Terminal Compromise, Winn Schwartau [sight word books txt] 📗

all the same to me. Unless

they’re commies. My former employer would definitely frown on

that.”

“Would you mind if I called them, and maybe you two can get

together?” She didn’t miss a beat.

“No go ahead, call them, anything you want, but can we talk about

this later?” Miles begged.

Miles felt very much uninformed on his way to the Baltimore

Washington Airport. He knew that he was being flown to Tokyo

Japan, first class, by a mystery man who had prepaid him $10,000

for a 1 hour meeting. Not a bad start, he thought. His reputa-

tion obviously preceded him. Stephanie was hired to recruit him,

that was obvious. And that bothered Miles. He was being used.

Wasn’t he? Or had he seduced her and the trip was a bonus? He

still liked Stephanie, just not as much as before. It never

occurred to Miles, not for a second, that Stephanie might not

have liked him.

At JFK in New York, Miles connected to the 20 hour flight to

Tokyo through Anchorage, Alaska. He had a brief concern that

this was the same route that KAL Flight 007 had taken in 1983

before it was shot down by the Soviets, but he was flying an

American carrier with a four digit flight number. He allowed

that thought to remove any traces of worry.

The flight was a couple of hours out of New York when one of the

flight attendants came up to him. “Mr. Foster?”

“Yes?” He looked up from the New York City Times he was reading.

“I believe you dropped this?” She handed Miles a large sealed

envelope. His name had been written across the front with a large

black marker.

“Thank you,” said Miles. He took it gratefully.

When she left, he opened the strange envelope. It wasn’t his.

Inside there was a single sheet of paper. Miles read it.

MR. FOSTER

WELCOME TO JAPAN.

YOU WILL BE MET AT THE NARITA AIRPORT BY MY DRIVER AND CAR. THEY

ARE AT YOUR DISPOSAL.

WE WILL MEET IN MY OFFICE AT 8:00 AM, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 23.

ALL ARRANGEMENTS HAVE BEEN MADE FOR YOUR PLEASURES.

RESPECTFULLY

TAKI HOMOSOTO

The name meant nothing to him so he forgot about it. He had more

important things to do. His membership in the Mile High Club was

in jeopardy. He had not yet made it with a female flight attend-

ant.

They landed, 18 hours and 1 day later in Tokyo. Miles was now a

member in good standing.

* Thursday, September 3 Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport

“DFW, this is American 1137, heading 125 at 3500.”

“Roger American 1137, got you loud and green. Maintain 125, full

circle 40 miles then 215 for 40.”

“Traffic Dallas?”

“Heavy. Weather’s been strong. On again off again. Piled up

pretty good.”

“Sheers?”

“None so far. Ah, you’re a ‘37, you carry a sheer monitor. You

got it made. Have to baby sit some 0’s and ‘27’s. May be a

while.”

“Roger Dallas. 125 40, 215 40. Maintaining 12 point 5.”

“Roger 1137.”

The control tower at DFW airport was busier than normal. The

dozen or so large green radar screens glowed eerily and made the

air traffic controllers appear pallid under the haunting light

emitted from around the consoles. Severe weather patterns,

afternoon Texas thunderstorms had intermittently closed the

airport forcing a planes to hold in a 120 mile pattern over

Dallas and Fort Worth.

Many of the tower crew had been at their stations for 2 hours

past their normal quitting time due to street traffic delays and

highway pileups that had kept shift replacements from arriving on

time. Planes were late coming in, late departing, connections

were being missed. Tensions were high on the ground and in the

air by both the airline personnel and travelers alike. It was a

chaotic day at Dallas Fort Worth International Airport.

“Chad? Cm’ere,” said Paul Gatwick, the newest and youngest, and

least burnt out of the day shift flight controllers.

Shift supervisor Chad Phillips came right over. “What you got?”

He asked looking at the radar screen.

“See these three bogies?” Paul pointed at three spots with his

finger.

“Bogies? What are those symbols?”

“They just appeared, out of nowhere. I don’t think they’re

there. And over here,” he pointed, “that was Delta 210. It’s

gone.” Paul spoke calmly, in the professional manner he was

trained. He looked up at Chad, awaiting instructions.

