Chapter 1
Larry Carpello walked into his office in the northeast corner of the eighth floor of FOB-10. It was 6:30 in the morning and he was one of the few people in the building. Since the advent of flex time and alternative work schedules he had elected to come in early, work a ten-hour day, and get home about the right time. It made for a 12-hour day by the time commuting in and out was added on, but the four-day work week made it all worth while.
Larry liked the early morning; it was quiet and there was nobody around. The phone was even silent for the most part. This peace gave him time to catch up on the never-ending stream of voice mail and e-mail messages that poured into his office. It seemed to him that no one ever wanted to talk face to face any more. Life had turned into an endless stream of one-liners. There always had to be a record of every word that was written or spoken. Sometimes it seemed like the whole world was being captured in an electronic web, one that knew everything that was going on. Sometimes Larry wondered if maybe the computers even knew what people were thinking.
It was one of those thoughtful mornings that sometimes comes along when you least expect it. Larry found his mind drifting off; he started thinking about himself and how he came to be the manager of the FAA?s Aircraft Certification Division. He stretched back in his big executive chair, leaning over and pulling out the bottom drawer of his desk, and put his feet up on the makeshift footrest. It was that gray time of morning that connects night with day. He could see the big orange sun just beginning to appear from behind the Capitol building. It was destined to rise up and, for a moment, it would sit perched on top of the Capitol dome, balancing like a big red beach ball. The sight always sent a tingle of excitement through him as he thought about how great it was to be working here at the center of the free world. How had he, Larry Carpello, managed to find his way to one of the most influential positions in the organization that, in effect, controlled the aviation community worldwide? He drew in a deep breath and settled more comfortably into his chair. This was a special time for him, one for relaxing, taking stock. Once his day began there would be no time for such luxuries.
In his early fifties, Larry stood 5 foot 6 inches and weighed in at 165 to 170 pounds. His well-trimmed hair was coal black and beginning to thin in the front and pull back at the temples. He had been wiry at one time but the years had filled him out. Summers he ran on the Mall during his lunch break and swam in his pool at home. In the winter it was swimming at the health club and working out on the machines. A life including exercise allowed him to move easily when walking, with a comfortable air of confidence. His dress was crisp, stylish, and always appropriate. There were no Sears tags in his suits; they had a touch of class that you didn?t often see among the ocean of federal workers who are everywhere in Washington. His shoes were always shined; there was never a hair out of place. Larry Carpello exemplified what was meant by ?dress for success?. The picture would have been perfect if weren?t for a jet-black mustache, or maybe it?s the mustache that makes the picture. Maybe it?s what made him believable. Regardless, it?s what made him Larry.
Larry was a good guy. For the most part he was well liked by the people he works for and held in high regard by the folks that work for him. He was one of those people who?s able to communicate his position, good or bad, without anyone feeling threatened or becoming unnecessarily defensive. A lifetime of being physically smaller than most people around him had forced him to work harder at becoming an accomplished politician. His highly developed people skills made him seem much larger than he actually was. He had managed to eliminate all the negative characteristics commonly associated with and found in small men. What he lacked in stature, he more than made up for in sheer force of presence. In many ways, Larry was the quintessential bureaucrat.
Letting his mind drift, he thought back to where his aeronautical career began. Larry?s interest in aviation went back to his childhood, back to the days of building model airplanes and hanging around one of the local airport that doted the country side near his home. In those days every airport had a few kids that just hung around. They were available to wash airplanes, wash parts, and sweep the place out. If the kids really got lucky maybe someone would let them pump gas into one the little yellow Piper Cubs that were tied down in the grass. All of this effort was rewarded when every now and then someone would say, ?Hey, kid, you wanna go flying?? Sometimes this even came with the opportunity to take the stick and actually handle the plane! But most kids lost interest in what seemed like too many long hours of hard, and most of the time, unpleasant work, with an uncertain payday. The ones that hung in there got to help out more and more by doing oil changes, tire changes, cleaning spark plugs and the endless rib stitching that?s part of recovering one of those old cloth planes. Larry hung in there and celebrated his 16th birthday by soloing one of those yellow Cubs he had helped rib stitch. By the time he graduated from high school he had his private pilot?s license in his pocket and his aviation interest was firmly planted.
