A thin streak of red was starting to appear behind the flat range of the Gila Mountains to the east. The sky overhead was deep indigo, a few stars still visible. The air was very cold; Casey could see her breath. She zipped up her windbreaker and stamped her feet, trying to stay warm.
On the runway, lights shone up at the Transpacific wide-body, as the FT team finished installing the video cameras. There were men on the wings, around the engines, by the landing gear.
The Newsline crew was already out, filming the preparations. Malone stood alongside Casey, watching them. "Jesus it's cold," she said.
Casey went into the Right Test Station, a low Spanish-style bungalow beside the tower. Inside, the room was filled with monitors, each displaying the feed from a single camera. Most of the cameras were focused on specific parts-she found the camera on the right locking pin-and so the room had a technical, industrial feeling. It was not very exciting.
"This isn't what I expected," Malone said.
Casey pointed around the room. "There's the cockpit. High mount down. Cockpit, facing back at the pilot. You see Rawley there, in the chair. The interior cabin, looking aft Interior cabin, looking forward. Looking out on right wing. The left wing, Those are your main interiors. And we'll also have the chase plane."
"Chase plane?"
"An F-14 fighter follows the widebody all through the flight, so we'll have those cameras, too."
Malone frowned. "I don't know," she said, in a disappointed voice. "I thought it would be more, you know, glitzy."
"We're still on the ground."
Malone was frowning, unhappy. "These angles on the cabin," she said. "Who will be in there, during the flight?"
"Nobody."
"You mean the seats will be empty?"
"Right. It's a test flight."
"That isn't going to look very good," Malone said.
"But that's how it is on a test flight," Casey said. "This is how it's done."
"But it doesn't look good," Malone said. "This isn't compelling. There should be people in the seats. At least, in some of them. Can't we put some people on board? Can't I go on board?"
Casey shook her head. "It's a dangerous flight," she said. "The airframe was badly stressed by the accident. We don't know what will happen."
Malone snorted. "Oh, come on. There aren't any lawyers here. How about it?"
Casey just looked at her. She was a foolish kid who knew nothing about the world, who was just interested in a look, who lived for appearances, who skimmed over surfaces. She knew she should refuse.
Instead, she heard herself say, "You won't like it."
"You're telling me it's not safe?"
"I'm telling you that you won't like it."
"I'm going on," Malone said. She looked at Casey, her expression an open challenge. "So: How about you?'
In her mind, Casey could hear Marty Reardon's voice, as he said, Despite her repeated insistence that the N-22 was safe, Norton's own spokesperson, Casey Singleton, refused to board the plane for the flight test. She said that the reason she wouldn't fly on it was…
What?
Casey didn't have an answer, at least not an answer that would work for television. Not an answer that would play. And suddenly the days of strain, the effort to try and solve the incident, the effort to contrive an appearance for television, the effort to make sure she didn't say a single sentence that could be taken out of context, the distortion of everything in her life for this unwarranted intrusion of television, made her furious. She knew exactly what was coming. Malone had seen the videos, but she didn't understand they were real.
"Okay," Casey said. "Let's go."
They went out to the plane.
Jennifer shivered: it was cold inside the airplane, and under fluorescent lights, the rows of empty seats, the long aisles, made it seem even colder. She was faintly shocked when she recognized, in places, the damage that she had seen on the videotape. This was where it happened, she thought. This was the plane. There were still bloody footprints on the ceiling. Broken luggage bins. Dented fiberglass panels. And a lingering odor. Even worse, in some places the plastic panels had been pulled off around the windows, so that she could see the naked silver padding, the bundles of wires. It was suddenly all too clear that she was in a big metal machine. She wondered if she had made a mistake, but by then Singleton was gesturing for her to take a seat, right in the front of the center cabin, facing a locked-down video camera.
