Hijacking of Flight 100: Terror at 600 miles per hour

by C. J. Stott

  The 747 flew away from the runway and each engine’s reflected roar diminished as the sound no longer bounced off the ground. As the noise level dropped, Don called to Fred, “Gear Up.”

  Fred looked at his airspeed indicator, which showed they had accelerated to the minimum safe flying speed of 168 knots. Fred called to Don, “V-2.” He also verified a positive rate of climb. Satisfied, he reached over and pulled the landing gear handle out of the down detent and swiftly raised the lever to the full up position.

  Throughout the airframe vibrations were felt. First the thump of the landing gear doors opening and then high speed vibration of the hydraulic pumps straining to raise 6,000 pounds of magnesium, titanium, aluminum and 18 wheels and tires into their respective wheel wells.

  Stan Kurtz looked at the multi-lighted landing gear status panel and quickly verified through the green and amber lights, that all the individual wheels were retracting properly.

  Don eased off the pressure he was holding on the control column. He trimmed out the pressure on the control column and said, “Turn off the No Smoking Sign.”

  Fred reached to the center of the overhead panel and pressed the illuminated ‘No Smoke’ switch light then said to no one in particular, “Smoke ‘em if you’ve got’em. Suck ‘em up, folks.”

  San Francisco tower called, “Flight 100. Contact NORCAL Departure on 135.10. Have a good flight.”

  Fred picked up his microphone, “Rog, Tower. Over to Departure on 135.1.” He flipped a small switch on the VHF control head, a green light indicated he had changed frequencies, “NORCAL Departure, this is 100. We’re out of 900 feet on our way to 3,000.”

  “Roger, 100. Ident. Radar Contact. Maintain 3,000.”

  At less than 1,000 feet altitude above the runway the aircraft gradually changed its configuration. It transitioned from the awkward, long-legged, ungainly ground-clinging creature on the ramp; to a svelte elongated bird. She was reaching for her element; the upper atmosphere.

  At 1,000 feet above San Francisco Bay, Stan turned on the first of three air conditioning machines. He opened an eyeball vent above his head and hoped for cool air, but felt none.

  As the 747 accelerated to a predetermined speed, Don said, “Bring the flaps up to 5°.”

  Fred reached over and raised the miniature flap handle to the 5° detent. Slowly, the flap position indicator revolved and showed the trailing edge flaps had retracted to 5°. The transformation of the wing took place smoothly and on command.

  The 747 continued to accelerate and climb through 1,100 feet. Don relaxed. He habitually rolled his shoulders to relieve the tension in his upper back and neck. With his shoulders arched, he twisted his neck left and right and could hear the small cartilage in his neck click and pop as he relieved the strain. Subconsciously, even though he rolled his head left and right, he never took his eyes off of his primary flight instruments. At 1,200 feet altitude, Stan started the second air conditioning system and felt only meager cool, dry air from the vents that surrounded him.

  Don made a minor adjustment to the amount of pressure he was holding on the control column and pressed his thumb on the main stabilizer trim switch. Powerful electric motors turned jack screws that slowly and effectively moved the elevator trim tabs in the tail section.

  The trimming movement reduced the aerodynamic load he felt in the controls. She now climbed in excess of 2,000 feet per minute and accelerated through 190 knots over San Francisco.

  At 1,500 feet altitude, Stan started the third air conditioning pack. The noise level in the cockpit increased, but all three pilots were refreshed by the modest volume of cool dry air.

  At 2,000 feet, Fred called, “Out of 2 for 3,” the standard required call whenever the aircraft was within a thousand feet of an assigned altitude.

  In unison, several independent altimeters climbed through 2,500 feet. Micro sensors in Don’s and Fred’s altitude alert equipment closed and electricity energized a warning chime, the system that warned them they were within 500 feet of their assigned altitude. Don gradually eased the yoke forward and smoothly lowered the nose to the horizon. The aircraft leveled at precisely 3,000 feet. With each of her engines developing over 40,000 pounds of thrust, she accelerated rapidly. Don saw the airspeed pass through 210 knots and told Fred to bring the flaps up to 1°.