Not long after graduation the Army decided they needed him and he got his draft notice. In true Army fashion they ignored his interest and skills in aviation and made him a company clerk. His work time was spent honing his typing skills and his off time was spent at the Army flying club, honing his flying skills. By the time his two-year stint was up he had his commercial license and was a flight instructor.
After the Army it was off to college. He started out majoring in engineering, but four years later graduated with a degree in psychology. While struggling through those psych courses he managed to find the time to do a little flying and instructing at the local airport. To make a long story short, when he got his diploma with a BA in psychology, he had also earned all his aviation ratings.
By this time Larry had married Patty, his high school sweetheart, and what had been two was about to become three. The business of making a living was beginning to have a greater influence on his employment decisions. In his heart he wanted to stay in aviation but the only thing available to him was flight instruction and a little charter flying. One person couldn?t live on what that paid, let alone three. And with a mere bachelors degree in psychology, no one was ready to let him start shrinking heads for a living.
So after soul searching and job searching he ended up selling drugs. Had his route been the street this story could have ended right here with Larry being very rich, very dead, or maybe on a state-paid vacation. But his route was nowhere near as exciting or as profitable. It consisted of many doctors? offices full of sick people and of the doctors themselves, doctors who didn?t really want to talk to him. It didn?t take long to figure out that he wasn?t cut out to be this kind of drug salesman. He was bored.
That boredom turned into downright dislike for what he was doing, but what could he do? Nothing had changed. He didn?t have enough flight time to get a real flying job and his degree in psychology didn?t seem to be worth much in the real world. He thought about going back in the Army. With his four-year degree he figured he could probably get a commission. Maybe even go to flight school. But it was the middle of the Viet Nam War so maybe the Army wasn?t such a good idea. If he did get into flight school, and get commissioned, he?d probably end up getting his ass shot off in
The Air Force was his next thought. It wouldn?t do any harm to talk to them. What he didn?t know was that the Air Force was having a tough time recruiting qualified people to go to flight school. The media was full of stories about the Hanoi Hilton and all the pilots who were guests there. The Air Force needed replacement pilots for the ones who were sitting out the war in the jungle, but no one was coming forward. That is, not until Larry showed up.
?What are my chances of going to Air Force flight school?? Once he?d made his initial inquiry Larry was surprised at how cordial senior Air Force sergeants could be. He found out that he could skip any kind of boot camp, or officers training; all he had to do was pass a little old physical and they assured him that that wouldn?t be a problem. They also told him that if he signed up on that day they could guarantee him lieutenant when he graduated from flight school and a discharge if he washed out. Wow! And all this for a mere five-year commitment. He signed on the line, the Air Force guys smiled at him (and grinned at each other). Then they headed for happy hour and he went home to tell Patty his good news.
The next day he put in his resignation at the drug company and started tying up the loose ends so he could depart for the Air Force. He couldn?t believe how fast things began to move; he never had a chance to look back. Before he knew it he was checking into Williams Air Force Base and starting his flight training. During the in-processing he was told that, due to his prior service, he was being commissioned as a second lieutenant and would get lieutenant upon graduation. It didn?t take long for him notice the difference between the Air Force and the Army. He wasn?t sure if maybe it was because he was an officer, but everything seemed more relaxed in this branch of the military. The people seemed friendlier and more willing to help. In some ways, compared to the Army, the Air Force seemed more like a big club. It was so much better it was even fun!
His flight class was a mixed bag of characters from all over the country. Most of them were right out of college, two were former Air Force enlisted types like himself, although he was the only ex-Army type. They had told him that in addition to the classroom training associated with the flight training, he would have to attend training aimed at turning him into an Air Force officer. He?d also been told that, in consideration of all his previous flight time and training, he was allotted 15 percent less flight time than a cadet who was starting from scratch. He was a little surprised by this but it didn?t bother him. He had well over 1000 hours flying time and numerous hours in the classroom. He thought to himself, ?An airplane is an airplane. How different can they be? If you can fly one you can surely fly others, and with a little training, any others. The Air Force flies in the same airspace, weather, etc. as everyone else and therefore must adhere to the same principals and rules.? He even went so far as to think to himself, in his most private thoughts, in thoughts that wouldn?t be shared with anyone until years later, ?This is going to be a piece of cake!? And for the most part, it was. In the end he finished at the top of his class.
Leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head, watching the warm sun climb in the morning sky, Larry still couldn?t resist a smile.