Jennifer sat beside Singleton and waited as one of the Norton technicians, a man in coveralls, tightened the shoulder harness around her body. It was one of those harnesses like the stewardesses wore on regular flights. Two green canvas straps came over each shoulder, meeting at the waist. Then there was another wide canvas strap that went across her thighs. Heavy metal buckles clamped it all in place. It looked serious.
The man in coveralls pulled the straps tight, grunting.
"Jeez," Jennifer said. "Does it have to be that tight?'
"Ma'am, you need it as tight as you can stand it," the man said. "If you can breathe, it's too loose. Can you feel the way it is now?'
"Yes," she said.
"That's how you want it when you put it back on. Now here's your release here…" He showed her. "Pull that now."
"Why do I need to know-"
"Case of emergency. Pull it, please."
She pulled the release. The straps sprang away from her body, the pressure released.
"And just do it up again yourself, if you don't mind."
Jennifer put the contraption back together, just as he had done it before. It wasn't difficult. These people made such a fuss about nothing.
"Now tighten it, please, ma'am."
She pulled the straps.
'Tighter."
"If I need it tighter, I'll tighten it later."
"Ma'am," he said, "by the time you realize you need it tighter, it'll be too late. Do it now, please."
Alongside her, Singleton was calmly putting the harness on, cinching it down brutally. The straps dug into Singleton's thighs, pulled hard on her shoulders. Singleton sighed, sat back.
"I believe you ladies are prepared," the man said. "You have a pleasant flight."
He turned, and went out the door. The pilot, that Rawley character, came back from the cockpit, shaking his head.
"Ladies," he said. "I urge you not to do this." He was looking mostly at Singleton. He almost seemed to be angry at her.
Singleton said, "Fly the plane, Teddy."
"That's your best offer?"
"Best and final."
He disappeared. The intercom clicked. "Prepare to close, please." The doors were closed, clicked shut. Thunk, thank. The air was still cold. Jennifer shivered in her harness.
She looked over her shoulder at the rows of empty seats. Then she looked at Singleton.
Singleton stared straight ahead.
Jennifer heard the whine of the jet engines as they started up, a low moan at first, then rising in pitch. The intercom clicked. She heard the pilot say, 'Tower this is Norton zero one, request clearance for FT station check."
Click. "Roger zero one, taxi across runway two left contact point six."
Click. "Roger, tower."
The plane began to move, rolling forward. Out the windows she saw the sky was lightening. After a few moments, the plane stopped again.
"What are they doing?" Jennifer asked.
"Weighing it," Singleton answered. "They weigh before and after, to guarantee we've simulated flying conditions."
"On some kind of scale?"
"Built into the concrete."
Click. 'Teddy. Need, uh, about two feet more on nose."
Click . "Hangon."
The whine of the engines increased. Jennifer felt the plane inch forward slowly. Then it stopped again.
Click. "Thank you. Got it You're at fifty-seven two seven GW and CO is thirty-two percent MAC. Right where you want to be."
Click. "Bye, guys." Click. 'Tower zero one request clearance for takeoff."
Click. "Cleared runway three contact ground point six three when off the runway."
Click. "Roger."
Then the plane began to roll forward, the engines increasing from a whine to a full deep roar, the sound building until it sounded louder to Jennifer than any engines she had beard before. She felt the thump of me wheels going over the cracks in the runway. And then suddenly they had lifted off, the plane going up, the sky blue out the windows.
Airborne.
Click. "Oh-kay, ladies, we are going to proceed to flight level three seven zero, that's thirty-seven thousand feet, and we are going to circle there between Yuma station and Carstairs, Nevada, for the duration of this excursion. Everybody comfy? If you look to your left, you will see our chase plane coming alongside."
Jennifer looked out and saw a silver jet fighter, glinting in the morning light It was very close to their aircraft, close enough to see the pilot wave. Then suddenly it slid backward.
Click. "Uh, you probably won't see much more of him, he'll be staying high and behind us, out of our wake, the safest place to be. Right now we are coming up on twelve thousand feet, you may want to swallow, Ms. Malone, we're not creeping up like the airlines."
