decibels more softly.
Jerry Brewster, standing a few feet from Johnson, surprised himself by speaking. “In the communications room, sir. Mr. Miller is the senior man.”
Johnson moved quickly toward the glass-enclosed room. He stuck his cigar back into his mouth, pushed the door aside, and entered the crowded communications room. “Miller? You in here?”
“Over here,” answered Jack Miller, his voice the only sound in the suddenly silent room.
Several of the dispatchers backed away to allow Johnson to pass. A few of them quickly left. Dennis Evans moved unobtrusively away from Miller and stood near the door, prepared to go either way. Jerry Brewster reluctantly walked into the small room.
Johnson went up to the data-link machine. He looked down at Miller. “What’s the problem?”
Miller had carefully rehearsed what he would say. But now that Johnson stood before him, all he could do was point to the video screen.
Johnson looked up at the screen on the far wall.
TO FLIGHT 52: VERY NICE WORK. STAND BY. RELAX. EVERYONE HERE IS WORKING ON BRINGING YOU HOME.
Johnson looked down at Miller. “What’s very nice work, Miller? Relax? What the hell kind of message is that to send to one of our pilots?”
Miller looked up at the screen. He’d been so immersed in this problem for what seemed like so long a time, he couldn’t imagine that someone didn’t know what was happening. “The Straton is not being flown by one of our pilots.”
“ What? What the hell are you talking about?”
Jack Miller quickly reached down and picked up the stack of printouts from the machine. “Here. This is the whole story. Everything we know. Everything…” He paused. “Everything that we’ve done. I’m afraid it’s worse than we originally thought.”
Johnson took the folded printouts and began reading. He took his unlit cigar out of his mouth and laid it on the table. He finished reading but kept his eyes on the printouts in his hand.
Edward Johnson’s lunch of poached salmon churned in his stomach. Less than half an hour before, they had been discussing his possible presidency of Trans-United Airlines. Now this. Disasters made and broke men very quickly. A man had to immediately sense the pitfalls and opportunities presented by these things and act on them. If this accident had been caused by any of the cutbacks he had personally authorized… Johnson looked up from the printout with no discernible expression on his face. He stared at Jack Miller for several seconds. “You told them to turn around.” It was a flat statement, with no inflections that might convey approval or disapproval.
Miller looked him squarely in the eye. “Yes, sir. They’re turned.”
It took Johnson a second to figure out that cryptic response, and another second to decide if Miller was being insubordinate. Johnson smiled a rare smile. “Yes. They’re turned. Nice work.”
Miller nodded. He found it odd that the Operations Chief had no further comment on what had happened to Flight 52. But on second thought, he expected no extraneous words from Edward Johnson.
Johnson looked around the room. Everyone was, in a perverse but predictable way, almost enjoying the drama they found themselves in. These were the situations on which were built the legends of the airlines. Every terse statement he made, every expression on his face, would be the subject of countless stories, told and retold. Only Jack Miller and his young assistant, Jerry Brewster, seemed not to be enjoying themselves.
“Sir?” It was Jerry Brewster. He took a hesitant step toward Johnson.
“What?” Johnson could see that the young assistant was nervous.
“I’m afraid I might have… contributed to the problem.” Brewster was speaking rapidly, getting his confession out as quickly as he could. “When I first saw the original SOS, I’m afraid I didn’t respond immediately. I thought it was a hoax.”
“A hoax?” Johnson raised an eyebrow. “What the hell kind of hoax could an SOS message be?”
“No, I mean a practical joke. I thought it was someone’s idea of a joke.” Brewster fidgeted with the clipboard in his hands. This was going to be more difficult than he thought it might be. “But I didn’t wait very long. I went back as soon-”
“Any delay is too long,” Johnson said, cutting Brewster short. “I’ll talk to you later about this,” he said angrily, dismissing the young man with a wave of his hand. Johnson turned to the other men in the room. “As for the rest of you, I’d like to remind everyone that there’s no room in this business for jokes. Nothing should be treated as a joke. Ever.”
Brewster turned away, embarrassed, and left the room.
Johnson stood quietly for a moment. He was glad that he now had at least one ass to hang, if things came to that. He could use a few more. He turned to Miller. “Jack, who have you called? Who knows about this?”
“I had Evans handle that.”
Evans spoke quickly. “I did what was in the book, sir. The emergency handbook.”
“No outside press, then?”
“No, sir.” Evans licked his lips. He had an opportunity to make points, and he didn’t intend to blow it by saying or doing something stupid. He had, however, done something daring. He took a deep breath and put a confident tone into his voice. “I followed procedures-up to a point.”
Johnson took a step toward him. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I mean I didn’t call anyone on the list except you and Mr. Metz from our liability carrier-Beneficial.” He shot a quick glance at Miller.
Miller gave him an annoyed look.
Evans continued. “I didn’t call the hull carrier either, because we have no real idea of the damage. I also did not call the Straton company’s representative.” He looked at Johnson.
Johnson’s face was expressionless. “Did you also not call the president of the airline or our press office?”
Evans nodded. “I only called you and Mr. Metz.”
“Why?”
“There seemed to be no pressing need. I thought I’d wait until you arrived, sir. I knew you were in the executive dining room. I thought I’d let you make the decision about who to call. This is not like a crash. This is an ongoing thing, wouldn’t you say, sir? Also, at first it didn’t seem too bad. That was my reasoning, sir.”
“Was it?” Johnson reached down and picked up his unlit cigar. He put it back in his mouth. He let a few seconds go by. “Good. Good thinking, Evans.”
Evans beamed.
Johnson looked up and addressed everyone. “Now, listen to me, all of you. No one does a thing unless they check with me. Nothing. Clear?”
Everyone in the room nodded.
Johnson continued. “Except for Miller, I want everyone to go back to his usual routine. Evans, you take complete charge of the Pacific desk. It’s all yours except Flight 52. I am taking personal charge of 52. If anyone asks you about 52, refer them to me.”
Miller suddenly felt that he had been relegated to a sort of limbo. He had become a junior assistant. He wished he could get back to his desk, or anywhere that was away from Johnson.
Johnson pointed with his cigar. “No one-I repeat, no one — is to say anything to anyone. No calls home to your wives or to anyone else. Also, the normal duty shift is extended indefinitely. In other words, no one goes home. Night-differential and double time will be in effect. The incoming shift is to report to the employees’ lounge and stay there until further notice. I want as few new people as possible to know what’s happening. We’ve got a four-hundred-and-ten-ton aircraft streaking back toward the California coast with some weekend pilot in the left- hand seat and three hundred dead or injured passengers onboard. I don’t have to tell you why I want the lid on this. Understand?”
Everyone murmured his assent.
“All right, make sure everyone out there understands too. Get back to work.”
The dispatchers filed quickly out of the hot, airless room.
Evans hung back a second. “Mr. Johnson, if there’s anything further I can do…”
“You’ve done enough, Evans. Good initiative.”