Continuing his reminiscing, his mind went back to how, as the top of his class, he got to pick the advanced training he would go to and the type aircraft he would fly. It was an interesting time, one that defines each new pilot?s job for the next three or four years and maybe a career. It was assumed that the top five or six would get to go to fighter school and the rest would have to be happy with transport aircraft or, even worse, helicopters. Larry surprised them all, and even himself a little, when he opted for transports and was assigned C-141 school. He basically had decided that fighters weren?t for an old married man, and some heavy transport time would look good to the airlines.
The C-141 is the workhorse of the Air Force. It?s probably the best cargo aircraft since the C-47. Larry flew through the training with ease and ended up assigned to a cargo outfit in California. The outfit hauled cargo to and from Saigon with stops at Clark Air Force Base in the
After a couple of fruitless months of trying to get on with one of the major airlines Larry accepted a job with Pine Cone Airlines, a small commuter outfit based in Maine. PCA had about 25 airplanes in the 8 to 16 passenger category, flying from Maine to as far south as Washington, DC. The company was owned and operated by a wonderful old gentleman whose real name was Joshua Perde, but everyone called him Doc. Doc ran the company like a big extended family, and a poor family at that. He was always in trouble with the FAA and the company seemed forever to be just one step ahead of the liquidators. Part of the reason for this was the way Doc helped everyone out with money that he should have been using to pay his bills. He was loved by all, and was a legend in the Maine aviation community. Wherever pilots sat around telling their tales of glory Doc?s name always came up. The folks who kept his airplanes flying loved him too, even as they wondered if their next checks would be on time. Larry liked flying for PCA; it was more like his aviation roots than what he had experienced in the Air Force. He didn?t like the way the airplanes were maintained; there was always something broken, and he didn?t like wondering if he would get a paycheck. But despite the constant rumors, the paychecks were always there, and usually on time.
All in all, things were going along smoothly and Larry liked flying the plane he was assigned to, the Cessna 421. The captain was a tall, thin guy named Jack, about his age, who never said much. There were lots of rumors about Jack and his exploits as an Army helicopter pilot. And Larry found out that Jack had also been in the drug business, too, but the other kind of drug business, one that landed him in jail. He?d served 18 months of a six-year sentence. None of this mattered to Doc, who liked him, maybe because in some strange way he identified with him. Anyway, he hired Jack when no one else would even consider him, so he was part of the crew.
Except for the fact that there seemed to be something broken all the time, the flying was pretty routine. Stuff just never got fixed the way Larry thought it should. It seemed like there was always a part on order and every now and then they would end up flying with less than the equipment required by the FAA-mandated minimum equipment list. But he didn?t let it bother him too much. What difference did it make? He was just hanging out till he got that call from one of the majors, right?
It was one of those typical winter nights in New York where the overcast hung low and little snowflakes were in the air. The weather was like this a lot this time of year and Larry knew it wasn?t going to be a problem. He checked at the counter and found out that they had a full load of passengers going to Portland and two, a father and daughter, going on to Presque Isle. The weather turned out to be overcast all up and down the eastern seaboard but well above minimums in Portland and Presque Isle. They would fly from to New York to Portland, then up to Presque Isle, where they would stay overnight. In the morning they would fly over to Bangor, then down to Portland and back to New York. Larry looked around and finally spotted Jack a couple of counters down talking with a thin blond haired woman who flew for one of the other commuters. The rumor was that Jack had something going with her even though she was married to some guy in the Navy. Jack had never mentioned anything and Larry didn?t really care. He wasn?t one to meddle in someone else?s business.
Jack and Larry arrived at the plane a few minutes before the passengers were loaded on. Jack read off the pre-takeoff checklist and Larry made the checks. When they were finished Larry called Clearance Delivery and after a short wait had their clearance to Portland and on to Presque Isle. For some reason Jack wanted to do a full run-up at the end of the runway and requested it from Ground Control. Normally they would just do a quick check on the way out and Larry wondered why that night was different. He thought to himself that the left engine seemed a little rough; maybe that was the reason. They did the run-up and the left engine was definitely rough, plus it didn?t seem to be putting out the normal amount of power. Jack mentioned it but didn?t seem to be bothered by it. He said the engine was nearly run out and would be going in for overhaul soon. He cranked in some extra right rudder trim as he taxied into position. The takeoff roll and rotation were normal but the plane seemed to need a lot of right rudder to keep the ball centered. It didn?t seem to want to climb, even after it was cleaned up; it still didn?t have the rate of climb it should have. At about 9,000 feet the little two-engine airplane broke out of the overcast into a clear, moonlit winter night. The stars looked like you could reach out and touch them. Jack trimmed up the plane and snapped on the autopilot. Larry noticed that there was a big difference in the engine power setting; the left engine needed a lot more throttle to keep up with the right one. Aside from that everything was normal and both men eased back, settling into watching the distance measuring equipment (DME) click off the miles.