Jennifer swallowed, heard her ears pop loudly. She said, "Why are we going up so fast?"
"He wants to get to altitude quickly, to cold soak the plane."
"Cold soak?"
"At thirty-seven thousand feet, the air temperature is minus fifty degrees. The airplane is warmer than that right now, and different parts will cool off at different rates, but eventually on a long flight-such as a long Pacific crossing-all the parts of the plane will reach that temperature. One of the questions for the IRT is whether the cable rigging behaves differently at cold temperature. Cold soaking means putting the plane up at altitude long enough to cool it down. Then we begin the test"
"How long are we talking?" Jennifer said.
"Standard cold soak is two hours."
"We have to sit here for two hours?"
Singleton looked at her. "You wanted to come."
"You mean we spend two hours doing nothing?"
Click. "Oh, we'll try to amuse you, Ms. Malone," the pilot said. "We're now at twenty-two thousand feet and climbing. It'll be another few minutes to cruise altitude. We are at two eighty-seven KIAS and we will stabilize at three forty KIAS which is point eight Mach, eighty percent of the speed of
sound. That's the usual cruise speed for commercial aircraft Everybody comfy?"
Jennifer said, "Can you hear us?"
"I can hear you and see you. And if you look to your right, you can see me."
A monitor in the cabin in front of them came on. Jennifer saw the pilot's shoulder, his head, the controls arrayed in front of him. Bright light out the window.
Now they were high enough that full sunlight streamed in through the windows. But the ulterior of the plane was still cold. Because she was sitting in the center of the cabin, Jennifer could not see the ground out the windows.
She looked at Singleton.
Singleton smiled.
Click. "Ah, okay, we are now at flight level three seven zero, Doppler clear, no turbulence, a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Would you ladies please unbuckle your harnesses, and come to the cockpit"
What? Jennifer thought But Singleton was already taking hers off, standing up in the cabin.
"I thought we couldn't walk around."
"It's okay right now," Singleton said.
Jennifer climbed out of her harness, and walked with Singleton up through first class, to the cockpit. She felt the faint vibration of the airplane beneath her feet. But it was quite stable. The door to the cockpit was open. She saw Rawley in there, with a second man he didn't introduce, and a third who was working with some instrumentation. Jennifer stood with Singleton just outside the cockpit looking in.
"Now Ms. Malone," Rawley said. "You interviewed Mr. Barker, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"What did he say was the cause of the accident?"
"He said the slats deployed."
"Uh-huh. Okay, please watch carefully. This is the flaps slats handle here. We are at cruise speed, cruise altitude. I am now going to deploy the slats." He reached his hand forward to the thing between the seats.
"Wait a minute! Let me get strapped in!"
"You're perfectly safe, Ms. Malone."
"I want to sit down, at least."
"Then sit down."
Jennifer started back, then realized that Singleton was remaining standing by the cockpit door. Staring at her. Feeling foolish, Jennifer went back and stood by Singleton.
"Deploying slats now."
Rawley pushed the lever down. She heard a faint rumble that lasted a few seconds. Nothing else. The nose tilted, steadied.
"Slats are extended." Rawley pointed to the instrument panel. "You see the speed? You see the altitude? And you see that indicator that says SLATS? We have just duplicated the exact conditions that Mr. Barker insists caused the death of three people, on this very same aircraft. And as you see, nothing happened. The attitude is rock solid. Want to try again?"
"Yes," she said. She didn't know what else to say.
"Okay. Slats retracting. This time, maybe you'd like to do it yourself, Ms. Malone. Or maybe you'd like to walk over and look at the wings, see what actually happens when the slats extend. It's kind of neat."
Rawley pressed a button. "Ah, Norton station, this is zero one, can I have a monitor check?" He listened a moment. "Okay, fine. Ms. Malone, move a little forward, so your friends can see you on that camera up there." He pointed up to the ceiling of the cockpit. "Give 'em a wave."
