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  There had been two hourly briefings since Pattie arrived, but very little information was available. The only good news was that they knew the aircraft’s last position and rescue personnel were on the way. The company officials assured them that everything that could be done was in fact being done.

  At noon, folding tables were brought in and set up, followed by a catered lunch. Pattie and Melissa Jenner were seated with the parents of both Britt Fowler and Tony Johnson. The conversation inevitably turned to family.

  Mrs. Fowler asked, “Pattie, how long have you and Charlie been married?”

  “We’ve always been together. We met in high school, went to college together, and were married after graduation. We learned several years later that I could not have children, so it’s always just been the two of us.”

  Mrs. Fowler said, “Our Brittany was married for a few years, but it just didn’t work out. We keep hoping that she will meet someone else, but I guess it’s not that easy these days. She’s our only child, and now that she’s twenty-nine we worry that we will never experience grandchildren.”

  Mrs. Johnson said, “I know how you feel. Tony is thirty-one now and never married. He has always been so involved with other things. It seems that he never has time for a social life. First it was college and ROTC, then the Navy, and now Tri Con. We sometimes wonder if we will ever have a daughter-in-law, let alone grandchildren.”

  Mrs. Fowler said, “You must be very proud of his accomplishments. Do you have a picture of him?”

  The next ten minutes were filled with exchanging photos of the four crewmembers and appropriate complements being expressed. A few tears were shed but not commented upon. They picked at the bountiful meal that Tri Con had provided, but no one really had an appetite. Still, it was nice to be doing something to occupy their minds and hands. Someone had tuned the big screen TV to the noon news, and as they finished their lunch, the anchor announced that they were going to the on-scene reporter at the airport.

  “We’re here in the airport terminal where relatives and loved ones of the passengers on the ill-fated Tri Con flight are gathering and demanding answers. Joining us now are Mr. and Mrs. Charles Chamberlin, who have been desperately seeking information about their ten-year-old daughter, Amanda. Mrs. Chamberlin, what is Tri Con telling you?”

  The camera focused on the mother in tears.

  “They have basically told us nothing. Amanda was traveling to Spain to see her grandparents. My father is in the Air Force and stationed at the base in Madrid. They told us that they would take good care of Mandy and that she would have someone with her at all times. Now we don’t know what…wha…” She became too emotional to continue.

  The camera focused on the reporter once again.

  “As you can see, emotions are strained, and the grief-stricken loved ones who are gathered here are devastated. We expect the airline to release a list of the passengers later today, and we will learn how many local citizens were on the flight. We will bring that to you as soon as possible, but I can tell you from the number of people gathered here, it is going to be significant. We have learned that a local group of about twenty members, who are part of a social club, were traveling to Madrid for a convention of some sort.”

  The anchor asked, “Do we know the nature of the social club?”

  “We know that they were all handicapped, but we have not learned what drew them together as an organization.”

  “Do we know if the airline violated any rules by placing that many physically challenged passengers on a single flight? For instance, I know we reported that there were only eight flight attendants onboard. I’m wondering what the rules and procedures are for emergency evacuations in this case.”

  “We just don’t know the answer at this point, but our researchers are seeking that information. The NTSB will be on the scene this afternoon, and that will be a question we will ask. We are also trying to find out if there were other unaccompanied children on the flight, in addition to Amanda Chamberlin.”

  “Thanks for the report. We will come back to you later in the newscast.”

  The Fowlers and the Johnsons pushed their food away and felt guilty for complaining about not having grandchildren. Mr. Johnson said, “Can you imagine the devastation that little girl’s grandparents must be going through? I feel so sorry for them. I wish there were something we could do.”

  Pattie said, “We all do. It’s such a helpless feeling to sit here doing nothing, but I’m sure the crew did everything possible to help each passenger.”

  Two men dressed in business suits came in and spoke to the hostess at the door. She turned the TV volume down and said, “If I could have everyone’s attention please, these gentlemen have some information for us.”

  The room became silent as everyone looked hopefully to the two strangers. The taller of the two stepped to the front of the room and spoke.

  “My name is Gene Clark, and I am with the FAA. I’m afraid we still have more questions than answers, but I wanted to introduce myself and assure you that the full resources of the federal government are being utilized to investigate this incident. So far, we have concentrated our efforts on gathering facts and putting together a profile of the flight. At this time we have not uncovered anomalies of any sort that would point us in a specific direction; however, it’s very early in the process. As you know, the navy and air force are participating in the search effort, and the NTSB is sending a team of investigators to the Azores. They will be joined by officials from Portugal and Canada since they both provided air traffic services for Flight Eleven. I want to introduce Special Agent Ed White of the FBI. Ed will explain his role, and then we will answer questions.”

  “Folks, I am here to provide liaison with the FBI and make available our resources and assistance to local and state law enforcement. We certainly want to leave no stone unturned in finding answers for you. I promise you that we want to know what happened as much as you do, and at some point, we hope to get to know each of you and provide an ongoing dialog and information stream.”

