Final Approach (43 page)

Joe decided on one last attempt. “Mr. Walters, was the amount of time the copilot took to seize control reasonable or extraordinarily lengthy in the view of North America flight-operations management? And, if it was extraordinarily long, doesn't that fact alone indicate that he was not guarding the aircraft, not functioning as an effective safety backup to the captain?”

Walters's face remained a mask of stern determination as he flipped through a briefing notebook and found the section he had been searching for. “Mr. Wallingford, based on industry studies of subtle incapacitation of which this Board should be aware, the answer is no, it was not excessive, and in this case the copilot probably should never have seized control in the first place. But there is one other point I want to make. Our airline, which has many decades of safe flying to its credit, is a captain-oriented airline. That's one reason we're so safe. The captain is, as he should be, the commander, as Dick Timson properly indicated. He and he alone makes the decisions. When to fly, when to land, how to land. Copilots are merely captains-in-training, nothing more, and we certainly don't tolerate them hanging on to the controls during an approach, or for that matter seizing control or second-guessing the real captain.”

“Not even if the airplane is in imminent peril?” Joe asked, as evenly as possible.

“We don't know that it was in imminent peril,” Walters snapped.

“But what if it
was
in peril? Treat this as a hypothetical situation, if necessary. Would you not concede that a copilot's duty is to try to save the aircraft?”

“A copilot's duty is to serve his captain, who is his instructor.”

“And never take control?”

“Well, if the captain dies on the controls, or something drastic”—Walters's right hand swept the air—“then of course he's expected to take over. But we don't allow our copilots to stage a mutiny anytime they don't like the captain's flight technique.”

“Are you a pilot, Mr. Walters?”

“Has nothing to do with it.”

“The reasons for our questions are none of your concern. I ask again, are you a licensed pilot, Mr. Walters?”

“No. And that's immaterial.”

Susan pulled her microphone closer. “Excuse me, but I have a question, Mr. Walters. Is that what you are saying happened here, that copilot Leyhe mutinied and seized control of Flight 255 without reason, authorization, or propriety? Are you saying that it would be the policy of your airline, as well as your opinion, that he should have sat with his hands in his lap and let this captain continue on a course that apparently would guarantee impact with the ground?”

John Walters realized too late that he had painted himself into a corner. There was no graceful exit. “Madam Chairman, what I'm trying to say is that all this blathering we heard yesterday, all the preconceived, prejudicial ideas that the people on your staff have locked themselves into, and some of Mr. Wallingford's questions this morning—all of them assume the captain was doing something wrong and the copilot had to take over. This is supposed to be a nonprejudicial forum, and I'm telling all of you that no one has yet
proven
that our captain was doing anything wrong, and he himself has testified under oath that he was not. Nor, I might add, is there any justification for involving management style in this investigation.”

Joe knew Susan couldn't leave that challenge unanswered. “Mr. Walters,” she said, “I think we're talking past each other. You're talking about proof in legalistic terms, but an NTSB Board of Inquiry is not a court of law, nor are we under rules of evidence. While that does not excuse any prejudicial conduct on the part of any of us, I'll say for the record I don't believe there's been any such conduct or questioning or any so-called preconceived notions here. I understand your desire to preserve the record for your company, but that type of posturing is best done in a court, not here. Now, I think Mr. Wallingford has additional questions, and I think all of us would appreciate a direct, nonargumentative response to each one.”

Walters said nothing and Joe began again. “Mr. Walters, just a few more. Why, in your opinion, did copilot Leyhe seize control?”

Walters looked out at the audience, at the spot where Dick Timson sat impassively. He looked at his own people at the North America table, then back at Joe Wallingford before answering.

“We'll never know, Mr. Wallingford, but it had not a damn thing in the world to do with the way we manage our company.”

That was enough. Joe dismissed Walters after polling the other parties and finding that no one wanted to question him further. There was no point.

Walters had placed North America's assistant chief pilot Dan Butler on the witness list the day before. Susan asked him as he left the stand if he still wanted Butler to testify.

“Yes, Madam Chairman, to rebut some of these scandalous and inflammatory lies that a handful of our dissident pilots spewed out earlier like poison onto this record.”

Susan shook her head visibly while looking Walters straight in the eye. “Sir, another accusation like that and I will expel you from this hearing. Is that clear?”

“What about Captain Butler?”

“I call Dan Butler. Mr. Butler, if you please.”

Dan Butler, slim, balding, and in his mid-thirties, got to his feet uncertainly as John Walters reached the North America table once more and turned on his microphone.

“Please refer to him as Captain Butler, Madam Chairman,” Walters interjected, none too softly, as an obviously embarrassed Butler sat down in the witness chair.

“Are you a management captain, Captain Butler, without a seniority number, or did you come into management as a regular line pilot?” Joe asked, after they had read the usual name and position information into the record.

“I'm a line pilot who moved into flight management.”

“If you had not gone into management, would you be senior enough to be a line captain today?”

“No sir.”

“Do you know what position you'd have?”

Butler hesitated, looking at Walters for any signs of how to handle the unexpected line of questions. “With all the furloughs we've had, I … would probably be a senior flight engineer, a second officer, on the Boeing 727, which has a three-pilot crew, and maybe a junior copilot on the 737, which has two.”

“But because you're in management, you've made captain?”

“I was given the chance to go through the training and qualify as a captain, yes sir. And I did.”

“Madam Chairman,” Walters began, “I object to—”

“To what, Mr. Walters? You have no standing to object. That is the last interruption I will tolerate.” Susan was fuming, a wooden gavel in her right hand for the first time in two days. “Continue, Mr. Wallingford.”

“Did Captain Timson start out as a line pilot too?” Joe asked.

“Yes sir.”

