Man of Honor

by Chris Malburg

  “Sully, I see 147 very happy and relieved passengers all wearing orange life vests. Some are in life rafts.” She laughed, “There’s this big scary-looking guy with long hair and tats so gently handing out the kids and patiently helping the elderly people through the port-side front door into the life rafts. The people standing on the wings are stepping lightly trying not to get their shoes wet. I see my shipmates taking each and every one to safety. What about you, sir?”

  “I’m talking to the best pilot I have ever had the privilege of flying with. Oorah, Lieutenant.”

  “Congratulations, Admiral,” Jack said and offered his hand. “Best piece of Navy team work I’ve seen in years.”

  “Adequate,” Joker said. “Very adequate. A string of happy coincidences. I’ll take ‘em.”

  Jack noticed that even the ever-in-command Admiral Joker’s whole face smiled at the scene going on in the ocean.

  Both men looked on as the sailors in PriFly whooped, hollered, and slapped one another on the back. Their admiring shipmates surrounded the two lieutenants who flew the LTS450. Jack retreated to a quiet corner. Coincidence? Who knew Reagan and her seven-ship battle group would be here? What were the chances that this particular ship carried a remote flight control suite? And that this specially equipped airliner was able to communicate with it? Coincidence? Unlikely.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  “You have got to be thinking the same thing I am,” Helen said.

  Gallagher indicated a chair near the space heater in the NTSB’s accident investigation tent. It was snowing harder outside in Elkhart’s winter cold. The Boeing Business Jet crash scene was now blanketed. Already, there were stacks of engineering and flight operations manuals of the BBJ-2. Several bent metal parts littered the table. Only an expert could tell their purpose or function.

  “Jumping to conclusions is something we do not do, Helen. It’s a sure way to miss the real cause of a crash.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, that we now have two incidents from divisions of the same company. One is a crash with eight fatalities. The other very nearly killed 147 people. That is a coincidence I cannot ignore.” He handed her a metal part. “This is the cabin pressure regulator/actuator valve. It takes instructions from the automated pressurization governor. It maintains a constant cabin air pressure regardless of altitude. See the position of the valve controlling the air entering the cabin, and thereby the pressurization?”

  Helen looked closely at the metal valve, turning it to look through its tube. “It looks like it’s closed. So that no air could get through the valve and into the pressurization lines connected to it.”

  “Exactly.” Gallagher turned the almost pristine valve in Helen’s hand. “Now from this angle, you can see that the valve open/close actuator is operated by a solenoid. Cabin pressurization and most everything else on Boeing’s BBJ-2 is automated. See any damage?”

  Helen turned the cabin pressure controller valve over in her hand. “It looks brand new.”

  Gallagher nodded. “The valve itself is undamaged. So the valve could not have closed as a result of the crash impact. Therefore, the valve was closed before the crash. My investigators have already compared the environmental switch panel in the cockpit with the position of the valves. They’ve ruled out control failure.” He turned the valve again in Helen’s hand. “See these electrical wires connected to the valve? Look closely at the red one.”

  Helen took the metal valve in her fingers. Her hands were like the rest of her—muscular and without adornment except for a single, thin rose gold wedding band. She held the metal valve closer and peered at the wires. “It was cut?”

  “We’ll use an electron microscope to be sure.” Gallagher jerked a thumb toward the corner of the tent where two NTSB techs were working. “They’re setting it up now. But I think you are correct. This wire was cut. We’re looking at deliberate sabotage, Ms. Schilling.”

  “We are looking at mass murder, Mr. Gallagher.”

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  “Funny how big this plane looks here in the hangar,” Jack said. “Out there in the open ocean, it looked about as big as a Cessna 150.”

  Gallagher yawned. It had been a fast flight for him and Helen from Elkhart to Los Angeles. “The easy part was using Reagan’s crane to lift the LTS450 onto the flight deck, then removing the wings and trucking it from the Port of Los Angeles to LAX,” he said.

