Airport (51 page)

Kettering nodded. “Yes, but I’d like you to add: ‘Suggest return or alternate landing at captain’s discretion,’ and have the dispatcher give them the latest weather.”

“Of course,” The D.T.M. penciled in the extra words, then passed the pad to Tanya. She began dictating the message.

Captain Kettering glanced at the others in the room. “Is that everything we know?”

“Yes,” Mel said. “It is, so far.”

“We may know more soon,” Lieutenant Ordway said. He had returned from the telephone. “We just found Guerrero’s wife.”

THE MESSAGE from D.T.M. Lincoln International was addressed, CAPTAIN, TRANS AMERICA FLIGHT TWO, and began:

UNCONFIRMED POSSIBILITY EXISTS THAT MALE TOURIST PASSENGER D. O. GUERRERO AB0ARD YOUR FLIGHT MAY HAVE EXPLOSIVE DEVICE IN HIS POSSESSION. PASSENGER WITH NO LUGGAGE AND APPARENTLY WITHOUT FUNDS INSURED SELF HEAVILY BEFORE DEPARTURE. WAS OBSERVED BEHAVING SUSPICIOUSLY WITH ATTACHE TYPE BRIEFCASE CARRIED AS HAND BAGGAGE. DESCRIPTION FOLLOWS…

As the D.T.M. had foreseen, it took several minutes for a connection to be established, through company radio, with Flight Two. Since the earlier Selcal message to the flight, concerning its stowaway Mrs. Ada Quonsett, the aircraft had moved out of Trans America’s Cleveland dispatch area into that of New York. Now, company messages must be passed through a New York dispatcher for relaying to the flight.

The message, as Tanya dictated it, was being typed by a girl clerk in New York. Alongside the clerk a Trans America dispatcher read the first few lines, then reached for a direct phone to an operator at ARINC–a private communications network maintained cooperatively by all major airlines.

The ARINC operator–at another location in New York–set up a second circuit between himself and Trans America dispatch, then punched into a transmitter keyboard a four-letter code, AGFG, specifically assigned to aircraft N-731-TA. Once more, like a telephone call to a single number on a party line, an alerting signal would be received aboard Flight Two only.

A few moments later the voice of Captain Vernon Demerest, responding from high above Ontario, Canada, was audible in New York. “This is Trans America Two answering Selcal.”

“Trans America Two, this is New York dispatch. We have an important message. Advise when ready to copy.”

A brief’ pause, then Demerest again. “Okay, New York. Go ahead.”

“CAPTAIN, FLIGHT TWO,” the dispatcher began. “UNCONFIRMED POSSIBILITY EXISTS…”

INEZ HAD still been sitting quietly, in her corner near the food counter, when she felt her shoulder shaken.

“Inez Guerrero! Are you Mrs. Guerrero?”

She looked up. It took several seconds to collect her thoughts, which had been vague and drifting, but she realized that it was a policeman who was standing over her.

He shook her again and repeated the question.

Inez managed to nod. She became aware that this was a different policeman from the earlier one. This one was white, and neither as gentle nor as softly spoken as the other.

“Let’s move it, lady!” The policeman tightened his grip on her shoulder in a way which hurt, and pulled her abruptly to her feet. “You hear me?–let’s go! They’re screamin’ for you upstairs, and every cop in the joint’s bin searchin’ for you.”

Ten minutes later, in Mel’s office, Inez was the pivot of attention. She occupied a chair in the room’s center to which she had been guided on arrival. Lieutenant Ordway faced her. The policeman who had escorted Inez in was gone.

The others who had been present earlier–Mel, Tanya, Customs Inspector Standish, Bunnie Vorobioff, the Trans America D.T.M., Weatherby, and the chief pilot, Captain Kettering, were ranged about the room. All had remained at Mel’s request.

“Mrs. Guerrero,” Ned Ordway said. “Why is your husband going to Rome?”

Inez stared back bleakly and didn’t answer. The policeman’s voice sharpened, though not unkindly. “Mrs. Guerrero, please listen to me carefully. There are some important questions which I have to ask. They concern your husband, and I need your help. Do you understand?”

“I… I’m not sure.”

“You don’t have to be sure about
why
I’m asking the questions. There’ll be time for that later. What I want you to do is help me by answering. Will you? Please.”

The D.T.M. cut in urgently. “Lieutenant, we haven’t got all night. That air-plane is moving away from us at six hundred miles an hour. If we have to, let’s get tough.”

