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 1 P.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 around 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.