  “What was the hard part then?” Jack asked.

  “Leasing a hangar here at LAX big enough to house the airliner and our work crew. Hangars in LA are tough to come by.”

  Helen leaned on a chair between the two men for support of her tired body. “So you think InterTrans 3361 went down for the same reason as the Boeing Business Jet in Elkhart?”

  “Can’t make a public declaration yet,” Gallagher said. “But we’re focusing our efforts right now on the flight deck pressurization system. We’re using what we learned in Elkhart to see if there’s a link between that crash and this incident.”

  “You just called this an incident,” Jack said. “But you called Elkhart an accident?”

  “Sometimes, it’s a fine distinction,” Gallagher said. People moved in and out of the airliner. It stood in the giant hangar on its own landing gear. The bright overhead lights bounced off the jet’s aluminum skin like hundreds of stars. “But an important one. An incident is much less serious than an accident. We’re careful because a lot of money hinges on the two descriptions.”

  “What’s the difference?” Jack asked.

  “An aircraft accident takes place between the time any person boards the aircraft with the intention of flight and when everyone has disembarked. During that time if anyone dies or is seriously injured, or if the aircraft receives substantial damage, that’s an accident.”

  “The Elkhart crash certainly qualifies as an accident,” Helen said.

  Gallagher nodded. “But our LTS450 at first glance may not. Incidents generally don’t involve substantial damage that requires major repairs. For example, engine failure or damage to only one engine falls outside NTSB guidelines defining substantial damage—”

  Jack said, “You mean that one engine could fall off and if the plane makes a safe landing, it’s not termed substantial damage?”

  “That’s true,” Gallagher said. “Bent fairings or cowlings, dented skin, small puncture holes in the skin, damage to flaps or wingtips are not classed as substantial damage either. How would you classify our LTS450? Accident or incident?”

  Helen looked up from the concrete floor at the jet looming overhead, “I heard the LTS engineers say the plane just needs a thorough cleaning, flight testing, and recertification. Then it will be flyable again. All the passengers survived. I’d say this was a one in a million incident.”

  Jack shook his head. “The families of the two dead pilots would disagree. Their lawyers are going to call this a major airline accident.”

  Gallagher nodded. “Right Jack. Because there were two fatalities involved and the plane never reached its destination, we classify this as an accident. But it’s much more than that—”

  “Oh?” Helen asked.

  “It is a highly suspicious link in what I am hoping is not a series of accidents,” Tom Gallagher said. “And by the way, those engineers were just bragging about the durability of their airplane. They know this LTS450 will never fly again. Once this case is closed and settled, the insurance company will probably donate it to USC’s School of Aviation Safety and Security for inclusion in their aircraft wreckage lab. I hear Tom Anthony, the world-class director there, has already made inquiries.”

  Gallagher pulled up a chair beside Jack and Helen. “It helps when you have a specific place to start. The flight deck is a time capsule from when the pilots passed out. My people boarded the plane as soon as the passengers evacuated. They photographed all of the cockpit instrument settings. They powered up the glass panel screens and recorded ever
ything they possibly could.”

  Helen asked, “So the LTS450 lost pressurization on just the flight deck?”

  Gallagher nodded his head. “Right now, they’re checking the pneumatic system’s blowers and compressors. The first conclusion they reached was that the control settings on the environmental panel were all correct for the flight. The bleed air ducting coming off of the engine—that’s how the pressurization system gets the air it needs to operate—was all in place and functional.”

  “What about the pressurization valves?” Helen asked. “You showed me how they were closed on the Elkhart crash. But that the enviro control panel showed they should have been open.”

  “Same thing here. The cabin pressure regulator/actuator valve managing the flight deck pressurization was in the closed position. No cabin air pressure could flow into the flight deck. With the cockpit access door closed and locked, the flight deck was sealed. Le Trajectoire Systemes designed it that way. Why, I cannot yet say.”

