Chapter 1

On the 13th of July 2006 a German Boeing 747 freight airliner, on a schedualed flight from Berlin, via Rotterdam, was approaching Houston when it suddenly disappeared from radar screens.

Reiner Kurzbach reminded his second pilot of a dog who just wouldn't let go of the bone. He was a worrier, a perfectionist, and half an hour after flight 1070 failed to pick up the TACOS waypoint he was still trying to work out the reason.

"Let it go, sir," Armin Krauss told his chief, "perhaps it's just down for servicing?"

"But it should be gazetted. It must be in the Bulletin. This is most unusual. We did receive the latest Flight Information Bulletin?"

"Of course, sir. Austin has closed 41 South for upgrade. That was all, see?" Armin, again, held up the copy of the FIB they'd received before departing Rotterdam. They'd both read it cover to cover. Captain Kurzbach insisted they do so.

In any case, the TACOS beacon was merely a double check of the GPS. Flight Engineer Jurgen Fuller merely used it to compare the data on his screen. In 8 years with the company he'd never had to make even the tiniest adjustment. Jurgen was growing frustrated with the Captain and deeply wanted to change the subject.

"Three minutes to Houston Control!" he announced loudly.

"Good, thank you," Kurzbach acknowledged to the relief of the rest of the crew.

Behind them, in the cabin, the relief crew were playing cards. At Houston they were to change places for the flight to New York. On a passenger Boeing, this would be the upper lounge, but on the cargo version it featured curtained bunks, a kitchen, and entertainment systems for the crew's downtime.

The international air cargo business is highly competitive and time on the ground costs the company money. Air Cargo International Systems prided itself on its management that kept most of the fleet working 24/7. Fast turnarounds, reliability, punctuality; these virtues were hammered into the crews from the day they started work.

ACIS had grown rapidly in the 10 years of its existance. It had started out as a domestic cargo carrier in Germany known as Zeitzler Berlin Air. ZBA had undergone several changes of name before 'going Euro, ' as ACIS, in 1996. Internationally, they relied on a number of affiliated companies to provide depots and freight. This enabled the company to penetrate the lucrative American market through a US domestic company, Burleigh Freight Forwarders.

Flight ten-seventy was a standard schedualled service of ACIS. From Berlin-Templehoff it flew to Rotterdam, then Houston, New York, London before heading back to Berlin. There, both crews were to have a week off before recommencing another round trip.

The preferred aircraft for ACIS was the Boeing 747-400ERF Freighter. In 2003 ACIS bought 17 of them, factory-fresh; one of the largest single orders for that particular model. Clearly such a huge investment required them to be worked hard, and ACIS did just that.

"Houston Control from Flight 1070 heavy, you copy?" Jurgen called into the radio.

"Houston Control. Welcome to America, sir," came the reply immediately. "Is your transponder on, Flight 1070 heavy?"

"Yes sir, Houston Control," the Engineer responded. Captain Kuzbach turned around to his Engineer, a quizzical expression on his face.

"I've no data on my screen for you, 1070 heavy," replied the Air Traffic Controller, "can you tell me your registry, destination and company, sir?"

Fuller smiled in amusement. He watched his front seat colleagues roll their eyes and shake their heads. He knew what they were thinking, 'millions of dollars spent on state-of-the-art traffic control and it couldn't identify a frequent, schedualled flight.' "Delta Tango Tango Baker Baker, Houston, Air Cargo International Systems, code 'ACI, ' Houston Control," Fuller explained.

"Thank you, sir... arr... sir?" came the reply from Houston Control, "I'm still not getting a match, 1070 heavy. What's your type of Aircraft?"

"Boeing 747-400ERF, Houston Control."

"Ah... aha... sir, can you repeat that, 1070 heavy?" Fuller did, and the Controller punched in the details. "Ok, he replied after a pause, "still nothing... I'm getting 'void registry, ' you sure of the data?"

"Of course," Fuller was growing irritated. This was their crossword puzzle, their software problem. All he wanted was course, speed, and weather to Houston.

"Ok, 1070 heavy," the Controller said at last, "maintain course, descend 20.5, weather fine and clear, wind South 4 knots. A beautiful Texas morning, flight 1070 heavy."

"1070 heavy, maintain course, descend to 20,500 feet, thank you, sir. And it's evening, is it not?"

"10am, 1070 heavy."

All three of the crew looked at each other, mystified.

A moment later, the Captain spoke up so both of his colleagues could hear. Precisely, he asked each of them to look at the screen, where he'd brought up the weather radar. Mindful of the Cockpit Voice Recorder, the CVR, he wanted both of them to acknowledge what he was seeing.

"Storm front over the Houston area," Armin Krauss confirmed, "pressure below 680, sir, severe risk of wind sheer on approach." Kurzbach nodded and called over the Engineer. For the benefit of the CVR he had Fuller repeat the data. The Captain was sure there'd be an enquiry. Houston Control had stated the weather was clear, yet that was obviously incorrect.

"Houston Control, Houston Control," he snapped, "this is 1070 heavy. Will you confirm the weather over Houston?"

