Free Fall

Twenty-Two

Washington, DC

Robert Cole from North Dakota on hold for you, Jake. He says it’s important.

Jake Hooper winced at the text message from reception, then texted his response.

Thanks. I’m tied up; tell him to leave a voice message.

For Hooper, the thought of Robert Cole always generated a wave of sadness-such a tragic case-but he returned to his notes as today’s progress meeting on the investigation into Flight 4990 began.

This morning it was being run by Bill Cashill, the investigator-in-charge. All investigative team members were involved to assess progress, share key technical information and update recent findings.

“Evans-” Cashill kicked things off in his usual gruff way “-what d’you have on the ELMS?”

Drew Evans and his team oversaw examination of the Electrical Load Management System, which distributed, monitored and protected electrical power to the aircraft. The system had the capability to record equipment failures and circuit faults going back some fifty flights.

“We’re still reviewing all the fault logs.”

“Did you find any anomalies?”

“Nothing so far.”

Next, Cashill went to Scott Severs for an update on data. Severs was examining the quick access recorder, which kept track of far more information than the flight data and cockpit recorders. The QAR, as it was known, provided a comprehensive record of some fourteen hundred aspects of the aircraft, and it did so for a longer period of time.

“What’s the QAR telling us, Severs?”

“Not a whole heck of a lot so far. We’ve looked at preflight, taxi and takeoff. All normal there. The initial climb was without incident. Autopilot and autothrottle presented no problems. While cruising, all systems functioned normally until the event began over the Catskills.”

“That’s when the safety features of the flight-management system were disabled,” Cashill said, “and the captain took manual control of the aircraft.”

“That’s correct.”

“Any indication of turbulence?” Cashill turned to Wendy Case, who handled weather systems.

“Nothing on radar and no flights in that sector within that window of time reported turbulence.”

“Right, but we know that clear-air turbulence is not visible on radar.”

Cashill turned to Irene Zimm.

“Irene, I understand you have an update. What can you tell us?”

“We’ve conducted more interviews. Roger Anderson, the first officer, is adamant he never saw Captain Matson disable the safety features and never commanded him to do so.”

“Yet the record shows they were disabled,” Cashill said. “Anything else?”

“In keeping with procedure, we reviewed crew phone records, conducted more interviews and studied crew activity seventy-two hours before the flight. One of the subjects we interviewed was Captain Matson’s former wife. She indicated that less than twenty-four hours before the Buffalo-to-New York flight, she and Matson had several telephone conversations that she characterized as confrontational-that Matson was aggressive, agitated and despondent over their divorce, being separated from his children and the need to sell their house in New Jersey.”

“This definitely puts his emotional state of mind into question,” Cashill said. “I think we should consider Matson’s psychological frame of mind a serious factor that warrants further investigation. What if, for a moment, Matson had decided to end his life, then changed his mind?”

“Hey.” Gus Vitalley of the pilots’ union pointed a finger at Cashill. “That’s wild speculation. Our mandate is to consider only the facts.”

“That’s what we’re doing, Gus. One by one we’re ruling out what doesn’t fit and compiling factors that do. It’s a fact Matson’s life was in crisis. It’s a fact he was taking an antidepressant. It’s a fact his divorce was being finalized. It’s a fact he was not happy at that moment of his life.”

“I think we’re forgetting other factors,” Hooper said.

Cashill stared at him. “Which are?”

“His denial of disabling the safety features of the flight-management system, which is backed up by the first officer. And now this claim that some outside force interfered with the aircraft.”

Cashill waved Hooper’s counterpoint off as if it were an annoyance.

“That threat is from a nut job,” Cashill said. “First, there’s no evidence to support it. Second, the FBI hasn’t found anything of substance to it. Third, unlike what you see on TV or in movies and books, the flight-management system is secure against hacking, or cyber hijacking.”

“Are we absolutely certain of that?” Hooper asked.

A knock sounded and Len Stelmach, a senior manager from the Major Investigations Division, entered.

“Bill, we’ve just received word of a crash at Heathrow. A Starglide Blue Wing 250, with two hundred eight people aboard, slammed into the ground just short of the runway. The Air Accidents Investigation Branch is requesting technical support from us. The chief recommends you go, Bill, along with Hooper and a few others. I’ll send you the list.”

Cashill made notes.

“Okay, Len, thanks.” Cashill closed his binder, indicating the meeting had concluded. “Okay, people, we’re done here. Keep going on Forty-nine Ninety and we’ll reconvene when we get back.”

“Excuse me, Len,” Hooper said, “but do we know if there are fatalities?”

“At least nine, maybe more.”

At his desk, Hooper sent his wife a text, letting her know that he had to get home, collect his bag and fly to London. As he set up his out-of-office email and voice mail, he accidentally heard the beginning of the message Robert Cole had left him.

“Jake, Jake, lishen, Jake, it’s Cole zin in North Dakota. You hafta lishen…”

Hooper hung up. The sound of Cole’s intoxicated voice filled him with sorrow, compounding the sadness over what awaited him in London.

As Hooper drove to Glover Park, he was haunted by what had happened to Robert Cole.

Bob had been a brilliant, legendary engineer who’d worked on Richlon-Titan’s RTs, and had taken part in NTSB investigations over the years. Then there’d been the tragedy-that terrible accident, for which he blamed himself. He never overcame his guilt over the death of his wife.

It had broken him.

He’d lost his job, and had been reduced to being a delusional alcoholic who called the NTSB every time there was a crash or major incident with his views on the cause. He’d become a sad joke in aviation circles.

Hooper knew the man was trying to redeem himself.

It seemed like it was the only thing keeping him alive.