The landing at Portland was picture perfect. Larry let the autopilot fly the airplane down through the overcast on the approach until the plane crossed the end of the runway. That?s where he clicked it off, pulled the throttles back, and set the plane down as light as a feather. He just let the plane roll out and slow down to taxi speed by itself. He eased the throttles forward as he started the right turn on to the taxiway. The left engine coughed and sputtered, causing the plane to veer a little to the left. It finally caught and they taxied on into the terminal. Jack, who had been quiet the whole trip, said he thought it?d be a good idea to have them take a look at that engine tomorrow while they were in Bangor.
An hour later the Cessna was again leaving the overcast below and climbing into the clear winter night. Larry had checked the Presque Isle weather and it was iffy at best. They didn?t have weather information for the airport where they were going to land, so it was more like an educated guess. Doc?s policy was that you should always try; if we couldn?t get in we could go on to Bangor. There was only the little girl and her father with us so we had loaded an extra 60 gallons of fuel. That would insure plenty of time to get wherever we had to go if it turned out we couldn?t get into Presque Isle. But we?d get in; we always had before.
About 20 minutes out of Presque Isle Boston Center called. Larry could remember it all as if it had happened yesterday. ?Pine Cone 21, this is Boston Center.?
?Go ahead Boston.?
?We just had an MU-2 miss at Presque Isle. He reported that the weather is worse than had been reported; he?s going to Bangor.?
?Roger, we heard you working him and we heard him miss, but I think we?ll give it a shot,? Jack told the controller.
?Roger that, Pine Cone. Expect vectors for the instrument landing system (ILS) runway 01 at Presque Isle . Contact Boston Center this frequency if you miss. What are your intentions if you miss??
?OK, Boston, we got the vectors to ILS one at Presque Isle and we?ll be going to Bangor, too, if we miss.?
Jack calmly told Larry to move the passengers up to the center of the airplane and make sure that they were belted in tightly. Then he adjusted his own seat belt and shoulder strap. Jack then reminded Larry to call out the altitude and keep a sharp eye peeled for any sign of the runway, which seemed a little strange since it was all standard procedure. Larry noticed that Jack was hand-flying the approach, which was unusual, but not unheard of. The flaps were full down and when they crossed the outer marker Larry dropped the landing gear. You could see from the landing lights that they were below the cloud deck and in a driving snowstorm. The landing lights could only penetrate the snow for about 40 or 50 feet ahead of the plane.
?Five hundred feet,? Larry called out over the intercom. The decision height was 200 feet and he knew from experience that Jack would sneak a little below it if he had to. ?Four hundred.? Jack slowed the airplane up a little more than normal. ?Three hundred.? The ILS needles were perfectly centered even though the little plane was bouncing all around. ?Two-fifty.? Everything was by the numbers except the airspeed; it was a little on the low side. ?Two hundred and no sign of the airport. One-fifty -- still no airport, let?s go, Jack,? Larry said in the intercom. Jack pushed the throttles forward and reached down and pulled the landing gear handle up as the plane settled through 100 feet. Both engines sputtered a little and then the right engine caught and came on full as the left engine died. The airplane continued to settle as it yawed violently to the left. Jack caught it just before they hit the ground, right on top of the row of lights that lined the left side of the runway. The left wing, which was already low, hit the snowbank and spun the airplane hard to the left.
