“They’ve all given us a chance to save it.”
Johnson nodded. “Yes. The man who can really testify to our mishandling of this whole thing is Berry.”
“And he’s heading home.”
“I know. God, I wish he’d just crash,” Johnson said.
“He probably will. Right into San Francisco. You’ve got to put him in the ocean.”
“I know.”
Metz sat down behind the data-link. “Look, Ed, I know this is difficult for you-it goes against all your instincts. But believe me, there is no other way. Do what you’ve got to do. If it will make it any easier, I’ll type the message to Berry.”
Johnson laughed. “You stupid bastard. What difference does it make who types the message? There’s no difference in guilt, only a difference in nerve. Get out of that chair.”
Metz quickly vacated the chair behind the data-link.
Johnson sat down. He glanced up at the dispatch office outside the glass. A few heads dropped or turned away. “As far as they know, I’m still trying to contact Flight 52.”
“What are you going to tell him to do?”
“There’s only a few things about a cockpit I know for sure. I’ve ridden in the observer’s seat enough times and had to listen to enough pilots give me unwanted flying lessons to know what’s dangerous and what can bring an aircraft down. That book I was looking at is the Straton’s pilot manual.”
Metz nodded appreciatively. “Any ideas?”
“A few. I’m trying to work them out. But they’re tricky.” He looked at his watch. “That meeting in the executive conference room will be rolling in a while. They’ll chew over those link printouts and wail and whine for a good fifteen, maybe thirty, minutes. Then they’ll ring me here.”
“Then you’d better hurry. Jesus, this is cutting it close, Ed. You didn’t leave yourself any room.”
Neither man was aware of the insistent rapping on the glass door.
Johnson finally looked up.
Jack Miller stood outside the door.
“Oh, Christ,” said Johnson. “If we let Miller in and Flight 52 begins transmitting, that would be the end of the game.” Johnson knew that if he turned off the machine, Miller would notice and ask why they weren’t trying to reestablish contact. He quickly went to the door and opened it.
Miller took a step in.
Johnson moved forward and edged him out a few steps, but couldn’t close the door without being too obvious. “What is it, Jack?”
Miller’s eyes moved past Johnson into the small room. He stared at Metz, and without looking at Johnson, handed him a sheaf of papers. “Here’s the data-link printouts. Faxed to ATC and copied for the executive conference room.” He looked at Johnson. “The chief pilot, Captain Fitzgerald, is on his way here in case we make contact. Mr. Abbot, the Straton Aircraft representative, is also on his way. Is there anyone else you want here?”
“I don’t want anyone here, Jack. Have a dispatcher intercept them in the parking lot and tell them to drive over to the executive conference room in the company office building. Okay?”
Miller ignored the order as if he hadn’t heard it. He said, “I just don’t understand what could have happened up there. That aircraft was steady and that pilot-”
“It had two great big fucking holes in it. You wouldn’t fly too well with two great big damn holes in you.” He pushed Miller’s chest with his forefinger and backed him up a step. “Go home and get some rest.”
“I’m staying here.”
Johnson hesitated, then said, “All right. Take over the Pacific desk from Evans.”
“I mean here-in the communications room.”
Johnson knew what he meant. “It’s not necessary.”
“Does that mean I’m relieved of my duties?”
Johnson, for some reason he couldn’t explain, felt that the data-link bell was going to ring momentarily. He began to perspire. “Jack…” He had to be tactful, careful. “Jack, don’t start getting sullen. You may have made a few mistakes, but you did a few heads-up things too. It’s like in the military. You’re somewhere between a medal and a court-martial. Now, don’t forget our conversations. Play it my way and we can all save our asses. Okay?”
Miller nodded. “Are you still trying to contact…?”
“Yes. Every three minutes. And you’re holding me up now.” Johnson was becoming anxious. He kept glancing up at the door across the room. Soon, someone whom he couldn’t keep out of the communications room might walk into the dispatch office. In a way, he would almost have welcomed it.
Metz called out. “I have to finish this business with you and report to my people.”
Johnson turned his head. “Right.” He turned back to Miller. “Do me a favor. Go to the employees’ lounge-no, to the executives’ lounge-and while things are still fresh in your mind write a full report of everything that happened before I arrived. Make sure the times and actions tally with our estimates, of course. When you finish, report back here and give the report to me and me only.”
Miller nodded.
“Did you fill in the Straton’s updates?”
Miller nodded again.
“Good. When you come back you can resume your duties here in the communications room. See you later.” He stepped back, then closed and bolted the door just as the data-link bell sounded. “Oh, Christ!”
The data-link began to print.
Metz wiped his face with a handkerchief. “That was too close.”
Johnson was visibly shaken. “Wayne, just keep out of this. I understand what’s got to be done, and I don’t need any help from you. In fact, you can leave.”
“I’m going nowhere until that aircraft is down.”
Johnson walked over to the data-link and sat down. He glanced out into the dispatch office, then quickly pulled the message off and put it in his lap.
Metz looked down and they read it at the same time.
FROM FLIGHT 52: IMPERATIVE YOU HAVE QUALIFIED PILOT BEGIN TO GIVE ME INSTRUCTIONS ON FLIGHT CONTROLS-NAVIGATION- APPROACH-LANDING. BERRY.
Johnson nodded. “He’s very sharp.” He turned to Metz. “Wayne, do you feel anything for this poor bastard? Can’t you admire his guts?”
Metz looked offended. “Of course I can admire him. I’m not completely inhuman. But… didn’t you once say that you were in Vietnam? Didn’t you ever see a commander sacrifice a few good men to save the whole unit?”
“Enough times to wonder if the good men weren’t worth the rest of the unit. Enough times, too, to wonder if it wasn’t the commander’s own ass he was trying to save.” Johnson looked up through the glass panels, then down at the keyboard. “I’m going to give Berry a course change that will put them on a heading for Hawaii.”
“Why?”
“Because he’ll never find Hawaii. He’ll run out of fuel in about six hours. He’ll go down at sea looking for Hawaii.”
“Can’t you do something more positive?”
“Too tricky. We’ll try this.”
Metz suspected that Johnson saw a fine-but to him meaningless-line between actually giving information that would cause the Straton to crash and information that would result in its crash several hours from now. “But he’ll keep transmitting. We can’t stay in this goddamned room and guard this machine for six hours.”
“No, we can’t. After he takes up the new heading and stays on it for a while, I’ll short out the data-link with a screwdriver through a rear access panel. Then we’ll call in a technician and leave. The link won’t be fixed for hours.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’ll take over an hour just to get a technician here. Hours, sometimes days, to get parts. These machines are special technology. Never used for vital communications-so it takes a while to get them fixed.”