“Mike,” Chad said to the controller seated next to Paul. “Switch

and copy 14, please. Fast.” Chad looked over to Mike’s screen

and saw the same pattern. “Paul, run a level 2 diagnostic. What

was the Delta pattern?”

“Same as the others, circle. He’s at 45 doing a 90 round.”

“Tell him to hold, and verify on board transponder.” Chad spoke

rapidly and his authority wasn’t questioned.

“Mike, see if we can get any visuals on the bogies. They might

be a bounce.”

Chad took charge and, especially in this weather, was concerned

with safety first and schedules last. In less than a minute he

had verified that Delta 210 was not on any screen, three other

ghost planes meandered through the airspace, and that their

equipment was functioning properly.

“Dallas,” the calm pilot voice said, “American 1137, requesting

update. It’s getting a little tight up here.”

“Roger, 1137,” Gatwick said nervously. “Give me a second

here . . .”

“Dallas, what’s the problem?”

“Just a check . . .”

Chad immediately told the operator of the ETMS computer to notify

the FAA and Department of Transportation that a potential situa-

tion was developing. The Enhanced Traffic Management System

was designed to create a complete picture of every airplane

flying within domestic air space.

All status information, on every known flight in progress and

every commercial plane on the ground, is transmitted from the 22

ARTCC’s, (Air Route Traffic Control Centers) to an FAA Technical

Center in Atlantic City and then sent by land and satellite to a

DoT Systems Center. There, an array of DEC VAX super mini com-

puters process the constant influx of raw data and send back an

updated map across the ETMS every five minutes.

Chad zoomed in on the picture of the country into the DFW ap-

proach area and confirmed that the airplanes in question were not

appearing on the National Airspace System data fields or dis-

plays. Something was drastically wrong.

“Chad, take a look here!” Another controller urgently called out.

His radar monitor had more bogies than Paul’s. “I lost a Delta,

too, 1258.”

“What is it?”

“37.”

“Shit,” said Chad. “We gotta get these guys wide, they have to

know what’s happening.” He called over to another controller.

“Get on the wire, divert all traffic. Call the boss. We’re

closing it down.” The controllers had the power to close the

airport, and direct all flight operations from the tower. Air-

port management wasn’t always fond of their autonomy, but the

tower’s concern was safety at all costs.

“Another one’s gone,” said Paul. “That’s three 37’s gone. Have

they had a recall lately?”

The ETMS operator asked the computer for a status on 737’s else-

where. “Chad, we’re not the only ones,” she said. “O’Hare and

LAX have problems, too.”

“OK, everybody, listen up,” Chad said. “Stack ‘em, pack ‘em and

rack ‘em. Use those outer markers, people. Tell them to believe

their eyes. Find the 37’s. Let ‘em know their transponders are

going. Then, bring ‘em down one by one.”

The emergency speaker suddenly rang out. “Shit! Dive!” The

captain of American 1137 ordered his plane to accelerate ground-

ward for 10 seconds, descending 2500 feet, to avoid hitting an

oncoming, and lost, DC-9.

“Dallas, Mayday, Mayday. What the fuck’s going on down there?

This is worse than the freeway . . .”

The emergency procedure was one they had practiced over and over,

but rarely was it necessary for a full scale test. The FAA was

going to be all over DFW and a dozen other airports within hours,

and Chad wanted to be prepared. He ordered a formal notification

to Boeing that they had identified a potentially serious malfunc-

tion. Please make your emergency technical support crews avail-

able immediately.

Of the 100 plus flights under DFW control all 17 of the Boeing

737’s disappeared from the radar screen, replaced by dozens of

bogies with meaningless signatures.

“Dallas, American 1137 requests emergency landing . . .we have

several injured passengers who require immediate medical assist-

ance.”

“Roger, 1137,” Gatwick blurted back. “Copy, EP. Radar status?”

“Nominal,” said the shaken American pilot.

“Good. Runway 21B. We’ll be waiting.”

*

By 5:00 PM, Pacific time, Boeing was notified by airports across

the country that their 737’s were having catastrophic transponder

failure. Takeoffs were ordered stopped at major airports and the

FAA directed that every 737 be immediately grounded. Chaos

reigned in the airline terminals as delays of