  Jack picked up the shiny regulator/actuator valve from the table. He turned it slowly and thoughtfully in his hand. “I can say. I’ve been on the horn the last few hours while you two were in the air. Le Trajectoire Systemes designed and built a new flight deck instrument suite just to conform to proposed FAA regulations. They were doing a real world flight test for the FAA.”

  Gallagher was indignant, “Who told you that?”

  Jack’s smile was without humor, “Just called in a few chips. No publicly held company on earth wants to piss off the FBI. Especially when I hinted that they might have an investigation underway.”

  Helen pulled herself out of a tired slouch, “What if they were just testing a new piece of safety equipment?”

  Jack and Gallagher both looked at her. Jack spoke for them, “Sweetie, this was a commercial airliner with paying passengers. Those passengers were never informed that they were the subjects of a live in-flight test. Had word leaked that the FAA and Le Trajectoire Systemes were experimenting on people without their knowledge, there would have been holy hell to pay for both the FAA and LTS.”

  “But InterTrans must have known,” said Gallagher.

  “Oh, they knew all right. In fact, I asked Smitty.” Smitty was Jack’s best friend in the FBI. The two shared a bond that began in BUD/SEAL training. Then seven years as team partners. When Jack resigned as head of the Washington Field Office five years ago, he recommended Smitty—his second in command—to take his place. Jack related how they discovered the money trail leading from LTS to InterTrans that began two years ago. “LTS believed they could sell more planes than Boeing with a two-year head start on the sealed flight deck design.” He explained LTS’ need for a commercial airline for use as a test bed. “That’s where InterTrans came into the picture.”

  “How much was at stake?” Gallagher asked.

  “To LTS, potentially billions,” Jack walked Gallagher through how just a few more points of market share translates to a huge bump in revenue in the airline industry. “You can double that if you include LTS’ soaring stock price because of it.”

  “But what’s in it for InterTrans?” Gallagher asked. “Why take such a risk?”

  “It’s not worth the risk for the company. Don’t forget the money trail Smitty discovered.” Jack explained the $8 million didn’t go from LTS to InterTrans. It went directly to InterTrans’ head of flight safety management and the VP of Flight Operations to make the deal happen.

  “Who else could have known about this?” Gallagher asked.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  Jack walked to a corner of the huge hangar. The cell phone still vibrated in his pocket. “Yeah, Smitty. What have you got?”

  Smitty described the Bureau’s look into InterTrans’ financial operations. Details of breaches in the company’s own internal controls discovered by the FBI’s financial crimes unit and confirmed by InterTrans’ outside auditors painted the picture of a sloppy operation. Jack wasn’t surprised when Smitty told him there was a minor embezzlement of $95,000 last year.

  The line was silent for a moment. Finally, Jack said, “Okay pal, nice work. InterTrans runs a slack operation. I’ve always believed the way you do one thing is the way you do everything.”

  “So what’s next?” asked Smitty.

  “Nothing for the FBI. But stand by. I’m developing a deep respect for the NTSB investigator in charge out here. I wonder if they ever audited InterTrans’ safety records. Has NTSB ever conducted a regulatory compliance audit of InterTrans?”

  “Of course we have, Jack.” Tom Gallagher stood up inside the cockpit of the LTS450. Its paint finish was dull from seawater even under the bright lights of the massive hangar there at LAX. It was well past midnight; still, the NTSB had a full crew of investigators on site. “Its formal term is the Safety Management System. The SMS is every airline’s bible for ensuring airworthiness, aircraft safety, and qualifications of the people who maintain and fly the equipment. It flows from the CEO all through the company.” Gallagher rested his hand on the back of the pilot’s seat. A man had asphyxiated to death in that gray leather seat just hours ago.

  “Do you recall any issues related to safety management at InterTrans or the plane’s manufacturer?” Jack asked.