  Pattie thought That means you will be doing background checks on all the crewmembers and seeking information rather than providing it.

  Mr. Fowler asked, “Does your presence indicate that the FBI suspects sabotage or terrorism?”

  “No, sir, it’s routine for us to offer our help in all air carrier accidents. I don’t know where the investigation will take us, but at this time there is no evidence to indicate sabotage or terrorism.”

  Melissa Jenner asked, “Have you heard anything about the search?”

  Gene Clark answered, “No, ma’am. There are eight Navy aircraft on scene, but the visibility is still poor, and they’re limited as to capability right now.”

  Todd Gray made the turn at the end of the grid and started the run in the opposite direction. The ceiling had improved to three hundred feet, and the visibility was now one and a half miles. Even so, it was unrealistic to expect to see anything under these conditions. Normally they would have an aircraft at five thousand feet and another at fifteen hundred to cover a grid properly, and it would still be hard work. Even if there were survivors with flares and sea dye marker, they would be useless with the low clouds and fog. With each passing minute the odds of survival decreased, but that just motivated the navy crew more. They would not give up and continued to stare at the sea flashing by in a hypnotizing montage. Todd’s radioman was in touch with the other seven aircraft, but there was no news.

  The morning was gone, and as the day wore on, they discussed ocean currents and drift rates, but without a known starting point, it was like throwing darts. Within the hour, they would complete the grid and be relieved by another aircraft from Rota. Todd thought his copilot was in a daze, but suddenly he shouted, “Two o’clock and a half mile! Mark the GPS.”

  The flight engineer pushed the button to freeze the digital readout on one of the GPS display units, thus recording their exact latitude and longitude.

  “Got it.”


  Todd rolled the Orion up on its right wing and turned back.

  “What did you see?”

  “I don’t know. It was small and white. It certainly was not an airplane or a raft; it was too little.”

  “Okay, everybody scan. Don’t stare at one place. Use your peripheral vision to find it. Make sure the cameras are rolling.”

  Todd flew over the area three more times before they spotted the floating object again. He made two more passes to try to identify what they were looking at, but the speed of the Orion and the low altitude only gave them a few seconds to see it. The object was a light color in contrast to the dark water and appeared to be white or gray. Once Todd was sure they had obtained good video, he began the long climb to altitude and the rendezvous with their relief flight. He was dismayed by the fact that the cloud cover was still thick and showed no signs of breaking up.

  After briefing their relief crew on the radio, he turned the Orion to the east and increased speed to max cruise. He had the technician upload the film to Rota, and then he called the Karuk.

  “Karuk, Navy Eight, over.”

  “Navy Eight, Karuk, go ahead.”

  “What’s your ETA for the search grid?”

  “We’re on schedule and estimating arrival at just after midnight.”

  “Okay, we’re going home but we’ll be back tonight. Good luck.”

  “Roger, Navy Eight. Have a good nap.”

  Flight Attendant Shelia Graham had thirty-six people in her raft, nine of whom were handicapped. After Charlie launched them from the rear door, they had floated aimlessly until the sun came up. Shelia had checked for injuries and found none that required more than minor care. She had opened the survival pack, used the first aid kit, and stored the flashlight away to preserve the batteries. Most of the other items made no sense to her, but she planned to read the survival book and make use of what she could. Hours had gone by, and she was still taking grief from the handicapped passengers for leaving them in their seats until everyone else had been evacuated. When her patience wore thin, she realized that she had to transition her persona from a genial hostess to a raft commander. That was when she explained to a rather verbose paraplegic that even though he could not walk the plank, she would happily help him over the side if he didn’t shut up. Several other survivors, including some of the handicapped, applauded and offered assistance. Things settled down after that, and they contemplated their plight. Shelia quickly decided which of the men and women could be counted on for physical chores if needed and who could keep their head in a crisis. She had already imagined shark attacks, a hole in the raft, being capsized by a storm, and starvation.

  Her morbid thoughts were interrupted by a lady in the front of the raft shouting, “There are people in the water! I can see people in the water!”

  Shelia stood up and could indeed see several objects floating on the surface of the ocean in the distance. She remembered the paddle in the survival kit and quickly retrieved it. One of the men she had recruited volunteered, sat on the side of the raft and began paddling. After a few minutes of making little, if any, progress, one of the handicapped men said, “Somebody help me up there.”

  The man’s legs were paralyzed and atrophied, but his shoulders and arms were huge and well developed.

  “I’m a state champion wheelchair racer, and I can paddle twice as fast as you. Let me up there.”

  Two men helped him into position, and water began churning. He turned to one of his buddies who was similarly built and said, “Randall, get up there on the other side so we can get this thing going straight.” They began paddling and throwing the oar back and forth. The raft’s momentum began building.

