Джордан Шор - The Search

George always had difficulties remembering people’s names, and he regretted not to have skimmed through the crisis contingency plan before he left home. That way, he would’ve known everybody’s names and designated roles and responsibilities.

He felt slightly overdressed for the occasion, and also lamented putting on a tie. But on the other hand, how long does it take to put on a tie? The man across from him, the ECC (probably named Jeff) was, however, admirably dressed for the occasion; his entire outfit spelled out EMERGENCY. The man wore a red and blue flannel shirt, and a pair of genuinely washed-out jeans, and his shirt was actually tucked into his pants.

CEO Michael Williams cleared his throat. “Now that we’re all here.”

George’s fear came again to life as he realized he was, in fact, the last one to arrive—and he also noticed how his boss briefly glanced at his necktie.

“It’s just the three of us?” George blurted out.

“Cayla was out of the town, but she’ll arrive before morning,” Mike responded. “Until then, I’ll carry out her responsibilities as the ECC. I’ve notified our emergency contacts at the FAA and the NTSB, and both representatives will join us in the morning. Needless to say, Jeff is still hospitalized from the injuries he sustained on Thursday. So, I’ll also fill his role as human resources manager and ensure that our employees are taken care off in this precarious situation.”

George felt his chest tightening, as he had no idea what had happened to Jeff “the Michelin man” on Thursday, and neither did he know the name or the role of the man across the table. But he assumed the man across the table in the ranching outfit had to be the security director because all other assignments were taken.

George didn’t socialize with his colleagues. He usually had his lunch at his desk, and he rarely engaged in a conversation unless he had to. Neither did he socialize much on his own time. He didn’t have any close friends, and he spent most of his time in front of one screen or another.

“Is there any news about what happened to the plane?” he asked.

“No, the plane is still missing,” Mike responded. “I thought I’d give a brief summary of what we know, and we can take it from there. Feel free to interrupt me. Flight seven one nine departed from Seattle at nine thirty p.m. yesterday. Then, about halfway to its destination, Anchorage, Alaska, it apparently deviated from its route. All attempts to make radio contact failed, and the plane disappeared from radar near Great Slave Lake in the Northwest Territories of Canada.”

Despite George’s limited geographical knowledge of Canada, he concluded the plane must have disappeared a long way from its intended destination.

“If the plane flew that far after it deviated from its route, then shouldn’t fighter planes have intercepted the aircraft?” he asked.

“If a plane is hijacked and flies close to a major city, fighter planes either intercept, or—in a worst-case scenario—dispose of the potential threat before it reaches a populated area,” the security director said from across the table. “However, when a plane flies into the Canadian wilderness, I imagine they simply don’t do that, or perhaps they did, but didn’t get there in time.”

“How do you lose an airplane?” George asked Michael Williams.

“Pardon?” Mike responded.

“I mean, the black box must have a transmitter.”

“The Emergency Locator Transmitter provides the signal,” the security director said. “The device you’re referring to only records flight data and sounds from the cockpit.” He raised his eyebrows. “It doesn’t send out a signal. And neither is it black or shaped as a box.”

George detected more than a hint of sarcasm from the security director and felt as though he’d been corrected by an authority figure.

“Either way, the plane has a tracking device,” he pointed out.

“The ELT is used to locate the plane, but at this point, locating the plane isn’t a priority,” the security director responded.

“Excuse me?” George had trouble believing what he’d just heard.

“The only priority at this stage is to locate survivors, and they won’t find survivors at the bottom of the lake.”

“Do we even know for a fact that the plane actually crashed into the lake?” George asked, and made sure to address the CEO Michael Williams.

“Well, the plane disappeared from radar over the Great Slave Lake, so…” Mike turned his head and looked at the security director. “The pilots are trained to land on water in case of an emergency, Cliff. Perhaps the plane didn’t crash and sink.”

“As I told you before, Mike, the Canadian authorities have assured me that every boat available are searching the lake,” Cliff said. “Public, commercial, and even private boats—and several helicopters are in the air.”

“Yes, that is encouraging,” Mike said. “Perhaps this story will have a happy ending after all.”

“No, you’re not hearing me, Mike. If the plane landed on the lake’s surface, then they would have located the plane by now. Besides, if this had been a planned emergency landing, then the pilots would have notified the air controllers.” Cliff shook his head. “I doubt they’ll find any survivors, but if there are any, they’ll likely have hypothermia and drown if the search and rescue team doesn’t get to them before morning. This story won’t have a happy ending, Mike.”

“They could be wearing life jackets,” George argued.

“I doubt it,” Cliff responded somberly. “If the plane broke on impact, then the air cabin would have immediately filled with water. And if the plane was still intact when it sank, then the distance to swim to reach the water surface would have been long and tiring.”

“It’s still possible that survivors might be floating in the lake, clinging to wreckage,” George added. He didn’t like this man, Cliff, or his negative attitude.

“It’s possible,” Cliff agreed. “But my point being, if they don’t find any survivors during the night or at least as soon as the sun rises, then…” The security director trailed off and shrugged toward the CEO. “After that, the task is merely a matter of locating the plane. Even if the ELT provides a signal, the searchers will probably need days, if not weeks, to locate the plane at the bottom of the lake.”

“Why wouldn’t it provide a signal?” Mike asked.

The security director sighed, possibly in light of Mike’s ignorance. “Even though the ELT should transmit a signal, unfortunately, that’s not always the case. The failure of the device to transmit has occurred before, notably when planes were lost at sea,” Cliff answered. “But either way, it usually takes months before the investigation reveals what actually happened.”

“What do you think happened, Cliff?” Mike asked.

“Somebody breached the cockpit, and it must have happened swiftly,” Cliff responded without hesitation. “Under other circumstances, one could assume the pilots opened the cockpit to save the life of a crew member, even if it’s against protocol. But in this case, that theory doesn’t make any sense. The pilots would have called it in on the radio before opening the door. And given the fact that more or less every passenger has a cell phone these days, a lot more text messages would be circling around in the media.”

In his fatigue, George had completely forgotten about the text message sent by a female flight attendant on board the actual plane.

“She sent a text message to her husband, did she?” he asked Mike.

“Yes, Elisabeth McAllister sent her husband a text message.” Michael Williams looked down at the paper in front of him. “And I quote, Help-both-pilots-dead.”