"Fine, clear, South 4 knots, 1070 heavy." The Controller sounded peeved.

"I'm reading a storm front, Houston, wind sheer alert!"

There was a deafening silence for several minutes before the Controller came on again. "Houston Tower confirms weather fine and clear, wind..."

"With respect, that's bullshit, Houston Control," snapped the Captain, "give me a course to our alternate, Austin. I'm not landing in that shit!"

"Sir... ah... 1070 heavy, I don't understand. I can see out the window, it's..."

By now the crew of 1070 could clearly see the inky black storm ahead. Already the wings were beginning to tremble from the eddy currents.

"Austin! Houston Control, give me Austin! Course and weather, if you please!"

"Yes, sir, 1070 heavy, your call! Ah, come to 130... Height 20.5... handover to Austin tower in 15 minutes." Houston Control sounded relieved to get rid of the puzzling and ill-tempered crew of Flight 1070.

"Thank you, Houston, get some sleep!" Kurzbach acknowledged, sarcastically.

A few minutes later a call came from another flight. "1070 heavy, this is Delta Flight 501 heavy. We've just left Houston, sir, and there's no sign of a storm."

"Thank you, 501 heavy, but I prefer my own radar data," Kurzbach replied. He was in no mood for interference. He was a man who made up his mind and nothing on earth would shake him from it. "And the evidence from my own eyes."

"Suit yourself, 1070 heavy!"

"What the fuck's going on, Captain?" Armin Krauss asked Kurzbach, "maybe they're in some sort of storm's eye?"

"Even so, they should see the storm from the tower at Houston. That Delta flight must be flying through the shit right now."

"I can't find him on the screen... that Delta flight... can't see him at all!" added Fuller.

"Air pressures, perhaps? Sometimes they do strange things to the radar," suggested Krauss.

"Never known that before," grumbled the Engineer, "not with this equipment anyway."

Kurzbach, the professional, knew what he had to do if the radar was malfunctioning. Although he didn't like it, he had to inform Houston Control. "Houston Control, this is 1070 heavy. We may have a problem with our navigation radar. Can you assure us of 5 kilometres separation?"

"Yes, sir, 1070 heavy. You're good to Austin Tower. American 377 is above you, 1000 feet... there's a private Cessna 2000 below, 4 miles South."

Fuller took another look at his screen but saw neither of the two aircraft. Instead, a blip hove into view, below, and 8 kilometres distant. Where the transponder information should be was the code, 'UA, ' unidentified aircraft.

"What's below us, 8k?" Fuller asked Houston.

"Clear air, 1070 heavy. I've nothing on my screen."

"You can't see it, Houston?" Kurzbach interrupted, aghast, "its heading appears to be 170, height 19."

"No, sir, 1070 heavy, can't see a thing."

"1070 heavy, this is American 377 heavy. I'm not getting anything either. You sure it's not some kind of echo?" chimed in the American Airlines flight above them.

"We need to get the radar thoroughly checked out," announced Kurzbach to his colleagues, "this is simply not on."

"Weird," said the Engineer, "never seen anything like it. This equipment is so reliable, state of the art."

"Anything built by mankind can fuck up, in my experience. Lets get onto Austin Tower and put this crate on the ground. I want full logs, Engineer, to help the techs identify the problem. I want clean systems before I'll allow this aircraft to take off again."

"Yes, Captain, I'm on it."

Shortly afterwards, Austin Tower called. They'd been already informed of 1070's problems and, like Houston, couldn't find a match for the flight or aircraft on its database. Again, like Houston, they filled in the flight information manually. As 1070 settled into its distant approach to Austin Airport, Kurzbach asked to be put through to ACIS's agents, BFF.

"BFF, sir, I'm Raul Hernandez, Operations Officer, how can I help?"

"This is ACIS Flight 1070, diverted from Houston. We're having problems with our radar systems, here. Could you call the contractors and have them ready when we touch down? I want everything checked before we continue."

"Who are you, sir?" asked the BFF man.

"ACIS 1070, from Berlin via Rotterdam. You'll need to arrange transfer of the cargo. There's a printing press on board for a company in Austin. I'd suggest that's makes things a little easier, at least."

"Sir?" the man sounded confused, "I haven't heard of your company. Have you something to do with Burleigh? Have you the right company, sir?"

"Of course I have," Kurzbach replied irritated, "you've been associated with us for 8 years. Air Cargo International Systems, the second largest air freight company in Europe. Now does it ring a bell?"

"No, sir, can't say it does. What do you want us to do for you?"

"Have all you Americans completely lost your wits?" Kurzbach exploded. Armin saw his chief grow from unease to a point where he was losing control. He felt he needed to try and calm the man down for their safety. Unlike his Captain, he was slow to be thrown by unusual circumstances. They tended to compliment each other. Kurzbach was a stickler, fussy, who saw likely problems before they became serious. He, Armin, worked well under stress and could think creatively out of situation.

"Sir, allow me?" he suggested to the Captain. Kurzbach was glad to hand the radio to his second officer while he concentrated on picking up the ILS, the Instrument Landing System. "Raul, I'm sorry about that... tough day at the office."