  It soon became apparent that what they saw were not people in the water, but the flotsam from the remains of Flight Eleven. The first item they recovered was someone’s carry-on bag containing personal toiletries and a few snack foods.

  Shelia quickly declared, “Any food items that are recovered will be stored and rationed on an equal basis.”

  Everyone became excited and enthusiastic as the treasure hunt continued. People were shouting and giving directions to the oarsmen as they spotted more and more floating debris. Someone discovered the heaving line at the front of the raft and fashioned it into a lasso to retrieve items from a distance. Shelia decided that some of the people were excited to find items that might enhance their chances for survival, and others were enjoying the voyeurism of searching someone else’s luggage. They stashed the occasional food items they recovered and a few soft drinks that were found in the bags, but the real treasure was three cases of bottled water from the airplane’s galley. Their efforts were filling the raft, and they soon had to decide what to keep and what to jettison. Most of the clothing items, toiletries, and bags were tossed back into the sea, but Shelia could not bring herself to dispose of the cute little teddy bear that she had plucked from the water beside the raft.

  Everyone groaned when the same woman that had first spotted the flotsam began pointing and shouting again.

  “There’s people! I can see people in the water!”

  Shelia looked where the woman was pointing and saw nothing, but when she stood up, she saw something big and yellow on the horizon and heard a whistle blowing. Other people saw it too and began shouting and waving.

  The oarsmen had been relieved by two other wheelchair racers, who were doing just as well at propelling them through the water. Among the items recovered from the sea were two skateboards, which were now being employed as paddles, along with a piece of metal from some part of the airplane. With four oarsmen at work, the distance closed rather quickly. Shelia saw three red vests in the other raft. She never thought she would be happy to see Mama Molly, but there she was with Charlie and Alice.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gene Clark and Ed White arrived at the Tech Ops team room and were introduced by Jake Smith. Gene spoke first.

  “Gentlemen, I can’t overestimate the importance of what you are doing here. There has been a catastrophic mechanical failure of some sort to cause this accident. We can never know why that happened if we don’t first know what happened. The crew reported fuel exhaustion in their mayday, and we have to determine how they lost the fuel and why. Jake tells me that you are looking at several possibilities, with primary focus on the dump system. I agree with your assessment. I know it’s early in the process, but the rate of loss seems to correspond with the dump rate of six thousand pounds per minute. I’d like to hear your thoughts on how that could happen.”

  Jake said, “Phil, why don’t you summarize what you’ve determined so far.”

  “Well, we know that the dump valves are electrically operated and can be controlled several ways. They normally have to be opened by physically pushing the dump switch in the cockpit; however, they can be closed three ways. The flight management computer can close them at a predetermined, programmed level; the crew can push the switch to close them at any time; and there is a failsafe level at twenty thousand pounds to prevent inadvertently dumping to empty. The design is such that the valves are powered open but fail closed. In other words, it takes electrical power to hold the valve open. I’ve been looking through the electrical schematics, but so far I can’t find a single power source that would maintain juice to the open side of the valves long enough to empty the tanks. Even if the crew held the switch in the cockpit, the computer or standpipe would close them at the proper time.”

  Gene said, “Have there been any modifications to the system recently?”

  “None at all.”

  “Okay, gentlemen, let me introduce Ed White. Ed is with the FBI and will be assisting with the investigation.”

  Ed began.

  “It’s nice to meet all of you. I know very little about airplanes, so I admire what you guys do. I’ll get right to the point, gentlemen. Gene said we have to know what happened before we can know why. My main purpose in being here is to focus on one possibility of the why. If the investigat
ion leads us to believe that someone purposely caused the accident, we call that sabotage or terrorism. I ask that you do not discuss that possibility with anyone but me. Rumors run rampant sometimes and can hinder the good work that you are doing, so let’s avoid that. Phil, that was a very good explanation of the dump system; even I understood it. I notice you used the word normally in your description. Could the valves be somehow rewired to bypass the failsafes?”

  “Sure. Anything is possible, but I don’t see that happening accidentally.”

  “That’s my point. If you were going to do that, how would you do it?”

  “Well, first of all, the power source could not be continuous because the fuel would dump right at the gate. You would have to find a power source that would not activate the valves until the proper time; in this case, several hours after takeoff.”

  “Where would the most likely place to perform that modification be? Could it be done inside the computer?”

  “Not likely. The programming is done in the hangar, and then the box is installed on the line. The location that would have the most common elements to the system would be the center accessory compartment in the belly of the airplane.”

  Ed said, “Okay, there is no evidence at all that anyone tampered with the system. I’m just trying to justify my job here, so please don’t start rumors. Thank you for your time, gentlemen.”

  Something about the conversation was bothering Phil. He was missing something but could not put his finger on it. It was like when you wake up and know you had a dream, but can’t remember what it was about. He had been processing information all morning, and somewhere in that jumble of facts and figures, there was a tidbit that he could not quite pull into focus.