“Leave this to me, Mr. Weatherby,” Ordway said sharply. “If we all start shouting, it’ll take a lot more time to get a great deal less.”

The D.T.M. continued to look impatient, but kept quiet.

“Inez,” Ordway said; “…is it okay if I call you Inez?”

She nodded.

“Inez,
will
you answer my questions?”

“Yes… if I can.”

“Why is your husband going to Rome?”

Her voice was strained, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know.”

“Do you have friends there; relatives?”

“No… There is a distant cousin in Milan, but we have never seen him.”

“Do your husband and the cousin correspond?”

“No.”

“Can you think of any reason why your husband would go to visit the cousin–suddenly?”

“There is no reason.”

Tanya interjected, “In any case, Lieutenant, if anyone was going to Milan they wouldn’t use our Rome flight. They’d fly Alitalia, which is direct and cbeaper–and Alitalia has a flight tonight, too.”

Ordway nodded. “We can probably rule out the cousin.” He asked Inez, “Does your husband have business in Italy?”

She shook her head.

“What is your husband’s business?”

“He is… was… a contractor.”

“What kind of contractor?”

Slowly but perceptibly, Inez’s grasp of things was coming back. “He built buildings, houses, developments.”

“You said ‘was.’ Why isn’t he a contractor now?”

“Things… went wrong.”

“You mean financially?”

“Yes, but… why are you asking?”

“Please believe me, Inez,” Ordway said, “I’ve a good reason. It concerns your husband’s safety, as well as others’. Will you take my word?”

She looked up. Her eyes met his. “All right.”

“Is your husband in financial trouble now?”

She hesitated only briefly. “Yes.”

“Bad trouble?”

Inez nodded slowly.

“Is he broke? In debt?”

Again a whisper.” Yes.”

“Then where did he get money for his fare to Rome?”

“I think…” Inez started to say something about her ring which D.O. had pawned, then remembered the Trans America Airlines time payment contract. She took the now-creased yellow sheet from her purse and gave it to Ordway who glanced over it. The D.T.M. joined him.

“It’s made out to ‘Buerrero,’ ” the D.T.M. said. “Though the signature could be anything.”

Tanya pointed out, “Buerrero is the name we had at first on the flight manifest.”

Ned Ordway shook his head. “It isn’t important now, but it’s an old trick if anyone has a lousy credit rating. They use a wrong first letter so the bad rating won’t show up in inquiry–at least, not in a hurry. Later, if the mistake’s discovered, it can be blamed on whoever filled out the form.”

Ordway swung sternly back to Inez. He had the yellow printed sheet in hand. “Why did you agree to this when you knew your husband was defrauding?”

She protested, “I didn’t know.”

“Then how is it you have this paper now?”

Haltingly, she related how she had found it earlier this evening, and had come to the airport, hoping to intercept her husband before departure.

“So until tonight you had no idea that he was going?”

“No, sir.”

“Anywhere at all?”

Inez shook her head.

“Even now, can you think of any reason for him going?”

She looked bewildered. “No.”

“Does your husband ever do irrational things?”

Inez hesitated.

“Well,” Ordway said, “does he?”

“Sometimes, lately…”

“He
has
been irrational?”

A whisper. “Yes.”

“Violent?”

Reluctantly, Inez nodded.

“Your husband was carrying a case tonight,” Ordway said quietly. “A small attaché case, and he seemed specialty cautious about it. Have you any idea what might be inside?”

“No, sir.”

“Inez, you said your husband was a contractor–a building contractor. In the course of his work did he ever use explosives?”

The question had been put so casually and without preamble, that those listening seemed scarcely aware it had been asked. But as its import dawned, there was a sudden tenseness in the room.

“Oh, yes,” Inez said. “Often.”

Ordway paused perceptibly before asking, “Does your husband know a lot about explosives?”

“I think so. He always liked using them. But…” Abruptly, she stopped.

“But what, Inez?”

Suddenly there was a nervousness to Inez Guerrero’s speech which had not been there before. “But… he handles them very carefully.” Her eyes moved around the room. “Please… what is this about?”

Ordway said softly, “You have an idea, Inez; haven’t you?”

When she didn’t answer, almost;with indifference he asked, “Where are you living?”

She gave the address of the South Side apartment and he wrote it down. “Is that where your husband was this afternoon; earlier this evening?”

Thoroughly frightened now, she nodded.

Ordway turned to Tanya. Without raising his voice, he asked, “Get a line open, please, to police headquarters downtown; this extension”–he scribbled a number on a pad. “Ask them to hold.”

