perspective.”

  “Ah, angry passengers in the commercial airline world, you mean?”

  “Absolutely.”

  General Overmeyer’s warnings coursed into his head from several directions, triggering mental caution lights as she continued. He was already dangerously overexposed on the Hill.

  “Let me tell you why this is suddenly a major issue for me, Colonel Byrd. I just flew over here to London from Chicago yesterday on Meridian Airlines. Meridian Flight Six, a call sign that will live in infamy in my memory, at least. By the time I arrived, I was ready to take a crash axe and attack the crew with feral ferocity.” She described what she called the “trip from hell,” beginning with the cavalier treatment she’d received at the gate through all the delays they’d endured, finally ending with the rude behavior and burned-out attitudes of the crew.

  “And all that with a ranking U.S. senator aboard?” David asked.

  “Oh, yeah! It’s out of control … David. May I call you David?”

  “Certainly, Senator.”

  “Well, then, you should call me Sharon.”

  “Okay,” David replied reluctantly, trying out the concept in his mind of referring to such a powerful woman by her first name. He had just begun to get used to dealing with congressmen, but senators were somewhere above the Joint Chiefs and unknowable for a mere colonel.

  There was a pleasant chuckle on the other end. “Please call me whatever makes you comfortable. Just tell me you’ll come testify.”

  “Senator, I’ll be delighted to work with you and your staff …,” he said, as he maneuvered the car around a slow tractor-trailer rig hogging the fast lane
.

  “That’s not what I want to hear,” she interrupted.

  A beat-up red pickup slowed suddenly in front of him, causing him to hit the brakes. He sighed and steered the car to the shoulder, braked to a halt, and put the car in park.

  “Well,” David said, “I’ll need to get someone else on my task force to do the actual testifying.”

  “I see. And that would be a direct result, would it not, of someone in the puzzle palace yanking your chain hard in the last twenty-four hours, right?”

  “Ah, let’s just say that certain Air Force members in my chain of command were singularly unimpressed by the fact that an active-duty Air Force colonel appeared before the subcommittee.”

  “Nicely put,” she said. “Look, I’ll be back in Washington in a few days. Why don’t you let me take you to lunch and talk about this? I won’t bite, but I do need your help. As you warned, David, this mess with the airlines is going to explode. My staff will call you to arrange a time and place.”

  “Okay.”

  “By the way, it’s probably best not to tell your general we’re talking.”

  “Believe me, I won’t.”

  He heard the phone disconnect, punched his own phone off, and removed the headset, his mind on the conflict inherent in trying to please two masters at the same time.

  ABOARD MERIDIAN FLIGHT SIX

  Judy Jackson had barely moved into the first-class compartment when she heard the forward galley interphone ringing. She returned to answer it and found Garth on the other end.

  “The fire light’s out, Judy. We’re turning back around for Cape Town.”

  “You’re joking!”

  “No” was the singular reply. “The fire light went out. We’re going on.”

  “You’re sure this time?”

  “Hey, I’m just the first officer. Phil’s making the decisions.”

  She stowed the handset and moved to the divider curtain, aware of an uncharacteristic knot in her stomach from having to deal with the out-of-control doctor in first class. Or maybe it was the clash with MacNaughton. It wasn’t every day she had someone aboard as rude and confrontational as he.