Jennifer waved, feeling foolish.
"Ms. Malone, how many more times would you like us to extend and retract the slats to satisfy your cameras?"
"Well, I don't know…" She was feeling more foolish by the minute. The flight test was starting to seem like a trap. The footage would make Barker look like a fool. It would make the whole segment look ridiculous. It would make-
"We can do this all day, if you like," Rawley was saying. "That's the point. No problem deploying the slats at cruise speed on the N-22. Plane can handle it fine."
'Try it once more," she said, tightly.
"That's the handle there. Just flip that little metal cover up, and pull it down about an inch."
She knew what he was doing. Putting her in the shot.
"I think you'd better do it."
"Yes, ma'am. Whatever you say."
Rawley pulled the lever down. The rumbling occurred again. The nose went up slightly. Exactly as before.
"Now," Rawley said, "we've got the chase plane getting views for you showing the slats extending, so you'll have exterior angles showing all the action. Okay? Slats retracting."
She watched impatiently. "Well," she said. "If the slats didn't cause this accident, what did?"
Singleton spoke for the first time. "How long has it been now, Teddy?"
"We've been up twenty-three minutes."
"Is that long enough?"
"Maybe. Could happen any minute now."
"What could happen?" Jennifer said.
"The first part of the sequence," Singleton said, "that caused the accident."
"The first part of the sequence?"
"Yes," Singleton said. "Nearly all aircraft accidents are the result of a sequence of events. We call it a cascade. It's never one thing. There's a chain of events, one after another. On this aircraft, we believe the initiating event was an erroneous fault reading, caused by a bad part."
With a sense of dread, Jennifer said, "A bad part?'
She was immediately recutting the tape in her mind. Getting around this awkward point. Singleton had said it was the initiating event. That didn't have to be emphasized, especially if it was just a link in the chain of events. The next link in the chain was equally important-probably more important After all, what had happened on 545 was terrifying and spectacular, it involved the whole airplane, and it was surely unreasonable to blame it on a bad part.
"You said there was a chain of events…"
"That's right," Singleton said. "Several events in a sequence that we believe led to the final outcome."
Jennifer felt her shoulders drop.
They waited.
Nothing happened.
Five minutes went by. Jennifer was cold. She kept glancing at her watch. "What exactly are we waiting for?'
"Patience," Singleton said.
Then there was an electronic ping, and she saw amber words flash on the instrument panel. It said slats disagree.
"There it is," Rawley said.
"There what is?'
"An indication that the FDAU believes the slats are not where they're supposed to be. As you see, the slats lever is up, so the slats should be stowed. And we know they are. But the airplane is picking up a reading that they are not stowed. In this case, we know the warning is coming from a bad proximity sensor in the right wing. The proximity sensor should read the presence of the retracted slat. But this sensor's been damaged. And when the sensor gets cold, it behaves erratically. Tells the pilot the slats are extended, when they're not."
Jennifer was shaking her head. "Proximity sensor… I'm not following you. What does this have to do with Flight 5457'
Singleton said, 'The cockpit on 545 got a warning that something was wrong with the slats. Warnings like that happen fairly frequently. The pilot doesn't know whether something is really wrong, or whether the sensor is just acting up. So the pilot tries to clear the warning; he runs out the slats and retracts them."
"So the pilot on 545 deployed the slats, to clear the warning?"
"Yes."
"But deploying the slats didn't cause the accident…"
"No. We' ve just demonstrated that."
"What did?"
Rawley said, "Ladies, if you will please take your seats, we will now attempt to reproduce the event."
In the center passenger cabin, Casey pulled the harness straps over her shoulders and cinched them tight She looked over at Malone, who was sweating, her face pale.
'Tighter," Casey said
"I already did-"
Casey reached over, grabbed her waist strap, and pulled as hard as she could.
Malone grunted. "Hey, for Christ's-"
"I don't much like you," Casey said, "but I don't want your little ass getting hurt on my watch."