The next thing Larry remembered was something cold and wet hitting his face. Instantly he was wide-awake and his mind was going a mile a minute. It was dark and dead still, he could feel the cold winter air with its snowflakes hitting his face and the strong smell of gasoline. He remembered all that extra gas they had loaded on in Portland and figured it was probably all over the place and about to catch on fire. But there were no flames and no sparks, just silence. Satisfied that he was not going to burn up, he just sat there for a few seconds and wondered if he was still alive. Slowly he started moving things one at a time. First he moved his fingers, then his toes. He kept on until he was satisfied that everything was working. When he finished the inventory he concluded that aside from being sore he wasn?t hurt or at least not hurt badly. He called to Jack, who answered with, ?Is that you, Larry? Are you OK?? About that time they saw the lights of a vehicle coming out of the night. Soon they could hear the shouts of the excited PCA night crew that had been waiting for them to arrive. The PCA guys pulled everyone out of the wrecked airplane and somehow got them all to the little Presque Isle hospital. As it turned out the only one hurt was the little girl, who had a broken arm. Otherwise, Jack was unhurt, Larry was bruised and had some little cuts on his left arm, and the little girl?s father was bruised and sore but not seriously hurt. The hospital insisted that they spend the rest of the night for observation. Larry, with the help of a pretty young nurse, got out of his clothes and took a long hot shower. He noticed the two black and blue marks on his shoulders where the shoulder harness had restrained him from hitting the instrument panel. The hot water felt so good that he just wanted to stay in the shower forever. When he finally crawled in between those white hospital sheets he just lay there and tried to make some sense out of what had just happened to him. Everything just seemed like a blur. He said a little prayer, thanking God for letting him live to fly another day.
Several hours later the sound of strange voices woke him from a deep sleep. At first he was very disorientated and struggled to wake up. It seemed like he was in a dream that was turning into reality but he couldn?t tell where the dream stopped and the reality started. Slowly he figured out that he was in a hospital room, but where and how did he get there? And more importantly, why was he there? He sat up and swung his feet off the bed. When they hit the cold floor everything snapped into focus and he was back in the real world. He just sat there for a few minutes getting his bearings. That?s when the door opened and Doc walked in with Jack close behind. Doc walked straight over to Larry grabbed his hand warmly and asked, in a concerned tone of voice, ?Are you OK? You and Jack had a rough ride last night. Thank God everyone?s all right. Don?t worry about the accident, shit happens, it?s just one of those things. I know you guys were flying that approach by the book and that?s that. The FAA is going to be all over us in a day or so, maybe even sooner, but as long as we stick to our story everything will be just fine.? The three men stood there and looked at each other for what seemed like hours. Finally Doc smiled at both men and said, ?I want you two to take a week off and rest up. I?ll have the dispatcher call you with a new schedule,? he said as he walked out the door. Jack and Larry just stood there and looked at each other, knowing they shared a secret that would bond them together forever. Larry couldn?t even say anything to Patty. ?Oh my God,? he thought with a rush of guilt mixed with love, he hadn?t even called her about the accident! What if she heard about it from someone else? He called home immediately, assuring his young wife that, although there?d been a problem with one of the planes, he was fine and would be home soon.
The phone rang and jerked Larry out of his daydream, back to reality, back to his office at FAA headquarters in Washington, DC. It was a long way from that flight in Maine. It was his friend, Pete.
?Hey, Larry, how the heck are you,? the familiar voice inquired.
?I?m great, what's going on with you?? Larry asked.
?Not much, I was wondering if you?d like to go down and get a cup of coffee??
?OK, give me a few minutes to check my e-mail; come on by and pick me up. See you in about 30 minutes.?
Pete worked for Larry as his branch manager in charge of advanced aviation technology. They had a great working relationship and saw each other often socially. Larry enjoyed starting the day off having coffee with Pete in the cafeteria; they did it often. They always seemed to mix a little business with pleasure since Pete really enjoyed talking about the things his group was working on.
As Larry swung around to start checking his e-mail the Capitol dome again caught his eye. This time the big orange sun sat perfectly behind it and made it stand out on the Washington skyline. The beauty of the scene interrupted his plan to get to work. Once again Larry?s mind drifted back over the years to the months that followed the accident.
The investigation dragged on for months and Larry lost track of the number of times he told his story. Sometimes he told it with the PCA attorney present, sometimes he told it with Jack, sometimes he told it by himself, but no matter what the circumstances, the story was always the same. PCA attorneys had taken a statement from him and Jack right after the accident, written it up, and Larry and Jack had both signed off on it. Every time he was questioned they referred to the prepared statement and never deviated. After a while it seemed like everyone just got tired of the whole game and it was over. The only thing that came to light was that the left engine was 13.7 hours over required overhaul time. A violation but not much for the FAA to hang their hat on.
