Steven Dobbs caught the flashing light from his 302A panel out of the corner of his eye. He looked up from studying the watch schedule and pushed the button.
“Dobbs.”
“Steve, I think I just lost two airplanes.” It didn’t take long for Steven Dobbs to get there.
“They both like, just disappeared.” Melissa Jason looked at her supervisor for some sort of reassurance that nothing was wrong as he peered at the scope from over her shoulder. Jason had tried calling both pilots as soon as she realized the two targets were no longer “painting” on the radar and no longer being tracked by the ARTS (Automated Radar Terminal System) computer. It was possible nothing was wrong, but her instincts and the adrenaline screaming through her veins said otherwise. She felt cold and clammy and began to tremble. Melissa Jason fought hard not to panic.
Steven Dobbs had been a first-line supervisor for all of three months. He could think of a lot of situations he’d rather be dealing with.
“Have you tried calling them on one twenty-one point five?”
Jason’s mouth had gone dry. Her voice was shaky. “Yeah, I threw up the emergency frequency transmitters when I didn’t get any response on my primary frequency. I know my primary frequency is working because all my other traffic is loud and clear. These guys didn’t respond to the emergency frequency either.”
“Okay,” said Dobbs. “Radio and radar contact were lost at the same time with no explanation. That’s an automatic emergency according to the manual. I’ll get out the notification list and make the necessary phone calls. Hang in here for just a little longer Melissa. I’ll call the break room and get someone in here to relieve you as soon as possible. We’re going to need a controller statement. Do you want a union rep?”
Jason nodded her head slowly.
Dobbs looked at her face. She was staring at the scope with a blank expression. The thirty-two-year-old supervisor did not have to be a psychologist to realize Jason was not functioning. “Listen, Melissa, I’m going to place a call to the Employee Assistance Program and have them get someone out here to talk with you, okay?”
Jason’s head continued its slow nod.
Mary Ann Tucci and Donald Obarsky were working traffic at the scopes located on either side of Jason. They had heard the conversation between Jason and Dobbs. It was easy to hear everything in the small, dark radar room, where ambient light was generated primarily from the sweep of the radar scopes and by the various lights on the communication panels. The adrenaline in their systems surged as the realization of what had probably happened took hold.
Steven Dobbs looked to the more experienced of the two. “Don, can you take Melissa’s traffic?”
Don Obarsky had fifteen years at New England. He reached up and selected Jason’s radio frequencies from his overhead control panel then quickly entered a multifunction configure command into his keyboard, instantly giving him control of Jason’s scope and keyboard. Don Obarsky already knew Jason’s traffic situation. He was one of those controllers who paid close attention to what was occurring at the adjacent scopes.
“I have it, Steve.”
One minute later Jason was sitting in the supervisor’s office trying to gather her wits.
Melissa Jason would never work traffic again.
Chapter XII
Record Destruction
Patricia Blakely was astonished. The FAA Academy Air Traffic Superintendent had just gotten off the phone with FAA Deputy Administrator Lawrence Evans. He had given her a heads-up on an upcoming “surprise” visit by a facility evaluation team from Washington Headquarters. It seemed one of the main items the evaluation team would be focusing on was document retention procedures, checking to see if “old” records had been properly destroyed rather than retained to cause mountains of useless paper occupying valuable file space. Blakely was to verify that all student records, five years and older, were destroyed. Evans had commended her on the great job she was doing and assured her that the information he had given her concerning the evaluation team was quite within bounds.
“After all,” Evans had said, “the academy has to maintain its stellar public image as being the premiere institution for turning out only top-quality graduates from their training program. No point in not checking to make sure there are no minor ‘bookkeeping’ errors for the team to uncover that might blemish the academy’s sterling reputation.”
Blakely was pleased. She would have her people and the academy ready. Two weeks later she would be told the evaluation had been cancelled due to insufficient travel funds.
Carolyn Flores, Air Traffic Manager, New England Approach Control, and Roberta Alston, Director of the Federal Records Center, received similar calls from Gary Dennison acting under Evans’s direction. Within twenty-four hours of receiving those calls, most of Melissa Jason’s academic and training records ceased to exist, all of them destroyed in accordance with FAA Order 1350.15.
Oddly, those surprise evaluations were also cancelled.
*****
Wednesday, September 21
Lawrence Evans, George McCormick, Gary Dennison, and the other Service Directors were back in the sixth-floor conference room. It was eight-thirty Wednesday morning.
“She doesn’t remember what she said to the Centurion. According to our investigation team, she’s pretty rattled and doesn’t remember much of anything at this point.” It was McCormick speaking. “She hasn’t the faintest idea what the unintelligible words are.”
“Do we place a suggestion in her head, or let it alone?” Evans was deliberately thinking out loud.
“What kind of suggestion?” The comment sort of popped out of McCormick’s mouth. Normally he wouldn’t have taken the lead in a discussion with this group, but he was uneasy with the deputy’s direction.
“Perhaps she said, maintain one one thousand, that’s perfectly plausible.”
And perfectly convenient, McCormick thought. He had the feeling Evans knew, or suspected something about the unreadable part of the transmission, but McCormick wasn’t sure. Still, he was sure there was no such thing as a one-word clearance; in fact, most clearances took several sentences to issue. Perhaps he was being suspicious for no reason. “Maintain one one thousand,” was plausible; on the other hand, there was no reason for Jason to say that, and the elapsed tape time seemed too short to accommodate that phrase. Things did not add up.
McCormick spoke. “What about the cockpit voice recorder from the Brasilia? The NTSB finally found it. Maybe the controller’s transmissions on the C-V-R are clear?”
Evans responded. “The NTSB’s transcript also shows it as ‘unintelligible,’ meaning whoever transcribed the C-V-R data did not understand what was said either. The tape from New England Approach is fine for our purposes. Get out to the TRACON and go over Jason’s transmissions with her. We need to make sure she has a valid reason for everything she said and did, her extraneous