"No problem. We all have those. What can we do?"

"Do you have a contracting company for Raytheon Systems?"

"Sure do. Texas Flight Systems Maintenance, sir."

"Can you ask them to give us a hand? We need the radar checked out."

"Consider it done, sir. Where will you be parked?"

"Can we use your tarmac, sir?"

"I guess. Will you be staying long, sir? We're expecting a Herc in three days."

"We'll be out of there before that, I hope. You still using Hercs, Raul? I thought they'd all been retired?"

"Retired? Hell no! Lots of hours left in those birds yet."

"Odd, I heard you'd all gone over to the BCF."

"BCF?"

"Boeing 747-300B Converted Freight."

"Nope, never heard of it."

"Are you sure? We got the ERFs in 03, remember? Burleigh had just bought 5 BCFs for the LAX La Guardia service the year before. I'm fairly sure you converted completely by late 2004."

"You say, when?" Raul asked, confusion in his voice.

"Late 2004, don't you remember?"

"Sir, are you kidding me?"

"Where's the fucking ILS?" interrupted Kurzbach. Armin apologised and quickly hung up on the BFF agent. "I can't find the ILS," complained the Captain.

"Where are we?" the second officer asked.

"85 kilometres from Austin 41 South. We should've been on ILS for the last 60 kilometres. I get nothing at all."

"What does the tower say?" Armin asked.

"You ask them. I get nothing but nonsense." Armin feared that Kurzbach was losing the plot. The unusual goings-on was finally beginning to unhinge the Captain, and Armin was worried.

"Austin Tower, this is 1070 heavy. We are not on the ILS, is there a problem?" Armin asked.

"Austin Tower, 1070 heavy, ILS is fully operational. You should pick it up in... 3 minutes."

Something else seemed strange, Armin thought. 41 South was supposed to be closed for an upgrade. He'd read it in the Flight Information Bulletin back at Rotterdam.

"Thank you, Austin Tower. Please confirm 41 South? Is it not closed?"

"No sir," Austin replied, "good to go."

Beside him, Kurzbach was leafing through the Airports' Manual. At last he found Austin and read the data quickly, as one who knew what he was looking for. "There," he announced, "Austin, ILS range 150 kilometres. I knew it, it's the best there is. They put it in last year."

"Austin Tower from 1070 heavy," Armin asked, "are you on back-up ILS?"

"Aha!" Kurzbach announced, relieved, "got it... there's the glide slope, see? Approach looking good!"

"Forget it, Austin Tower, we're on ILS now," Armin called, "speed 180 knots."

"Looking good, 1070," confirmed the tower, "welcome to Austin."

"Thank you, Austin Tower."

The crew of 1070 breathed a collective sigh of relief as the big 747 squealed down on the runway. They rolled past rows of airliners parked at the passenger termini. Most appeared to be 737s and DC-9s of domestic airlines, such as Delta.

But all the crew noticed that there was something strange about many of the parked aircraft. Most of them sported airline livery that had either gone out of fashion, or representing airlines that had long since merged or gone out of business.

It was as if Austin was locked into a period 20 years ago, before the enormous shake-down of domestic air travel that had occurred in the 90s and following 9/11.

Kurzbach was speechless in shock and couldn't cope at all. Fuller just stared out the window in wonder. It was Armin who regained himself first.

"There's BFF," he told the others. Pulling himself away from the contradictions around him. "That van must be the contractors. Raul's pretty sharp, isn't he?"

Kurzbach looked at him, open-mouthed. He clearly hadn't heard a word he'd said. Armin took control of the taxiing aircraft and guided it towards BFF's terminal. A controller in a day-glo boiler suit guided them to a stop on the tarmac in front of the huge BFF depot building.

It was Armin who wound down the four CF6 Turbofans and went through the postflight routine. A tractor pushed a ladder up to the crew door and two technicians in blue boiler suits with day-glo vests jogged up it. Armin went through the crew cabin and down the stairs to greet the men.

The three relief crew, he noted, were still playing cards while strapped to their seats. He smiled as he hurried past. They'd clearly no idea what had been going on.

The first of the technicians to appear introduced himself as 'Bull' Martin. He shook hands warmly and asked Armin for a quick run down of the problem. As he explained, 'Bull' furrowed his brow in thought.

"I ain't heard nuthin' like that before," he told Armin, "what you got in this aircraft?"

"A ninetyseven fifty, he replied.

"Ain't heard of that," Bull said, "hey Damon," he asked his friend, "you heard of a ninetyseven fifty?" Damon shook his head. "You sure it's a Raytheon?"

"Of course," Armin told him, "take a look?"

"I guess, but I ain't sure we've got modules for that model. We might have to call Raytheon." The two technicians ascended the stairs to the cockpit.

The next to appear was Raul, BFF's Operations Officer. He introduced himself warmly and asked Armin whether he could be of any assistance. The Second Officer liked the man instantly.

"Hungry?" Raul asked, "you're welcome to have lunch in our diner. Biggest steaks in Texas!"