The one positive thing that came out of the whole mess was the friends Larry made with some of the FAA folks. It was through them that he managed to hire on with the agency and ended up working in the Big Apple, near his hometown. Larry always figured he was hired in the hopes he would give them enough information to close old PCA down once and for all. But in the end Larry didn?t have anything they could use, all his memories were good ones.
Shortly after coming on board with the FAA he accepted a position at FAA headquarters and moved his growing family to the Washington area. Life at the FAA had been good and Larry had been able to move up through the ranks with more than a little grace. He liked working at headquarters. He found it exciting.
?Good morning, Larry.? A cheery voice pulled him out of his daydreams and he looked over to see the smiling face of his secretary peering in the office door. ?How you doing?? she questioned.
?Oh, hi, Sarah. I?m doing great, how about you??
?Great,? she answered over her shoulder as she walked toward her desk
?I?m expecting Pete in a few minutes. When he gets here just send him on in.?
?OK,? came her answer from someplace in the outer office.
Larry turned back to his computer, thinking to himself that it was a good time to do a little work. He reached down and snapped on the main power switch on the surge protector power strip. The light brown box started to whir and buzz when the power came on. After a few seconds the screen light as the machine started through its morning wake up routine. Larry reached over and pulled the pile of papers out of his in-basket and started going through them as he waited for the computer to finish initializing. When he looked back at it the familiar FAA logo covered the screen. Larry looked at the brightly colored logo and a sense of pride washed over him as it always did. He was proud to be a part of such a great organization. He knew when he touched the mouse the logo would disappear and a menu of computer activities would appear.
This morning when his hand touched to mouse the logo disappeared and was replaced with a beautiful southwest desert scene. High in the center of the screen a large bird made lazy circles in the mid-day sky. As the bird circled Larry thought to himself, ?What a beautiful scene?. It made him think of his Air Force flight school days. Then as the bird got larger on the screen its right wing appeared to break about midway, with the out portion falling toward the desert floor. The bird started to spin faster and faster. With each turn the spiral got tighter until the big bird hit the desert floor near what appeared to be a small city. A large cloud of dust rose up from the crash site and soon filled the entire computer screen. Then it began to fade and was replaced by the normal menu of computer activities. The entire show had lasted less than a minute, probably no more than 30 seconds.
Larry sat there for a minute or two just thinking about what he had just seen. It had all happened so fast and taken him completely by surprise. He hesitated for a minute not wanting to move the mouse for fear something else strange would happen. Finally he moved the mouse and it responded normally. He slued the cursor to the e-mail and clicked the right button. Instantly he had his long list of waiting e-mail.
He was glad to see the familiar list of unread e-mails. The surprise desert scene, with the bird crashing into the desert floor, had upset him a little and he didn?t know why. Scanning down the list of authors, Larry prioritized the messages in the order he would read them by who had sent the message. The second one down was from Jean Farbie, the Administrator, and he stopped and called it up, wondering to himself what it could be.
?Good morning, Larry, how are we coming with the Condor type certification? I?d like to meet with you at 2 PM, in my office and talk about it. Some folks on the Hill are interested in our progress. Jean.?
Interest on the Hill probably meant Senator Bob Clayborn. The company that was building the Condor, Condor Composite Aircraft Company or CCAC, was located in Clayborn?s home state of New Mexico. There were rumors that Clayborn had some strong ties with Frank Stratton, CCAC?s CEO. Frank Stratton and Larry were old friends; they had been pilots in the same C-141 outfit and had both gotten out of the Air Force at the end of the Viet Nam conflict.
CCAC was in the final stages of building an all-composite 60-passenger regional jet. Larry?s group had been working with them from the start and Larry was fairly well abreast of the company?s progress. He knew the plane was almost ready to be rolled out and would start flight-testing soon.
He moved to the next message from his boss, Tom Rancher. ?Talk to me about the Condor. What?s going on? Give me a call. Tom.?
?Hey Captain, ready for some coffee?? Pete strolled into the office and plopped down in one of the over-stuffed chairs across from Larry.
?Mornin?, Pete. Yeah, just give me a chance to answer a couple of these e-mails.?
He quickly typed out two responses to his messages: ?Jean: See you at 2. Larry? and ?Tom: I?ll see you after the staff meeting. Larry?
