Airframe by Michael Crichton Page A
Authors: Michael Crichton
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Psychological, Romance, Thrillers, Suspense fiction, Espionage, Aircraft accidents, Aircraft accidents - Investigation, Adventure stories; American
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crew left the country. Your own records confirm the captain is a first-rate pilot. It's possible he made an error. But given the history of problems with this aircraft—slats problems—I'd look first at the aircraft. And I'd look hard."
"We will," Marder said. "Of course we will, but—" "Because it's to no one's advantage," Lee said, "to get into a pissing match. You are focused on your pending deal with Beijing. Fine, I understand. But I would remind you Trans-Pacific is also a valued customer of this company.
We've bought ten planes to date, and we have twelve more on order. We're expanding our routes, and we are negotiating a feeder deal with a domestic carrier. We don't need any bad press at the moment. Not for the planes we've bought from you, and certainly not for our pilots. I hope I'm being clear."
"Clear as a fucking bell," Marder said. "I couldn't have said it better myself. Guys, you have your marching orders. Get on with it. I want answers."
BLDG 2O2/FSIM
7:59 A.M.
"Flight 545?" Felix Wallerstein said. "It's very disturbing. Very disturbing indeed." Wallerstein was a silver-haired, courtly man from Munich. He ran the Norton Flight Simulator and Pilot Training program with Germanic efficiency.
Casey said, "Why do you say 545 is disturbing?"
"Because," he shrugged. "How could it happen? It does not seem possible."
They walked through the large main room of Building 202. The two flight simulators, one for each model in service, stood above them. They appeared to be truncated nose sections of the aircraft, held up by a spidery array of hydraulic lifts.
"Did you get the data from the flight recorder? Rob said you might be able to read it."
"I tried," he said. "With no success. I hesitate to say it is useless, but—what about the QAR?"
"No QAR, Felix."
"Ah." Wallerstein sighed.
They came to the command console, a series of video screens and keyboards to one side of the building. Here the instructors sat while they monitored the pilots being trained in the simulator. Two of the simulators were being used as they watched.
Casey said, "Felix, we're concerned the slats extended in cruise flight. Or possibly the thrust reversers."
62
"So?" he said. "Why should that matter?"
"We've had problems with slats before..."
"Yes, but that is long since fixed, Casey. And slats cannot explain such a terrible accident Where people are killed? No, no. Not from slats, Casey."
"You're sure"
"Absolutely. I will show you." He turned to one of the instructors at the console. "Who's flying the N-22 now?"
"Ingram. First officer from Northwest"
"Any good?"
"Average. He's got about thirty hours."
On the closed-circuit video screen, Casey saw a man in his mid thirties, sitting in the pilot's seat of the simulator.
"And where is he now?" Felix said.
"Uh, let's see," the instructor said, consulting his panels. "He's over the mid-Atlantic, FL three-thirty, point eight Mach."
"Good," Felix said. "So he's at thirty-three thousand feet, eight-tenths the speed of sound. He's been there awhile, and everything seems to be fine. He's relaxed, maybe a little lazy."
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Deploy Mr. Ingram's slats."
The instructor reached over and pushed a button.
Felix turned to Casey. "Watch carefully, please."
On the video screen, the pilot remained casual, unconcerned. But a few seconds later, he leaned forward, suddenly alert, frowning at his controls.
Felix pointed to the instructor's console, and the array of screens. "Here you can see what he is seeing. On his Flight Management display, the slats indicator is flashing. And he's noticed it.
Meanwhile, you see the plane gives a slight nose up..."
The hydraulics whirred, and the big cone of the simulator tilted upward a few degrees.
"Mr. Ingram now checks his slats lever, as he should. He finds it is up and locked, which is puzzling, since it means he has an uncommanded slats deploy ..."
The simulator remained tilted up.
"So Mr. Ingram is thinking it over. He has
"We will," Marder said. "Of course we will, but—" "Because it's to no one's advantage," Lee said, "to get into a pissing match. You are focused on your pending deal with Beijing. Fine, I understand. But I would remind you Trans-Pacific is also a valued customer of this company.
We've bought ten planes to date, and we have twelve more on order. We're expanding our routes, and we are negotiating a feeder deal with a domestic carrier. We don't need any bad press at the moment. Not for the planes we've bought from you, and certainly not for our pilots. I hope I'm being clear."
"Clear as a fucking bell," Marder said. "I couldn't have said it better myself. Guys, you have your marching orders. Get on with it. I want answers."
BLDG 2O2/FSIM
7:59 A.M.
"Flight 545?" Felix Wallerstein said. "It's very disturbing. Very disturbing indeed." Wallerstein was a silver-haired, courtly man from Munich. He ran the Norton Flight Simulator and Pilot Training program with Germanic efficiency.
Casey said, "Why do you say 545 is disturbing?"
"Because," he shrugged. "How could it happen? It does not seem possible."
They walked through the large main room of Building 202. The two flight simulators, one for each model in service, stood above them. They appeared to be truncated nose sections of the aircraft, held up by a spidery array of hydraulic lifts.
"Did you get the data from the flight recorder? Rob said you might be able to read it."
"I tried," he said. "With no success. I hesitate to say it is useless, but—what about the QAR?"
"No QAR, Felix."
"Ah." Wallerstein sighed.
They came to the command console, a series of video screens and keyboards to one side of the building. Here the instructors sat while they monitored the pilots being trained in the simulator. Two of the simulators were being used as they watched.
Casey said, "Felix, we're concerned the slats extended in cruise flight. Or possibly the thrust reversers."
62
"So?" he said. "Why should that matter?"
"We've had problems with slats before..."
"Yes, but that is long since fixed, Casey. And slats cannot explain such a terrible accident Where people are killed? No, no. Not from slats, Casey."
"You're sure"
"Absolutely. I will show you." He turned to one of the instructors at the console. "Who's flying the N-22 now?"
"Ingram. First officer from Northwest"
"Any good?"
"Average. He's got about thirty hours."
On the closed-circuit video screen, Casey saw a man in his mid thirties, sitting in the pilot's seat of the simulator.
"And where is he now?" Felix said.
"Uh, let's see," the instructor said, consulting his panels. "He's over the mid-Atlantic, FL three-thirty, point eight Mach."
"Good," Felix said. "So he's at thirty-three thousand feet, eight-tenths the speed of sound. He's been there awhile, and everything seems to be fine. He's relaxed, maybe a little lazy."
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Deploy Mr. Ingram's slats."
The instructor reached over and pushed a button.
Felix turned to Casey. "Watch carefully, please."
On the video screen, the pilot remained casual, unconcerned. But a few seconds later, he leaned forward, suddenly alert, frowning at his controls.
Felix pointed to the instructor's console, and the array of screens. "Here you can see what he is seeing. On his Flight Management display, the slats indicator is flashing. And he's noticed it.
Meanwhile, you see the plane gives a slight nose up..."
The hydraulics whirred, and the big cone of the simulator tilted upward a few degrees.
"Mr. Ingram now checks his slats lever, as he should. He finds it is up and locked, which is puzzling, since it means he has an uncommanded slats deploy ..."
The simulator remained tilted up.
"So Mr. Ingram is thinking it over. He has
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