Chicago to San Diego and Phoenix to Atlanta, both in RTs.”
“Thank you. The aircraft has been taken out of service and moved to a maintenance hangar. The flight data recorder and the voice cockpit recorder have been removed and sent to our lab in Washington for analysis. We’ll also be examining air traffic control radar and weather. Now, leading up to the incident, you reported the trip as routine with no weather issues.”
“That’s correct.”
“Approximately twenty-five minutes into the flight, your course was one hundred fifteen degrees southeast, speed was four hundred ninety-one knots and your altitude was twenty-seven thousand feet, when you experienced a sudden, unintended series of roll oscillations, ninety degrees to the right then ninety degrees to the left, then a banked, unintended descent of seven thousand feet before you, Captain, regained control of the plane and alerted New York Center, then LaGuardia.”
“That’s correct.”
Zimm looked to the experts around the table as a cue to begin questioning Matson.
“The autopilot was engaged prior to the incident?” Bill Cashill asked.
“It was.”
“Did you at any time encounter turbulence?”
“No. And there was nothing of note on radar, and no reports of turbulence from earlier flights.”
“Clear-air turbulence doesn’t appear on radar, and the autopilot could make any needed adjustments for it,” Cashill said.
“I’m aware of the characteristics of clear-air turbulence. We didn’t encounter it.”
“Captain Matson,” Cashill said, “the Richlon-TitanRT-86 is a fly-by-wire model with an array of auto-detect safety systems to address any anomalies or problems that arise. The new design also has a provision that allows the pilot to disable those safety features so that in an emergency he or she can make control inputs that would not otherwise be permitted.”
“I am absolutely aware of the features of the RT-86.”
“Speaking strictly from a preliminary perspective, a strong theory would be that you encountered clear-air turbulence and did not feel the aircraft was responding to it, leading you to take the extreme step of disabling the safety features. In the process you overcontrolled the aircraft, causing the severe rolling, before you regained control.”
“I’m telling you there was no turbulence and I’m telling you that I did not disable the safety features. For a time the aircraft just went crazy and when I intervened, it refused to respond to our inputs. After we got tossed around, the plane inexplicably allowed me to take control again. This was a flight control computer malfunction, not pilot error.”
“No one said it was pilot error, Captain,” Cashill said.
“That’s what you’re implying, from a preliminary perspective.”
A few long, tense seconds passed before Jake Hooper spoke.
“Our analysis is not complete. We still need to download the data and conduct a full examination of the aircraft, along with other aspects.”
Another moment passed as Irene Zimm flipped through pages of a file folder then looked over her glasses at Matson.
“Captain, I’m looking at the results of your blood analysis.”
Matson met her gaze and braced himself.
“It shows traces of antidepressants.”
“Yes, I’m taking medication prescribed by my doctor.”
“Yes,” Zimm said. “I see that, and in keeping with airline policy you’ve reported the prescription and that it arises from therapy you’re undergoing as a result of divorce proceedings.”
Matson cleared his throat and swallowed hard at having his life exposed to the painful core.
“Yes,” he said.
“It’s my job to be familiar with the impact of substances,” Zimm said, “and I’m familiar with the adverse side effects of some antidepressants. Did your doctor tell you that the medication you’re taking can, and I’m not saying this happened in your case, but can, in some instances, cause you to become agitated, emotional, suffer insomnia and confusion?”
“Yes, she did. But she indicated—and it should be in the file—that in my case, the medicine and dosage put me at a very low risk of exposure to those adverse effects and she green-lighted me to fly.”
“Yes, I see that in your file.”
Zimm tapped her pen and went around the table for follow-up questions.
Half an hour later, Matson was free to leave.
Since he was pulled from EastCloud’s roster to fly for at least a week, he went to Manhattan and walked through Central Park until early afternoon. Amid the splendor of the trees, the ponds, the lawns and the gardens, he felt the walls of his world closing in on him.
He knew what was coming.
Matson went to Saddle River, ended his marriage and asked his divorce lawyer to recommend a criminal defense attorney.
Eight
Manhattan, New York
Kate woke up angry.
In the shower she scrubbed until her skin reddened, as if she could wash away yesterday’s indignation.
I can’t believe what Sloane and Reeka did. Are they setting me up to get rid of me?
Toweling off, she tried to calm down but it was futile.
Senior management knew about Reeka’s incompetence, her arrogance and her mean-spiritedness, but they were afraid to do anything about her because of her family connection to the board. And now here she was building her own fiefdom with minion jerks like Sloane.
Kate had had enough.
I could leave Newslead.
Sure, news jobs were scarce, but she had friends at Bloomberg and Reuters who could help her land something.
I could call them today.
Still, the thought of walking away from a news agency she revered, a job she loved, of leaving behind all that she’d strived for, everything she’d invested, not only saddened her—it sickened her.
I’m not going to give it all up because of Reeka. I bled to get here.
As she wiped the steam from the mirror Kate looked back on the tragedies and triumphs of her life. After her parents had died in a hotel fire when she was seven, she and her little sister, Vanessa, had lived with relatives for a while, and then in foster homes. One summer, they’d been on vacation in British Columbia with their foster parents, driving through the Canadian Rockies, when their car went off the road and crashed into a river. That moment still burned in Kate’s memory.