  San Francisco Departure control called, “100, you’re now cleared to 9,000 feet. No need to acknowledge.”

  At 230 knots, Don reached over and raised the flaps handle from 1° to 0°. He turned back and said, “Stan, make sure all the leading edge flaps are retracted.”

  Stan casually glanced at the leading edge indicator panel. Eight green lights flickered and then went out, followed by eight amber lights that came on in unison. Three seconds later, all eight amber indicator lights went out, indicating that all the leading edge flap panels were fully and properly retracted.

  “Flaps are up and all the leading devices are retracted and stowed.”

  The after takeoff procedures continued. Within a few of minutes after liftoff, Flight 100 was climbing through 5,000 feet, accelerating toward 250 knots. Fred’s elapsed time counter remained at zero hours, zero minutes and zero seconds.

  Chapter 31

  09:20 Pacific Standard Time

  Northeast of San Francisco International Airport

  Fred turned to Stan and asked, “Hey Magellan, what time did you have us airborne? I made it 09:05.”

  “Just a minute, let me see if ACARS has a time for us.” Stan stretched and reached back to press the OUT button on the Air Carrier Automated Reporting System sub panel, but all it revealed were a series of dashed lines, “Looks like ACARS is still inop.”

  Stan selected the #2 VHF transmitter, “ARINC. This is 100 with an off report.”

  “San Francisco ARINC. Go ahead, 100.”

  “100 was out San Francisco at 16:30 UCT. Off at 17:05 UCT. Estimating New York at 22:32 UCT. Take off fuel 183,300 pounds.”

  “Roger 100. Got it all ok. Have a good trip.”

  Stan clicked his transmit button twice and hung up the microphone. He made a note on his fuel record of the time he called Aeronautical Radio with the Off Report.

  Stan leaned forward with his arm resting on the back of Fred’s seat, “Well guys, it looks like we’ll be in New York at 5:30. Schedule is 5:15. That’s only 15 minutes late.”

  The airplane had climbed through 10,000 feet on the way to 19,000 when Don said, “Fred, turn off the Seat Belt Sign.”

  Fred automatically looked outside. No clouds. No indications of any turbulence. There had been no reported turbulence in the weather documents.

  After he looked out, Fred looked at the upper center control panel. He saw Don’s finger on the Fasten Seat Belt switch. Fred’s gaze proceeded down Don’s arm, to his face.

  Don angrily pressed the “Fasten Seat Belt” lighted switch and then intently stared at Fred.

  After three or four seconds Don said, “Fred, when I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it. I do not expect you to second-guess me. I looked outside and I know there is no turbulence out there. Just do as you are told.”

  Fred was speechless.

  Don pressed for an answer, “Do you understand me?”

  Fred thought, I’ll never understand you, but said, “Yes, Don. I understand.”

  Don would not let it rest, he was relentless. “From now on you will do exactly as I say. If you don’t like the way I’m running this show, we can talk about it later on the ground.”

  Tension wafted through the cockpit. Fred could feel a pulse in his neck and his face had gotten very warm. Yet, he knew the best thing to do was say nothing. The captain would only become more angered if he attempted to explain his actions.

  Don leaned over to his left and opened the top of his navigation kit. While he had his back turned, Fred and Stan simultaneously looked at each other. It was a communal look, each seeking and giving understanding and support.

  NORCAL Departure Control c
alled, “100, you are cleared to flight level 240. Proceed direct to the Linden VOR and then on course.”

  Company policy dictated that the pilot who was not flying handle all the routine radio work and assist the pilot who was doing the flying. According to this policy, when the Captain was physically flying the aircraft, the First Office would make all the radio calls. Conversely, when roles were reversed and the First Officer was flying, the Captain would have the responsibility for maintaining radio contact with the Air Route Traffic Control Centers.

  Don’s recent outburst caused Fred to pause as he reached for the microphone and he quickly looked at Don for some signal, but none was forthcoming.

