The Public Works

    “A couple. The last about five minutes ago.” 
    “How’s our line?” 
    “Right on. Concord Air Service has been calling also.” Brian continued.
“They all sound a little nervous about now.” 
     Endicott smiled slightly. “I really hate to put them through this, but up
until now they could have insisted we divert to the coast, probably Portsmouth or Portland, Maine. They still will, but we can bluff our way in from here, what with our communication problems.” The smile faded as he reached for the headset and put it on. “I guess its time to let them know we’re still airborne before they start contacting a lot of people I’m sure we don’t want to talk to.” 
    Brian cast a quick glance at his boss. “I would say.” Suddenly, a look of
concentration came across his face. “Here’s their N.D.B. coming in now . . .
we’re right on,” he concluded, satisfied. 
    “Good,” Endicott said, nodding. “Let’s bring her down a little and cut
our speed. And move west about a point. We’re going to make at least one
pass.” 
    Endicott flipped a switch and spoke into the mike. “This is Executive
Lear N-741-E calling Melonia. Come in Melonia . . . This is Executive Lear
N-741-E calling Melonia. Come in Melonia . . .” 
    An excited voice from Melonia came on the air. This is Melonia, N-741-E. Where have you been? We are shut down. Suggest you divert to Portsmouth Air Station. 
    “Thank God!” Endicott breathed into the mike. Brian winced in his seat.
“We can’t do it, Melonia. We’ve had some electrical problems here. It seems okay for the moment, but it could go out any time. So you’re elected. What’s
the situation down there?” 
    Melonia was back in a split second. Repeat, N-741-E. We are shut down! 
    Divert to Portsmouth. We got snow plows on the runway here! 
    Brian’s face seemed to whiten closer to the shade of his suit, but he said
nothing. Endicott continued, calm but firm. “We can’t do that, Melonia. I
repeat, we have no choice. What are your conditions? Can you contact the
plows by radio?” 
    Jesus Christ! came the reply followed by a pause. When Melonia continued the voice was no less animated, but if sounded somewhat resigned. Conditions are lousy! Ceiling is a few hundred feet . . . maybe.The wind is from the southeast . . . at six to eight miles per hour. Visibility is nil . . . call it variable if you want . . . hell, half a mile if you’re lucky. I can’t get the plows. It’s a private outfit. . . no radios!

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