Kawachi was working four airliners and a corporate Lear-jet when he accepted two more flights, United Flight 1147—a Boeing 727 arriving from Chicago, and Air Force One en route from Andrews Air Force Base.
Customarily, the flying White House received kid-glove treatment from air traffic controllers when the commander in chief was onboard. However, the custom had been relaxed when President Macklin took office. Having been a seasoned military pilot, he had requested that the Federal Aviation Administration treat the world’s most famous airplane like any other aircraft; no special considerations, no excessive separation from other aircraft, and no holding other flights on the ground until the big Boeing departed. In other words, no protective bubble. The word went out, but controllers still provided preferential treatment whenever possible. No one wanted to be remembered as the individual who caused a problem for the president of the United States.
Kawachi handed two other air-carrier flights to the final controller earlier than usual and quickly switched his attention to his new charges. Although the feeder and final controllers share the same working space, they don’t have direct voice communication and they communicate with the flight crews on separate radio frequencies.
The final controller, Louis Traweek, was becoming overloaded by the multitude of inbound traffic. He was handling six aircraft when Kawachi dumped two more flights on him.
Traweek had to reduce the number of aircraft he was controlling before he could accept any more flights. He was becoming saturated and beginning to lose his situational awareness.
Recognizing that he had a fast-moving Sabreliner corporate jet overtaking a twin-engine Cessna 310 he had turned eastbound onto the final approach for runway 8 Left, Traweek quickly ordered the jet crew to slow to their final approach speed and turn left to a heading of 350 degrees.
Preoccupied by the latest two air carriers that had entered his airspace, Traweek momentarily forgot about the Sabreliner and gave his attention to the airliners.
Although Ken Kawachi had passed control of the two flights to Traweek, the final controller hadn’t acknowledged the handoff. In essence, no one was providing positive separation for the two airliners. The jets were descending and rapidly closing on the preceding aircraft when Traweek remembered the Sabreliner.
“Sabreliner 324 Zulu Romeo,” Traweek tersely radioed, “turn left to two-three-zero and maintain normal approach speed.”
“Sabre Twenty-Four Zulu Romeo, two hundred on the heading and, ah, normal approach speed.”
“Negative! Heading two-three-zero for Sabreliner Two-Four Zulu Romeo. Repeat — two-three-zero!”
“Copy, two-thirty on the heading — Twenty-Four-ZR.”
Listening to the various approach frequencies and the tower frequencies, Khaliq Farkas and Hamed Yahyavi were ecstatic when they heard the copilot of Air Force One check in with the approach controller. The 747 was precisely on time, as the Iranians expected the crew of Air Force One would be. Determined to undermine public confidence in U.S. civil aviation, Farkas seized the moment to test his radio equipment and further exacerbate the already congested air traffic system.
A Delta Air Lines MD-88 arriving from Dallas-Fort Worth was descending out of the low clouds on an Instrument Landing System approach to Runway 9 Right. Farkas quickly scanned his notes and selected the radio tuned to the tower frequency for the south runways and pressed the transmit switch.
“Delta One-Seventy-Six,” he said in an urgent voice, “go around! I repeat — Delta One-Seventy-Six, go around! Fly heading three six zero, maintain five thousand.”
“Delta One-Seventy-Six on the go,” the surprised voice replied as the MD-88 captain abandoned the ILS approach. He rotated the airplane to a normal climb attitude and reentered the darkened clouds. While he initiated a smooth turn to a northerly heading, the first officer raised the landing gear and the flaps.
“Delta One-Seventy-Six, disregard the previous trans—” The frantic controller was cut off as Yahyavi quickly secured the transmit switch to the transmit position. The frequency was now unusable since no one could receive or transmit on it.
“This is going to be better than we anticipated,” Farkas said excitedly as he looked at his scribbles and broadcast another pirate radio transmission on one of the approach frequencies.
“United 1147,” he said in a bold, authoritative voice, “turn left heading zero-eight-zero and maintain five thousand.”
“Ah, 1147 heading zero-eight—”
The radio transmission was interrupted when Yahyavi repeated the same steps as before. Another blocked radio frequency meant fewer options for the pilots and air traffic controllers. At the most critical moments Farkas was taking away their ability to secure the safety of scores of airplanes and thousands of passengers.
Feeling the effects of a sudden surge of adrenaline, Farkas glanced at his sheet of paper and transmitted another order.
“Air Force One,” he barked in a taut voice, “descend and maintain five thousand, turn right to two-eight-zero. Now!”
“Air Force One, five thou—”
Yahyavi interrupted the transmission and set all but one of the radios to transmit. No one would be able to use the majority of the normal frequencies used by the tower and air traffic controllers. Using the last available approach frequency, Farkas radioed an American flight inbound from Dallas-Fort Worth.
“American Eight-Sixty-Four,” he said impatiently, “expedite your descent to five thousand and fly heading zero-one-zero.”
“Five thousand and zero-one—”
The first officer of Flight 864 tried to acknowledge their instructions as Yahyavi stowed the last radio in the transmit position and reached for the two police scanners. With a few pirate directives and twelve blocked radio frequencies, he and Farkas had created pandemonium in a dynamic and lethal environment.
Listening to the scanners, Yahyavi monitored the police-and fire-department communications while Farkas counted backward from sixty seconds. The longer Air Force One and the multitude of other aircraft groped around in the clouds without any directives, the more frantic everyone would become.
The pilots and flight engineers who had maintained their situational awareness to other aircraft would be even more concerned; there were a number of planes, including Air Force One, on a collision course at the same altitude.
A feeling of great satisfaction suddenly swept over Farkas. “The friendly skies aren’t going to be so friendly this morning.
“Allahu is with us,” Yahyavi declared in a soothing voice. ‘The infidels are going to get a taste of real terror.”
36
Captain Fred Oliver, commanding United Flight 1147, gave his first officer a curious glance and then saw the concern written on the face of the flight engineer. Buffeted by light turbulence, they were flying in solid instrument conditions and suddenly couldn’t communicate with anyone on their assigned frequency. Worse, they were headed straight for the northeast corridor of inbound traffic to Hartsfield/Atlanta International, one of the busiest airports in the country.
“Pete,” Oliver said as evenly as he could, “try our previous frequency. Get someone on the horn.”
“Okay.”
Recently promoted to copilot, First Officer Pete Taylor frantically switched the radios and made three calls to the air traffic controller who had been working them. The only thing he heard was a high-pitched screeching sound. He turned to meet Oliver’s questioning eyes.
“There’s something weird going on,” Taylor declared in a hollow voice, “and we’re right in the middle of it.”