  Fred read back the clearance, “Climb to 240. Proceed direct to Linden. Then on course.” He paused, “Thanks for the direct clearance. That will save us a couple of minutes.”

  “No problem 100. We’re always glad to give you a direct, if we’re not too busy. Have a good one.” Almost as an afterthought, “You can expect to be cleared to 370 by the next sector. Tell you what, give Oakland Center a call now on 134.95 and ask them for higher.”

  Fred still had his hand microphone close to his mouth. Instinctively, he repeated the clearance, “Expect 370, call Oakland on 134.95 for higher. Good day.”

  Fred reached down between the pilots to the center radio console and twisted the VHF radio frequency selector knobs. The left window indicated the assigned frequency of 133.80. He spun the knob and the numbers stopped at 134.85. This was a little diversion for Fred, trying to see how close he could come to the assigned frequency by spinning the tuner, instead of clicking past the frequencies one at a time.

  He slowly retuned the knob two stops to 134.95, saying under his breath, “Close. But, that only counts in hand grenades and horse shoes.”

  “Oakland Center, this is 100. We’re out of 21,000 climbing to 240. That other fellow said we could expect 370. What do you know about higher for us?”

  “100, Oakland clears you to Flight Level 370. Report passing out of 240.”

  “Roger, cleared to 370 and we’ll check with you when we’re out of 240.”

  FAA rules and company policy dictate that all clearances be repeated by the pilot flying and Don laconically said, “Cleared to 370.”

  The Pratt and Whitney engines on the 747 are very sensitive to external environmental changes. A 1° change in outside air temperature will make a significant change in the thrust output. The 9-foot diameter first stage N-1 compressors ingest an incredible amount of air every second. Cooler air molecules are closer together. Denser air will produce more thrust with the same amount of fuel.

  Predictably, outside air temperature, or OAT, will decrease 2 degrees for each 1,000 feet of altitude gained. Throughout the climb phase of flight, Stan Kurtz was kept busy adjusting the thrust levers to keep all four engines producing the maximum amount of thrust for a given OAT.

  Stan lined up target EPRs but, with each one thousand foot gain in altitude, the throttles again required realignment. Each time Stan reached between Don and Fred to trim the throttles, he could feel the unspoken tension and hostility that passed between the two pilots like electricity.

  Stan thought, “This is one hell of a piss-poor way to run an airline.”

  Chapter 32

  09:30 Pacific Standard Time

  San Francisco International Airport

  Robert Ford Burns reread the denied boarding Incident Report, grinned to himself and thought, “Mr. Shapiro really did belong on American Airlines.” Idly, he wondered if Shapiro also knew the President of American Airlines as well as he claimed he knew the upper management here.

  Situated near the door in the employee cafeteria, he sat and drank his third cup of weak Sanka for the morning. He tried to remember this morning’s events with better and clearer detail. There was something in the back of his mind that bothered him, yet he could not put his finger on the source of his concern.

  He felt uneasy. There was something, indeed bothering him. It had to do with the fact that he had let something slip away during the verbal altercations with Mr. Shapiro. His years of police training and experience drove this feeling there was a need to continue his investigation in more detail. He could not suppress his instinctive compulsions.

  He sat there by himself. He knew he should have been stopped and interrogated Guerrero. Perhaps detaining him for further investigation would have been warranted.

  He abruptly left the Employee Cafeteria. He strode past several ticket counters, until he came to his company’s deserted counter.

  Between the Delta Airlines ticket counter and his counter was a 3 foot gap, which allowed agents and other employees access to the work rooms behind the counters. He deftly undid the hidden latch and lifted the Formica-covered counter section.

  Once behind the counter, he faced a plain, unmarked door. Predictably, the door was locked. Just to the right of the door, along the jamb was a penciled message, “Call 1034 for a good time.” Silently, he slowly pressed 1 0 3 4 on the keypad, heard the electric solenoid click and leaned against the door.

  The hallway, like the counter, was also deserted. The door closed behind him and the locking latch clicked firmly as he walked the length of the corridor. He neared the end of the hall and found the door he wanted, “Employee Lounge.”

