Jake flipped to the next page of his notepad, then leaned back in his chair. “Take your time and give us a brief rundown of what you remember. A sequence of events, if you will.”
“When the aircraft checked on frequency, I issued a turn and descent clearance to get him away from my departures. Do you want to know what I did with the other aircraft on frequency also?”
“No, just the aircraft in question will be fine,” Jake said.
“I read him the weather sequence and told him which approach to expect, and cleared him direct SINBY, the initial approach fix. I later gave him an altitude to maintain until the initial approach fix and cleared him for the approach. I also asked him to report over SINBY—”
Jake said, “Why did you need to do that?”
The question puzzled Kaplan. Surely he’s seen this done dozens of time. He gave Jake an almost unnoticeable shrug. “Don’t guess I needed to. But that’s a good time to switch him over to the tower frequency. And the pilots are generally used to it. It’s just a good reminder. In case I get busy or get sidetracked with something else. A good work habit.”
Jake nodded.
Kaplan fidgeted in his chair. “When he reported over SINBY, I switched him to the tower frequency. He acknowledged and read back the frequency. Then within a few seconds I heard a mayday on my frequency that sounded like him. I called for him a couple of times with no response. I noticed the aircraft veered slightly off course, then his transponder disappeared, so I called local to see if he was talking to him. He wasn’t, so I reported it to my supervisor.”
“How busy do you think you were at the time of the accident?”
“Not busy at all. I had just finished a little push, but I never really got very busy.”
“Over the years, different controllers have told me that they can usually sense things about certain pilots — you know, good vibes, bad vibes. Did you sense anything about this aircraft and its crew?”
“No, actually he was quite professional from beginning to end … I really had no concerns with him at all.”
“How do you feel about losing an aircraft?”
Kaplan stood and leaned over the table. “How the hell do you think I feel? It sucks. No one likes losing an aircraft. But I know I didn’t do anything wrong or contribute to it. The whole thing, you know, whatever happened to the aircraft was out of my control.”
“You’re that confident about your performance?”
“Absolutely.”
Cook pulled Kaplan back into his chair.
“I do have a question that may not be related. I noticed on the tape a pilot said something about a ‘graveyard tour.’ What’s that?” Jake asked.
Kaplan explained, “When the east/west runway was built, there was a cemetery in the way. All the families chose to have their family members’ graves relocated to another cemetery at the airport’s expense, except for one family. They refused to allow their family members to be moved. So, near the middle of the runway about fifty feet north of centerline are two headstones inlaid in the asphalt. Actually, they’re really plaques, not true headstones, but they’re on top of the gravesites.
“When traffic at the airport permits, we allow the aircraft to taxi down the runway past the graves so the captain can give the passengers a unique glimpse, gravestones in a runway.” Kaplan grinned. “Thus the name, ‘Graveyard Tour.’ I’ll bet you’ve never heard of that before. Where else but Savannah, huh?”
“You’re right, I haven’t heard of anything like that before.”
Jake asked questions for another ten minutes, then looked around the room. “That’s all I have for now. Do any of you have questions for Mr. Kaplan?”
Some of the other air traffic control group members had a few questions, which Kaplan answered in the same commanding self-assured manner he answered Jake’s questions.
Jake dismissed the group members and all the participants with the disclaimer that they might have to return for a follow-up as the investigation continued.
The room emptied and as Kaplan was getting out of his chair, Jake stood and shook his hand. He glanced down and noticed Kaplan’s riding boots. “That your Harley outside?”
Kaplan smiled. “Yeah. You ride?”
“Never have. But I saw the fly rod on the pack. Do you fly-fish?”
“Oh yeah. My favorite pastime. Been fly-fishing ever since I moved here.”
“What do you fish for?”
“This time of year, usually trout.”
“There are trout streams around here?” Jake asked with a puzzled look.
“No, all my fishing here is salt water fly fishing. I fish for speckled trout and redfish mostly.”
“I’ve never fly fished in salt water… How is it?”
“When you get a redfish to swallow a fly, there’s no experience like it. The first thing he’ll do is run you into your backing. He’ll make three or four runs before he tires, then just reel him into the leader.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“What about you? What kind of fly fishing do you do?”
“I usually go up to north Georgia. I have a cabin on a creek and fish for brookies or rainbows. Sometimes I’ll drive on up into Tennessee or North Carolina. I have a few favorite spots on some smaller rivers and creeks. My father owns a place outside of Atlanta that has a lake stocked with bass and bream. I fish there too. My father taught me to fly fish when I was a kid. He said it was the only ‘real fishing.’ He got me hooked, so to speak. It’s relaxing. I could do it all the time.”
“I know what you mean. I feel the same way,” Kaplan said.
“Someday I’ll have to give salt water a try.”
“I’m telling you it’s a blast, Mr. Pendleton.”
“Please, call me Jake.”
“Okay, Jake. What are the chances you’d let me come out to the crash site? You know, just to check it out. I’ve never seen one up close.”
“It’s really not procedural since you’re somewhat involved, but I might be able to arrange an observer’s pass. You’ll have to keep a good distance though.”
“My girlfriend might like to come along, if that’s okay. She’s a controller here too.”
Jake pulled out his cell phone and dialed Carol. He talked to Carol for a couple of minutes, then snapped his phone closed and looked over at Kaplan.
“Gregg, you and your friend go to the Westin and ask for Carol Martin. She’ll give you two observer passes. Those will get you onto the site. You’ll have to show Carol your FAA badges to get your pass. You’ll have to stay outside the perimeter tape, okay?”
“No problem. Thanks, Jake, I really appreciate it. Hey, maybe sometime after this investigation is over, you can come back down and I’ll take you on a redfish adventure and show you what real fly fishing is all about.”
“It’s a deal.” Jake’s cell phone rang. It was his employer, but a number he didn’t recognize. He held up a finger to Kaplan, flipped open the phone. “Jake Pendleton.”
“Jake, this is Donna Greene from the Arlington NTSB office.”
“Yes, Ms. Greene, I was told you would call—”
“This is a very strange case you have here, Mr. Pendleton.”
Jake felt his jaw tighten. “How so?”
“You have something to write on?”
He slid his binder closer and reached for his pen, then said, “Yes, go ahead.” He motioned to Kaplan that he must excuse himself to take this call.
“About three weeks ago, on a Monday, a man named Ian McDonald came in, looking for a mechanic’s job at the FBO that operates the aircraft that crashed. The FBO manager said it was an impressive resume, quite a list of references, but the manager didn’t need any more mechanics just then. Just stuck the resume in the file cabinet and forgot about it.”