When Larry looked up from his keyboard and turned back to Pete before he could say anything Pete said, ?I had a strange thing happen this morning when I turned on my computer.? Then Pete proceeded to describe exactly the same thing that had happen to Larry. The two men looked at each other for a second before Larry smiled and said, ?the same thing happened to me. What do you think this means??
?I?m not sure but I think someone is having some fun with us.? Pete responded, ?I wonder if anyone else got the same seen??
Larry thought for a minute and then said, ?lets keep this between you and I for now. We?ll keep our ears open and see if hear anyone else talking about it. If other people got the same scene they?ll be talking about it. Let?s just wait and see what happens, if anything.?
?OK with me? Pete replied, ?Now can we go get some coffee??
?I thought you?d never ask.?
Larry and Pete wound their way through the maze of modular cubicles out into the main corridor, which ran down the center of each floor from end to end, and headed west. They exchanged good morning greetings with a few passersby as they made their way to the west bank of elevators. Entering one of the little cars, they rode down and exited on the second floor, just outside the cafeteria where they joined the line going into the right side of the facility and picked up their coffee without saying too much. Pete got a couple of biscuits and Larry got a half grapefruit. Larry took the lead and guided them to a little table by a window that looked out on the street and the museum across the way.
The coffee was the first of the day for both men and it tasted good. Larry started digging out the grapefruit while Pete was putting some butter on one of his biscuits.
?You always drink your coffee black?? Pete asked Larry in an effort to make a little small talk.
?Yeah,? answered Larry. ?I guess it?s a hangover from the Air Force. There always seem to be coffee around but most of the time no cream or sugar or sweetener or whatever. Anyway, black coffee keeps me awake without putting on the pounds.? They both laughed and Pete said, ?I don?t know how you can drink the stuff black? and made a face.
?How?re we coming with the Condor project?? Larry asked Pete, and added, ?I got an e-mail from Jean this morning inquiring about it.?
?You know, I just got a bunch of shit from Barry Forcite about that project last night before I went home. You know how he is, he caught me just as I was headed out the door and bent my ear for an hour. You know how he feels about plastic airplanes, anything bigger than a model is too big. He?s dead set against letting that airplane fly and seems to have a dozen reasons why it won?t be safe.? Pete paused, looking at his boss. ?And you know, I?m not all that hot on them either.?
?Yeah, I know how you feel, Pete, but I guess I didn?t know how strongly Barry felt about it.? Larry said, as he looked out the window at the big metal mobile that was slowly dancing about in the wind across the street. How?s Barry doing these days??
?All right, I guess,? Pete answered. ?He hasn?t done anything crazy lately. He knows CCAC?s chief chemist, a guy named Bill Saddler, and doesn?t think much of him. Barry calls him a snake oil salesman who is more politician than scientist. I know at some point we?re going to have to get more closely involved with those guys, and frankly, I?ve been afraid to even bring it up to Barry.
?You?re right about that,? Larry replied, ?and it may be sooner rather than later.?
Barry Forcite worked directly for Pete. He was a subject matter expert who specialized in polymer chemistry. Backed up by a Ph.D. from RPI, which he had completed in record time some 25 years ago, he was a nerd of the very highest order who was considered brilliant in his field. He had worked for a number of different government agencies on some important projects. The FAA had hired him away from NASA a few years ago when they needed an expert on fiberglass and epoxy compounds. NASA gave him a glowing recommendation that seemed too good to be true. It didn?t take the FAA long to figure out why NASA had given up this great scientist so easily. He was beyond being hard to work with; he was a real pain in the ass. In a time when everyone else was trying hard to be a team player, Barry was a pure scientist. Most of the time he was at his computer working on some paper he was trying to get published or in the lab. It was almost impossible to get him to come to meetings or, for that matter, take any kind of direction. He was a total introvert without a political bone in his body. And on top of all that he was a manic-depressive who was under the care of a psychiatrist most of the time. Presently he was stable, and would remain that way as long as he took his medication and nothing happened to upset him. But even at his best, he was unpredictable.
Had it not been for the sheer force of Pete's personality, Barry would have been long gone from this job, too. Pete kept him in line and protected him as much as he could. Barry liked and respected Pete, recognizing him as his benefactor by trying his best to work with him. But Barry?s best was none too good. He just didn?t seem to be able to play the game. It constantly tried Pete?s patience. Pete never knew what Barry was doing and most of the time didn?t know where he was. Every now and then Pete would have to get Barry behind closed doors and ream him out big time, leading Barry to call in sick for a couple days, then he?d OK for five or six months. Pete found himself repeating this cycle on a regular basis. In fact, this had been going on for the five or so years they had been working together. Larry knew all about it and sometimes he and Pete would get a good laugh over it.