  Gallagher switched off the flashlight he was using to peer inside a portion of the bulkhead that was removed, exposing the air pressurization ductwork. “Let’s go sit somewhere and talk about that very thing.” He led Jack out of the cockpit, down the aisle to the first class cabin.

  “Managing the safety system of a major airline and an aircraft manufacturer is a monumental job. Both InterTrans and Le Trajectoire Systemes executives responsible for safety management are the top people in the field—”

  “I heard that you two were up here,” Helen said walking into first class. She handed them each a paper cup of coffee and opened a box of scones.

  “Thanks, hon,” Jack said.

  Gallagher pulled the plastic lid off of his coffee and inhaled the aroma. He nodded to Helen appreciatively.

  NTSB investigators and other technicians walked through the cabin on their way in and out of the flight deck. Except for the wet carpet and the pervasive smell of seawater, it was hard for Jack to imagine that less than twelve hours ago this aircraft just as easily could have become an aluminum coffin at the bottom of the ocean.

  Gallagher continued describing the workings of a modern safety management system. It was a topic few in the world could equal in his level of expertise. “You need to consider technical discipline, then human, and lastly organizational factors. Let any one slide and the whole thing tips sideways.”

  “So which of the three caused this crash?” Helen asked

  “Let’s step back for just a second,” Gallagher said. “You’re a pilot. Remember your ground school training.” He explained how an aircraft crash is actually a chain of failures. Break any link in that chain and the plane survives. But allow that chain to remain in tact, disaster occurs.

  Jack listened to every word. He compared them with what he already knew. A huge payoff to break the rules. Untested remote flight equipment installed on a scheduled commercial flight. None of the standard reviews and safety checks. “What causal factors are NTSB looking at?”

  “Everything,” Gallagher said. The three talked about aircraft maintenance and the workplace environment at InterTrans.

  Jack sat up in the leather seat. “You’re really talking about pressure to maintain profits.”

  “An empty aircraft sitting in the maintenance hangar cannot produce one dime of revenue. There was a case years ago of a seaplane carrier in the Caribbean. The company was strapped for cash. The CEO/owner began cutting back on maintenance. At first just little things.”

  Gallagher told them the story of how simply replacing the seaplane’s airspeed indicator light bulb with one that was red instead of white because that’s what they had on hand, caused a fatal crash.

  As a pilot herself, Helen could imagine t
he difficulty in landing at an airport surrounded by the ocean at night in a storm. Of course, you would want to preserve your night vision. You order your co-pilot to dim the instrument panel lights. The storm is bouncing you around the sky. All the instrument lights are white except for one—the red-light airspeed indicator. You can’t read the too dim instrument.

  “The plane impacted 500 yards short of the runway,” Gallagher finished the story. “It hit in water about seven feet deep. Killed two passengers and the co-pilot.”

  “I know InterTrans management,” Jack said. “There could well be some shortcuts that contributed to this unauthorized test. InterTrans’ CEO, the late Dan Tanner, was obsessed with the company’s earnings and its effect on stock prices. What else do you look into that the public doesn’t usually hear about?”

  “You’d be surprised.” For the next ten minutes, he described little-known things that can bring down a modern airliner.

  “So many things can go wrong,” Helen said.

  “Even so, the commercial airline industry has a stellar safety record.” Gallagher leaned toward them, “Maintaining that record takes a lot of effort and motivation. And having your planes crash is simply not good for business.”

  “What was InterTrans’ attitude toward regulatory compliance?” Helen asked.

  “Actually, there was an attitude I didn’t like. InterTrans treated the regs as something to be signed off rather than to be followed for everyone’s good. They regarded training of flight personnel as a pain in the ass—just another regulation that kept employees from doing their jobs.”

  Helen’s turn, “Was InterTrans ever cited for noncompliance?”

  Tom Gallagher nodded. He related the five citations for failure to follow their own airline safety policies and procedures.

  “Confirms the theory about management practices flowing down the chain of command,” Jack said. “What was the problem?”