a time." One slice at Lincoln International miglit be to prohibit use of non-supervised insurance vending machines, as some airports had already done. One state---Colorado---had outlawed the machines by Legislative Act. Other states, Mel knew, were considering similar legislation, though there was nothing to stop airports, meanwhile, from acting on their own.
It was the insurance vending machine system which Mel liked least, even though D. O. Guerrero's huge insurance policy tonight had not been bought that way. Then, if over-the-counter sales remained---for a few more years until public opinion could be molded---there would have to be more safeguards...
Even though Mel had resolved not to make a firm decision, it was obvious to himself which way his reasoning was going.
The radio, still tuned to airport maintenance frequency, had been busy with calls between vehicles. Now it announced, "Snow Desk to mobile one."
Mel responded, "Go ahead, Danny."
"Four plows and three graders, with convoy leader, are on their way to runway three zero as instructed. What orders, please?"
Mel chose his words carefully, aware that somewhere in an electronic maze beneath the control tower they were being recorded on tape. Later he might have to justify them. He also wanted to be sure there was no misunderstanding.
"Mobile one to Snow Desk. All plows and graders, under direction of convoy leader, will stand by near Aereo-Mexican aircraft which is blocking runway three zero. Vehicles are not, repeat not, initially to obstruct the aircraft, which in a few minutes will attempt to move under its own power. But if that attempt fails, plows and graders will be ordered in to push the aircraft sideways, and to clear the runway. This will be done at any cost, and with all speed. Runway three zero must be open for use in approximately thirty minutes, by which time the obstructing aircraft and all vehicles must be clear. I will coordinate with air traffic control to decide at what time the plows will be ordered in, if necessary. Acknowledge, and confirm. that these instructions are understood"
Inside the car the reporter, Tomlinson, whistled softly. Tanya turned toward Mel, her eyes searching his face.
On radio there were several seconds' silence, then Danny Farrow's voice. "I guess I understand. But I'd better be sure." He repeated the gist of the message, and Mel could imagine Danny sweating again, as he had been earlier.
"Roger," Mel acknowledged. "But be clear about one thing. If those plows and graders go in, I'll give the order; no one else."
"It's clear," Danny radioed. "And better you than me. Mel, I guess you've figured what that equipment of ours'll do to a 707."
"It'll move it," Mel said tersely. "Right now that's the important thing." There was, Mel knew, other motorized equipment in Airport Maintenance, capable of the same kind of brute force clearing job; but using the Conga Line units, already on the runways, would be surer and faster. He signed off, and replaced the radio mike.
Tomlinson said incredulously, "Move it! A six-million dollar airplane shoved sideways by snowplows! My God, you'll tear it to pieces! And afterward, the owners and insurers'll do the same to you."
"I wouldn't be surprised," Mel said. "Of course, a lot depends on your point of view. If the owners and insurers were on that other flight coming in, they might be cheering."
"Well," the reporter conceded, "I'll grant you there are some decisions take a lot of guts."
Tanya's hand reached down beside her and found Mel's. She said softly, emotion in her voice, "I'm cheering---for what you're doing now. Whatever happens after, I'll remember."
The plows and graders which Mel had summoned were coming into sight, traveling fast down the runway, roof beacons flashing.
"It may never happen." Mel squeezed Tanya's hand before releasing it, then opened the car door. "We've twenty minutes to hope it won't."
WHEN MEL Bakersfeld approached him, Joe Patroni was stomping his feet in an effort to be warm; the effort was largely unsuccessful despite the fleece-lined boots and heavy parka the TWA maintenance chief was wearing. Apart from the brief time Patroni had spent on the aircraft flight deck when the Aereo-Mexican captain and first officer departed, he had been continuously out in the storm since his arrival on the scene more than three hours ago. As well as being cold and physically tired from his various exertions of the day and night, his failure to move the stranded jet despite two attempts so far, had made his temper ready to erupt.