Джозеф Хеллер - Maximum Impact

Steve Pace waited nervously in front of the passenger-arrival doors in Dulles’ main terminal. They were the ports at which the people-movers deposited passengers from the mid-field terminal, including those just in on TWA Flight 742, the one Melissa boarded after the unexpected stop in Kansas City.

He was still at home when the desk called to tell him the FAA had issued a press release about the grounding of the 811 fleet.

“What prompted it?” he asked the weekend editor, Julia Hershowitz.

“The release doesn’t say anything except the move is—quote—a precautionary measure designed to allow complete inspection of all Converse Fan engines—unquote,” Hershowitz said. “I know you’re off today, Steve, and it’s well deserved, but—”

“Glenn can handle it, Julia. I’m on my way to Dulles to pick up my daughter. In fact, she’s on an 811. Have they been ordered out of the air?”

“The release doesn’t say. Let me check the wires,” Hershowitz said. “Hmm, well, the last AP story says the crews of three 811s in flight chose to divert to the nearest airport while others continued to their original destinations. It doesn’t say which flights diverted.”

“I’ll call the airline,” Pace said. “Switch me to Glenn. I’ll give him some numbers to call. And I’ll call you from the airport to see if there’s anything I can do from there.”

“I appreciate it. Hang on, I’ll transfer you… hey, wait a second. We got an ‘Urgent’ from AP on an 811 en route to Washington from San Diego. Is that your girl’s flight?”

A surge of adrenaline hit Pace in the chest. “It must be,” he said. “What happened?”

“Hold on, let me find the story.” During the pause, Pace’s left hand began to cramp. He realized he was holding the telephone receiver in a death grip. “Here it is,” Hershowitz said after a wait that seemed an eternity. “Let’s see. Let me read it to you:

“The left engine of a TransAmerica 811 was seriously damaged in what some passengers described as an explosion as the aircraft attempted to make an unscheduled landing at Kansas City International Airport Sunday.

“The incident, in which no one was injured, occurred an hour after the Federal Aviation Administration ordered the nation’s fleet of Sexton 811 aircraft grounded for engine inspections. The captain of TransAm Flight 957…”

“That’s Sissy’s,” Pace interrupted.

“…decided to divert to Kansas City after experiencing engine problems en route from San Diego to Washington’s Dulles International Airport, scene of the nation’s worst air disaster 10 days ago. That accident, which killed 334 people, involved a Sexton 811 owned by Consolidated Pacific Airlines. The National Transportation Safety Board has concluded tentatively the Dulles accident was triggered when a bird was sucked into one of the aircraft’s engines.

“In Sunday’s incident, the captain of Flight 957 was told of the FAA order grounding the 811 fleet and was given the option to go on to Dulles or abort the flight. Because of the trouble his aircraft was experiencing, he elected to divert to Kansas City, according to airline officials. The damage to the left engine, the cause of which is still under investigation, occurred minutes before touchdown, the officials said…”

“That’s enough,” Pace said. “No injuries, right?”

“Right, the story says it again farther down,” Hershowitz assured him. “The plane taxied safely to a gate and passengers were able to debark—what the hell kind of word is that?—in normal fashion. Nobody hurt. Just some pretty shaky folks.”

“I better get off the phone. Sissy might be trying to call. Tell Glenn to check my Rolodex for numbers he needs. There are a lot of home numbers there. I’ll check in later.”

He hadn’t hung up ten seconds when the phone rang again.

“Daddy?”

“Sissy! I heard you decided to go to Kansas City,” Pace joked. He hoped that hearing no worry from him would calm her.

She giggled. “Oh, I didn’t decide, Daddy. The pilot did. It was kind of exciting. Do you know what happened?”

“A little bit. You okay?”

“Oh, sure. Fine. But now I’m on a TWA flight, and it’s leaving like right now. I wanted to give you the time and flight number.”

He jotted them down. “I’ll be there—unless you decide to take any more side trips,” he assured her.

“Well, you better have some fun in store for me, ’cause it sure has been a hassle getting there,” she said. “Gotta go. See ya.”

Marveling at his daughter’s resilience, he called Joan to assure her Sissy was well.

“You were right about the 811s,” she said.

“You couldn’t have known,” he replied, and she was grateful he wasn’t angry.

With some time to spare, Pace tuned in CNN. His phone rang again. He was surprised to hear Cullen Ferguson’s voice.

“Where are you?” Pace asked.

“At the Capital Hilton,” Ferguson said, “and none too soon, from what I hear.”

“You have anything to say about the groundings?”

“I’m stunned,” the Converse vice-president said. “I hadn’t heard this was coming. From what Vernon Lund said Friday, I assumed a grounding wasn’t under consideration.”

“Is that for quotation?”

“Sure. I don’t have anything from the higher-ups yet, but I’ll call you when I do.”

“I’m off today, Cullen, and I’ll be leaving for Dulles to pick up my daughter in a little while. Glenn Brennan’s working the story for us. You know him?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He’s a good man. I’ll call and give him this quote, and he’ll call you for more later. What’s your room number?”

Ferguson gave it to him.

“What brought you to town?” Pace asked.

“I came to deal with some of the public-relations flotsam bobbing around the crash.”

“You’re a little late,” Pace told him.

“I know,” Ferguson acknowledged. “We didn’t handle this very well, Steve, and I’d like an opportunity to talk to you about it. Can you make dinner tonight or tomorrow?”

“Ah, no. We’re going to the mountains tomorrow.”

“Tuesday then,” Ferguson persisted with a laugh. “I’m not leaving town until we get a chance to talk.”

“Call me at the office Tuesday morning,” Pace said. “Maybe I can make lunch.”

Pace wanted to tell him to go to hell, but he and Ferguson needed each other in some strange, symbiotic way. So he made a note to himself about lunch on Tuesday with Ferguson and put it on the table by the front door, where he left things to take to work.

Waiting at Dulles, Pace realized he was nervous, less about Sissy’s escape over Kansas City than about his daughter’s reaction at finding her father living with a woman who wasn’t her mother. He and Kathy debated whether she should go to the airport or whether it would be better if he met Melissa alone. Kathy was all for going, but they decided it would be easier on Steve—never mind Melissa—to have the opportunity of the long ride back to Washington to talk.

“We might even go around to Great Falls on the Maryland side,” Pace said. “Sissy loves that spot, especially when the water is raging. That would be a good place to talk.”

“What are you going to say to her?” Kathy asked.

“I’m going to tell her the truth, that I’m deeply in love with you and there’s no chance her mother and I will be together again, although we will always remain good friends. I’ve never lied to Sissy. The trouble with lying is you have to remember what you said so you don’t contradict yourself later, and kids pick up those things.”

“Be gentle with her. That’s a big disappointment for a fourteen-year-old with dreams of seeing her family united again.”