Tanya went quickly to Mel’s desk.

Ordway asked Inez, “Did your husband have any explosives in the apartment?” As she hesitated, he bore in with sudden toughness. “You’ve told the truth so far; don’t lie to me now! Did he?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of explosives?”

“Some dynamite… and caps… They were left over.”

“From his contracting work?”

“Yes.”

“Did he ever say anything about them? Give a reason for keeping them?”

Inez shook her head. “Only, that… if you knew how to handle them… they were safe.”

“Where were the explosives kept?”

“Just in a drawer.”

“In a drawer where?”

“The bedroom.” An expression of sudden shock crossed Inez Guerrero’s face. Ordway spotted it.

“You thought of something then! What was it?”

“Nothing!” Panic was in her eyes and voice.

“Yes, you did!” Ned Ordway leaned forward, close to Inez, his face aggressive. For the second time in this room tonight he exhibited nothing of kindness; only the rough, tough savagery of a policeman who needed an answer and would get it. He shouted, “Don’t try holding back or lying! It won’t work. Tell me what it was you thought.” As Inez whimpered: “Never mind that! Tell me!”

“Tonight… I didn’t think of it before… the things…”

“The dynamite and caps?”

“Yes.”

“You’re wasting time! What about them?”

Inez whispered, “They were gone!”

Tanya said quietly, “I have your call, Lieutenant. They’re holding.”

No one among the others spoke.

Ordway nodded, his eyes still fixed on Inez. “Did you know that tonight, before your husband’s flight took off, he insured himself heavily–very heavily indeed–naming you as beneficiary?”

“No, sir. I swear I don’t know anything…”

“I believe you,” Ordway said. He stopped, considering, and when he spoke again his voice grated harshly.

“Inez Guerrero, listen to me carefully. We believe your husband has those explosives, which you’ve told us about, with him tonight. We think be carried them onto that Rome flight, and, since there can be no other explanation for having them there, that he intends to destroy the airplane, killing himself and everyone else aboard. Now, I’ve one more question, and before you answer, think carefully, and remember those other people–innocent people, including children–who are on that flight, too. Inez, you know your husband; you know him as well as anyone alive. Could he… for the insurance money; for you… could he do what I have just said?”

Tears streamed down Inez Guerrero’s face. She seemed near collapse, but nodded slowly.

“Yes.” Her voice was choked. “Yes, I think he could.”

Ned Ordway turned away. He took the telephone from Tanya and began speaking rapidly in a low tone. He gave information, interspersed with several requests.

Once Ordway paused, swinging back to Inez Guerrero. “Your apartment is going to be searched, and we’ll get a warrant if necessary. But it will be easier if you consent. Do you?”

Inez nodded dully.

“Okay,” Ordway said into the telephone, “she agrees.” A minute or so later he hung up.

Ordway told the D.T.M. and Mel, “We’ll collect the evidence in the apartment, if there’s any there. Apart from that, at the moment, there isn’t a lot we can do.”

The D.T.M. said grimly, “There isn’t a lot any of us can do, except maybe pray.” His face strained and gray, he began writing a new message for Flight Two.

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T
HE HOT
hors d’oeuvres, which Captain Vernon Demerest had called for, had been served to the pilots of Flight Two. The appetizing assortment on a tray, brought by one of the stewardesses from the first class galley, was disappearing fast. Demerest grunted appreciatively as he bit into a lobster-and-mushroom tartlet garnished with Parmesan cheese.

As usual, the stewardesses were pursuing their campaign to fatten the skinny young second officer, Cy Jordan. Surreptitiously they had slipped him a few extra hors d’oeuvres on a separate plate behind the two captains and now, while Jordan fiddled with fuel crossfeed valves, his cheeks bulged with chicken livers in bacon.

Soon, all three pilots, relaxing in turn in the dimly lighted cockpit, would be brought the same delectable entree and dessert which the airline served its first class passengers. The only things the passengers would get, which the crew did not, were table wine and champagne.

Trans America, like most airlines, worked hard at providing an excellent cuisine aloft. There were some who argued that airlines–even international airlines–should concern themselves solely with transportation, gear their in-flight service to commuter standards, and dispense with frills, including meals of any higher quality than a box lunch. Others, however, believed that too much of modem travel had become established at box lunch level, and welcomed the touch of style and elegance which good airborne meals provided. Airlines received remarkably few complaints about food service. Most passengers–tourist and first class–welcomed the meals as a diversion and consumed them zestfully.