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Chapter XI

Melissa Jason

Friday, September 16

“Patriot fifty-five forty-three, New England.”

“Centurion four niner Romeo, New England.”

No response. It was the third time she had called and the third time neither had answered. The computer generated alpha-numeric data blocks on her scope depicting Patriot fifty-five forty-three and Centurion four niner Romeo had gone into coast status indicating that the air traffic control computer was no longer receiving a signal from either aircraft. As a result, the computer was moving the data blocks on a projected track based on the last signals it had received; in short, the computer was taking an educated guess as to where these planes were supposed to be. After thirteen seconds of not receiving any more signals, the computer “gave up” and sent the electronically displayed information of call signs, altitude, and ground speeds into her “coast/suspend” list. The knot in Melissa Jason’s stomach tightened. She jammed her finger into a button located on the 302A communications panel on the left side of her scope; that button activated an automatic phone call directly to the supervisors’ desk.

Steven Dobbs caught the flashing light from his 302A panel out of the corner of his eye. He looked up from studying the watch schedule and pushed the button.

“Dobbs.”

“Steve, I think I just lost two airplanes.” It didn’t take long for Steven Dobbs to get there.

“They both like, just disappeared.” Melissa Jason looked at her supervisor for some sort of reassurance that nothing was wrong as he peered at the scope from over her shoulder. Jason had tried calling both pilots as soon as she realized the two targets were no longer “painting” on the radar and no longer being tracked by the ARTS (Automated Radar Terminal System) computer. It was possible nothing was wrong, but her instincts and the adrenaline screaming through her veins said otherwise. She felt cold and clammy and began to tremble. Melissa Jason fought hard not to panic.

Steven Dobbs had been a first-line supervisor for all of three months. He could think of a lot of situations he’d rather be dealing with.

“Have you tried calling them on one twenty-one point five?”

Jason’s mouth had gone dry. Her voice was shaky. “Yeah, I threw up the emergency frequency transmitters when I didn’t get any response on my primary frequency. I know my primary frequency is working because all my other traffic is loud and clear. These guys didn’t respond to the emergency frequency either.”

“Okay,” said Dobbs. “Radio and radar contact were lost at the same time with no explanation. That’s an automatic emergency according to the manual. I’ll get out the notification list and make the necessary phone calls. Hang in here for just a little longer Melissa. I’ll call the break room and get someone in here to relieve you as soon as possible. We’re going to need a controller statement. Do you want a union rep?”

Jason nodded her head slowly.

Dobbs looked at her face. She was staring at the scope with a blank expression. The thirty-two-year-old supervisor did not have to be a psychologist to realize Jason was not functioning. “Listen, Melissa, I’m going to place a call to the Employee Assistance Program and have them get someone out here to talk with you, okay?”

Jason’s head continued its slow nod.

Mary Ann Tucci and Donald Obarsky were working traffic at the scopes located on either side of Jason. They had heard the conversation between Jason and Dobbs. It was easy to hear everything in the small, dark radar room, where ambient light was generated primarily from the sweep of the radar scopes and by the various lights on the communication panels. The adrenaline in their systems surged as the realization of what had probably happened took hold.

Steven Dobbs looked to the more experienced of the two. “Don, can you take Melissa’s traffic?”

Don Obarsky had fifteen years at New England. He reached up and selected Jason’s radio frequencies from his overhead control panel then quickly entered a multifunction configure command into his keyboard, instantly giving him control of Jason’s scope and keyboard. Don Obarsky already knew Jason’s traffic situation. He was one of those controllers who paid close attention to what was occurring at the adjacent scopes.

“I have it, Steve.”

One minute later Jason was sitting in the supervisor’s office trying to gather her wits.

Melissa Jason would never work traffic again.