“How long was he on the line?”

“I think, uh, two or three years. He was a base manager for many years, then held my position, assistant chief pilot, and was made chief pilot about four years ago.”

“How about yourself? How long were you on the line as a regular North America pilot?” Joe asked.

“Seven years.”

Joe shuffled through his notes, watching Butler out of the corner of his eye. There was something very wrong about his nervousness and the way he kept looking at Walters, who was trying to avoid looking back.

“Captain Butler, John Walters is your immediate supervisor, right?”

“Dick Timson, uh, was, as chief pilot. At the moment—while Captain Timson is out on medical leave—Mr. Walters would be my immediate boss, yes.”

“Do you have a shot at the chief pilot's job if Timson steps down?”

Butler looked stunned. “I … why do … I don't know.”

“I ask that to gauge your answers. If Mr. Walters has your future position in his hands, then a good performance here would help, and a bad one would hurt, correct?”

“Sir, if you're implying that I'm going to lie …”

“Captain, no one is expecting you to lie, but the way you see things may be colored by whatever career pressure you're under.”

Butler merely shook his head. “I don't agree.”

“Okay, let me ask one other question before I get into the heart of this matter. Has John Walters, or any other superior at North America, coached you on what to say or how to say it on this witness stand?”

Dan Butler looked like he wanted to run from the room. His eyes riveted on John Walters, who was not looking, and then on Joe, who could read the uncertainty in them. “I would rather not try to answer that question,” he said at last, “because we've talked about so much, I'm not sure whether you'd call that coaching or not.”

Clever answer, Joe thought to himself. But let's see how long it holds up. “Okay, you realize that one of the things we are probing here is whether an oppressive management style can intimidate pilots into not acting in the interests of safety when they should act, and whether your airline's management style or atmosphere could be considered oppressive. We have noted that North America objects to this characterization, but we are still going to ask the question. So let me ask you, was Dick Timson's management style intimidating to pilots?”

“No,” was the rapid reply from Butler.

“Well, could you elaborate?”

“Just no. It was not intimidating.”

“You mean to you?”

“To me, or to the pilots under us. I mean, it shouldn't have been.”

“Captain, you heard the previous pilot witnesses describe Captain Timson's management style as being very forceful, characterizing him as a man who would not tolerate dissent or disobedience, or late departures. Do you agree with their analysis?”

“No, I don't.” Once again Butler answered, then fell silent. No elaboration, no passion, no support.

Joe cocked his head and looked at Butler, who was looking back nervously. “Well, Captain, would you tell us why you don't agree?”

Butler cleared his throat, his eyes darting over the panel and over the various tables. “Well, uh, they may have a different point of view, but the fact is, we simply ran a tight ship under Captain Timson.”

Joe waited for him to continue, but in vain. “Captain, let me get specific, then. I'm handing you a copy of a memo posted in all the crew rooms on the night of the accident, in which management is telling all captains forcefully to, in effect, be very careful how they exercise their authority as the final determining factor of whether or not a flight is safe to operate. Have you read this, sir?”

An assistant handed Butler the memo. “Yes.”

“Was Captain Timson the real author of that?”

“Yes sir.”

“It would seem that this removes much of the captain's discretionary authority, perhaps illegally, by providing a penalty—that of explaining his actions in writing under threat of dismissal—for disagreeing with maintenance. Do you read it that way?”

Butler's hand was shaking as he held the memo, hesitating as his eyes darted back and forth over the paper, as if afraid there was a trick in the question. “No, I don't. It's just telling the captains to be responsible.”

“And you don't think a line captain could construe that to mean that he's got to fly regardless of maintenance conditions?”

“No I don't.”

“How long have you held the rank of captain, Captain?”

“About eight months.”

“And how many hours do you have as a captain flying passengers in the real world?”

“I guess about one hundred or so.”

“Only one hundred?”

“Yes sir.”

Joe sat back and looked at Butler, realizing Walters had to have been desperate to risk putting him on the stand. There was obviously no one else to help shore up their viewpoint, but the move had hurt them. Yes and no and limited answers would do absolutely nothing to help the investigation, nor, for that matter, the company's image. Joe leaned forward again, a risky decision made.

“Captain, how long have you held your
position
, as assistant chief pilot?”

“About one year.”

“Did you enjoy working with Captain Timson?”

“That's really meaningless to me, sir, I just did my job. It didn't depend on enjoyment.”

“But was he easy to work with?”

“Timson?” Butler asked.

“Of course, Timson. Was he easy or difficult as your boss?”

“He was tough, but fair.”

“Was that a rehearsed line, Captain?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“I think you do, sir.” Joe paused, his mind racing ahead. If he was any judge of human nature, this man had not been comfortable under Timson and had probably considered leaving the office and returning to the line. Joe had no hard information to that effect, but it was logical—and it was worth a shot. “Captain, isn't it true that you were thinking of leaving your position and going back to the line?”

Butler's head jerked toward Joe, a very puzzled expression on his face, his eyes searching Joe's for an indication of what had prompted the question, and for a second, Joe thought it had been in vain.

“I … well, I had been considering it, yes.”

Bingo! Now to see how far I can go with this, Joe thought. “You'd done more than consider it, hadn't you? You had discussed it with several friends, telling them you couldn't stand it anymore. Right?”

There was no answer. That was probably too much gambling and guesswork, but he had already started down the path. “Captain, am I right about that? I should remind you that you're under oath here.”

Butler's head dropped as he began studying the tablecloth, and his answer was so quiet Joe almost didn't hear it.

“Yes.”

“Sir?”

Butler turned toward Joe again, this time with a different expression, a resolve, his eyes closed and head nodding. “Yes, Mr. Wallingford, your information is exactly correct.”