?Well, I guess I?d better get back upstairs,? Larry said, as he drained the last sip of coffee from his cup. ?I?ve got to get ready for the nine o?clock staff meeting,? he added. With a deep sigh he took one last look out the window at the museum across the street, and wondered what it would be like to go over there, sit in the shadow of the big bronze lady and just think. He could feel the storm clouds gathering around the Condor and he knew that there were powerful forces at work.
?I?m going to get a cup of coffee to go,? Pete said. ?You want one??
?No, thanks,? Larry replied. The two men left the cafeteria and rode the elevator back to the eighth floor in silence.
?See you later,? Pete said, as they went their separate ways.
Larry headed east down the wide central corridor, saying his good mornings to people he knew along the way. When he walked into his office Sarah looked up with a smile and said, ?Tom called and he seemed a little upset. He wanted you to call him as soon as you got back.?
?Did he say what he wants?? Sarah looked up and shook her head no. Larry thought, as he walked through the door to his office, ?I?ll bet I know what this is all about. I have a hunch Jean?s cutting Tom out of the Condor project and dealing directly with me.? If it were so, he knew Tom would be pissed, and difficult to manage. But if that?s the way Jean wanted to play it, there wasn?t much Larry could do about it, and Tom knew that. Just thinking about it made Larry smile to himself. Whatever happened, Tom had brought it on himself. Tom?s relationship with Jean was little more than an uneasy truce and it had been that way right from Jean?s first day on the job.
Tom Rancher was a hulking man who stood every bit of six foot four or five and weighed close to 300 pounds. He towered over Larry and, more importantly, over Jean. The first thing you noticed about Tom is that he was a lot bigger than you are. His size and demeanor intimidated everyone who came in contact with him. The only one it didn?t seem to bothered was Pete. But it sure bothered Jean. It bothered her a lot. And despite Tom?s best efforts, he was never able to put her at ease.
He was considered by most to be one of the FAA?s ?Old Guard?. He had been around Washington for over 25 years, most of which were at FAA headquarters. Where he came from and how he got to be the head of FAA Flight Standards was a favorite mystery around the coffeepot set. There were lots of stories floating around, but nothing you could really put much stock in. If he had come up through the ranks, he had done it a long time ago. And like most places, the corporate memory only went back five or six years, ten at the most. The one thing that most people, at least the ones that worked for him, agreed on was that, from one Administrator to the next, Tom had not changed that anyone could remember.
The rest of the FAA changed dramatically after the Air Traffic Controllers went on strike in 1981 during the Reagan administration. There was a concentrated effort from the top down to create a gentler and kinder FAA. This ?gentler, kinder? philosophy was to be applied to employees as well as the customers. An agency-wide human relations program was instituted and a dozen or so Ph.D. industrial psychologists were hired and were scattered throughout the regions. They initiated human relation committees throughout the agency, committees tasked to help change the harsh culture of the FAA. They implemented Employee Involvement programs designed to give the employees more control over their work environment. The agency was quick to learn the new language of Employee Involvement (EI) but very slow to embrace its concepts. The ?Old Guard? of autocratic managers learned to talk-the-talk, but they never learned to walk-the-walk. A basic premise of management technique for any good manager is, when selecting and promoting, to select or promote someone just like oneself, if possible. Autocratic managers beget autocratic managers.
Tom Rancher was wrapped in the thinnest of thin coats of EI paint. He paid homage to the EI god only when he had no other choice. The rest of the time he behaved like your classic Gorilla in a three-piece suit.
Jean?s dislike for Tom was no secret. Everyone knew how she felt and many respected her more for it. She would have gotten rid of him if she could have figured out a way to do so quietly. But she knew Tom wouldn?t go quietly and he had friends, so getting rid of him would take too much energy and political currency. She?d just wait. In the mean time she didn?t have to work with him if she didn?t want to. And the Condor 60 was one project she wasn?t going to work with him on. The Condor 60 certification was a big deal and she was determined to keep Tom totally out of it. She knew that before it was over he would be mad as hell, maybe mad enough to retire. One can only hope, she thought to herself.