Malone wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Although the cabin was cold, sweat was running down her face.
Casey took out a white paper bag, and shoved it under Malone's thigh. "And I don't want you throwing up on me," she said.
"Do you think we'll need that?"
"I guarantee it," Casey said.
Malone's eyes were flicking back and forth. "Listen," she said, "maybe we should call this off."
"Change the channel?"
"Listen," Malone said, "maybe I was wrong."
"About what?"
"We shouldn't have come on the plane. We should have just watched."
'Too late now," Casey said.
She knew she was being tough with Malone because she was frightened herself. She didn't think Teddy was right about the airframe cracking; she didn't think he was foolish enough to go up in a plane that hadn't been thoroughly checked. He had hung around every minute of the tests, during the structural work, the CET, because he knew in a few days he was going to have to fly it. Teddy wasn't stupid.
But he was a test pilot, she thought.
And all test pilots were crazy.
Click. "All right, ladies, we are initiating the sequence. Everybody strapped in tight?"
"Yes," Casey said.
Malone said nothing. Her mouth was moving, but she wasn't saying anything.
Click. "Ah, chase alpha, this is zero one, initiating pitch oscillations now."
Click. "Roger zero one. We have you. Initiate on your mark."
Click. "Norton ground, this is zero one. Monitor check."
Click. "Check confirm. One to thirty."
Click. "Here we go, fellas. Mark."
Casey watched on the side monitor, which snowed Teddy in the cockpit His movements were calm, assured. His voice relaxed.
Click. "Ladies, I have received my slats disagree warning, and I am now extending the slats to clear the warning. Slats are now extended. I am out of the autopilot now. Nose is up, speed decreases… and I now have a stall…"
Casey heard the harsh electronic alarm, sounding again and again. Then the audio warning, the recorded voice flat and insistent: "Stall… Stall… Stall…"
Click. "I am bringing the nose down to avoid the stall condition…"
The plane nosed over, and began to dive.
It was as if they were going straight down.
Outside the scream of the engines became a shriek. Casey's body was pressing hard against the harness straps. Sitting beside her, Jennifer Malone began to scream, her mouth open, a single unvarying scream that merged with the scream of the engines.
Casey felt dizzy. She tried to count how long it was lasting. Five… six… seven… eight seconds… How long had the initial descent been?
Bit by bit, the plane began to level, to come out of the dive. The scream of die engines faded, changed to a lower register. Casey felt her body grow heavy, then heavier still, then amazingly heavy, her cheeks sagging, her arms pressed down to the armrests. The G-forces. They were at more than two Gs. Casey now weighed two hundred and fifty pounds. She sank lower in the seat, pressed down by a giant hand.
Beside her, Jennifer had stopped screaming, and now was making a continuous low groan.
The sensation of weight decreased as the plane started to climb again. At first the climb was reasonable, then uncomfortable-then it seemed to be straight up. The engines were screaming. Jennifer was screaming. Casey tried to count the seconds but couldn't She didn't have the energy to focus.
And suddenly she felt the pit of her stomach begin to rise, followed by nausea, and she saw the monitor lift off the floor for a moment held in place by the straps. They were weightless at the peak of the climb. Jennifer threw her hand over her mouth. Then the plane was going over… and down again.
Click. "Second pitch oscillation…"
Another steep dive.
Jennifer took her hand away from her mouth and screamed, much louder man before. Casey tried to hold on to the armrests, tried to occupy her mind. She had forgotten to count she had forgotten to-
The weight again.
Sinking. Pressing.
Deep into the chair.
Casey couldn't move. She couldn't turn her head.
Then they were climbing again, steeper than before, the shriek of the engines loud in her ears, and she felt Jennifer reach for her, Jennifer grabbing her arm. Casey turned to look at her, and Jennifer, pale and wild-eyed, was shouting:
"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"
The plane was coming to the top of the rise. Her stomach lifting, a sickening sensation. Jennifer's stricken look, hand clapped to her mouth. Vomit spurting through her fingers.
