The Lion's Game Read Online Free Page B

the Atlantic Coast has been calling him for over two hours on VHF, HF, and for all I know, CB and smoke signals.” Walters chuckled and added, “When this flight is over, this guy’s going to be doing so much writing, he’ll think he’s Shakespeare. Right. Talk to you later.” He turned his head and made eye contact with Esching. “Okay?”
    “Yeah ... tell you what ... call everyone down the line and tell them that the first sector that makes contact will inform the captain that when he lands, he’s to call me on the telephone at the Center. I want to talk to this clown myself so I can tell him how much agro he’s caused along the coast.”
    “Canada, too.”
    “Right.” Esching listened to Walters pass on the message to the next controllers who would be getting jurisdiction of Trans-Continental Flight 175.
    A few other controllers and journeymen on break had wandered over to the Section 23 console. Walters knew that everyone wanted to see why Supervisor Bob Esching was so far from his desk and out on the floor. Esching was—in the unkind words of his subordinates—standing dangerously close to an actual work situation.
    Sam Walters didn’t like all these people around him, but if Esching didn’t shoo them off, he couldn’t say anything. And he didn’t think Esching was going to tell everyone to clear out. The Trans-Continental No-Radio situation was now the focus event in the control center, and this mini-drama was, after all, good training for these young controllers who had pulled Saturday duty.
    No one said much, but Walters sensed a mixture of curiosity, puzzlement, and maybe a bit of anxiety.
    Walters got on the radio and tried again. “Trans-Continental Flight One-Seven-Five, this is New York Center. Do you read me?”
    No reply.
    Walters broadcast again.
    No reply.
    The room was silent except for the hum of electronics. No one standing around had any comment. It was unwise to say anything in these kinds of situations that could come back to haunt you.
    Finally, one of the controllers said to Esching, “Paper this guy big-time on this one, boss. I got off to a late coffee break because of him.”
    A few controllers laughed, but the laughter died away quickly.
    Esching cleared his throat and said, “Okay, everybody go find something useful to do. Scram.”
    The controllers all wandered off, leaving Walters and Esching alone. Esching said softly, “I don’t like this.”
    “Me neither.”
    Esching grabbed a rolling chair and wheeled it beside Walters. Esching studied the big screen and focused on the problem aircraft. The identity tag on the screen showed that it was a Boeing 747, and it was the new 700 Series aircraft, the largest and most modern of Boeing’s 747s. The aircraft was continuing precisely along its flight plan, routing toward JFK International Airport. Esching said, “How the hell could all the radios be non-functioning?”
    Sam Walters considered for a minute, then replied, “They can’t be, so—I think it has to be either that the volume control is down, the frequency selectors are broken, or the antennas have fallen off.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Yeah ...”
    “But ... if it was the volume control or the frequency selectors, the crew would have realized that a long time ago.”
    Walters nodded and replied, “Yeah ... so, maybe it’s total antenna failure ... or, you know, this is a new model so maybe there’s some kind of electronic bug in this thing and it caused total radio failure. Possible.”
    Esching nodded, “Possible.”
But not probable
. Flight 175 had been totally without voice contact since leaving the Oceanic Tracks and reaching North America. The Abnormal Procedures Handbook addressed this remote possibility, but he recalled that the handbook wasn’t very clear about what to do. Basically, there was nothing that could be done.
    Walters said, “If his radios are okay, then when he has to start down, he’ll realize he’s on the wrong frequency or that his