  Bob opened the door. He was ignored by three ticket agents who were killing time while on their break. Two were seated in recliner chairs and one slouched on a black vinyl couch. He recognized the agents, but did not know their names.

  Burns spoke to the closest to him, “Excuse me, do you know if Harold is still around this morning?”

  The heavy, middle-aged, oriental supervisor looked up from her Chinese newspaper, “Yeah. He was here. Earlier. Maybe half hour ago.”

  Then quickly she asked, “Did Harold do something? Is he in trouble?”

  “No. No. Not at all. He’s fine. I have some concerns about one of our passengers this morning on 100 and wanted to talk to him about it.”

  Another agent responded, “You mean that rude asshole from New York?”

  Another agent, a black female, piped up, “Where do we get these jerks? We don’t have to take that kind of crap.”

  Bob smiled at them, reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a small spiral bound notebook. He held the notebook in his right hand, gave his right wrist a short, practiced flip and the notebook popped open.

  The opened page had the name “GUERRERO, B - Flt 100” written in his bold hand. After consulting his notebook, he said, “Actually, I’m looking for information about a passenger Guerrero. He was tall and young, probably Mexican.”

  “Seems as though he bought a ticket to New York, one way. Paid for it in cash and he appeared to be quite nervous and agitated.”

  Two agents said in unison, “Profiler.” The airline insider term for a passenger who fit a basic and well-published potential hijacker profile.

  “Just the same, I would like some help in checking this Guerrero out.” Burns spoke with intensity and authority, “Does anybody know if Harold is here? Or, not?”

  “He was lead agent on this morning shift. He’s probably in the cash room, counting his receipts and balancing his drawer. He should be done in a few minutes.”

  The third agent who had been reading People magazine, commented without looking up, “Don’t count on it. The way Harold keeps his cash drawer, he may be in there for several days.” Everyone laughed, including Burns.

  Chapter 33

  09:45 Pacific Standard Time

  San Francisco International Airport

  Behind him a door opened, and he heard the sound of a metal box being slid into a locking drawer safe. Bob turned around and Harold walked toward the center of the room. Without the ticket counter to hide behind, Harold looked like a pear. His upper torso appeared to have been created from warm wax, which had slowly settled around his waist and then congealed. His legs were thin with knees that excessively bowed out. Harold’s glasses wer
e perched on the bulb-end of his nose. In this indirect light, his toupee was not easily detected.

  Harold stopped mid-step when he saw Burns. Bob sensed Harold’s uneasiness and attempted to quell that as he said, “Hello, Harold. Nothing real important. I just stopped by to talk to you about one of our passengers on 100 this morning.”

  Harold heard what the Airport Security Chief said. But, he was not satisfied with Burns explanation and thought he was there to talk to him about the $186.00 shortage last week. This talk about a passenger on 100 was probably a sham to put him at ease and then he would start in on him about recent shortages.

  Burns reassured him again and Harold slowly started to perceive that maybe this company detective was not interested in the cash shortages after all, “Who’s it you want to talk about? Do you want to talk here? Or, somewhere else?”

  “Well, actually, I want to see Guerrero’s ticket and I want to hear whatever you,”he waved his arm expansively, ”and the rest of you think about him.”

  Through his thick and dirty glasses, Harold peered at Bob while he considered his options. Eventually, Harold cautiously said in a very measured way, “All the flight coupons come back to me from the gates and are in my report to the cashier. That’s locked in the safe room. I don’t have a key to the cash safe. I’ll have to get my supervisor to open it.” Now, he was rushing as he spoke. To Burns, he sounded nervous. To Harold, he thought he sounded calm and on top of the situation.

  Harold jerked his head toward the bank of locked agent’s boxes and added, “I wish you told me before I put my cash envelope in the lock box.”

  Burns was amused that he had been foiled by his own design and smiled at Harold, “Well, lets get your supervisor over here, so we can get this investigation underway.” He was surprised he had used the word investigation. Up until now, this had only been a routine check on a passenger.