The plane going over.
Another dive.
Click. "Releasing the luggage bins. Give you a sense of how it was."
Along both aisles, the luggage bins above the seats sprang open, and two-foot white blocks spilled out They were harmless neoprene foam, but they bounced around the cabin like a dense blizzard. Casey felt them strike her face, the back of her head.
Jennifer was retching again, trying to pull the bag from under her leg. The blocks tumbled forward, moving down the cabin toward the cockpit. They obscured their view on all sides, until one by one, they began to fall to the floor, roll over, and remain mere. The whine of the engines changed.
The sinking drag of added weight.
The plane was going up again.
The pilot in the F-14 chase plane watched as the big Norton widebody streaked upward through the clouds, climbing at twenty-one degrees.
'Teddy," he said over the radio. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Just reproducing what's on the flight recorder."
"Christ," the pilot said.
The huge passenger jet roared upward, breaking through cloud cover at thirty-one thousand feet. Going up another thousand feet, before losing speed. Approaching stall. Then nosing over again.
Jennifer vomited explosively into the bag. It spilled out over her hands, dribbled onto her lap. She turned to Casey, her face green, weak, contorted.
"Stop it, please.. ."
The plane had started to nose over again. Going down.
Casey looked at her. "Don't you want to reproduce the full event for your cameras? Great visuals. Two more cycles to go."
The plane was diving steeply now. Still looking at Jennifer, Casey said, 'Teddy! Teddy, take your hands off the controls!"
Jennifer's eyes widened. Horrified.
Click. "Roger. Taking my hands off now."
Immediately the plane leveled out. Smoothly, gently. The scream of the engines abated to a constant, steady roar. The foam blocks fell to the carpet, tumbled once, and did not move.
Level flight.
Sunlight streamed through the windows.
Jennifer wiped vomit from her lips with the back of her hand. She stared around the cabin in a daze. "What… what happened?"
"The pilot took his hands off the stick."
Jennifer shook her head, not understanding. Her eyes were glazed. In a weak voice she said, "He took his hands off?"
Casey nodded. "That's right."
"Well then…"
"The autopilot is flying the plane."
Malone collapsed back in her seat, put her head back. Closed her eyes. "I don't understand," she said.
'To end the incident on Right 545, all the pilot had to do was take his hands off the column. If he had taken his hands away, it would have ended immediately."
Jennifer sighed. "Then why didn't he?"
Casey didn't answer her. She turned to the monitor. 'Teddy," she said, "let's go back."
Back on the ground, Casey went through the main room of the Flight Test Station, and into the pilots' room. It was an old, wood-paneled lounge for test pilots from the days when Norton still made military aircraft. A lumpy green couch, faded gray from sunlight. A couple of metal flight chairs, pulled up to a scratched Formica table. The only new object in the room was a small television, with a built-in tape deck. It stood beside a battered Coke machine, with a taped card that said OUT OF ORDER. In the window, a grinding air conditioner. It was already blazing hot on the airfield, and the room was uncomfortably warm.
Casey looked through the window at the Newsline crew, walking around Flight 545, filming it as it sat on the runway. The aircraft gleamed in the bright desert sun. The crew seemed lost, not certain what to do. They aimed their cameras as if composing a shot, then lowered them again immediately. They seemed to be waiting.
Casey opened the manila folder she had brought with her, and looked through the sheets of paper inside. The color Xeroxes she asked Norma to make had turned out rather well. And the telexes were satisfactory. Everything was in order.
She went to the television, which she had ordered brought out here. She pushed a tape into the deck, and waited.
Waited for Malone.
Casey was tired. Then she remembered the scope. She rolled up her sleeve, and pulled off the four circular bandages arranged in a row on the skin of her arm. Scopolamine patches, for motion sickness. That was why she had not vomited on the plane. She had known what she was in for, Malone had not.
Casey had no sympathy for her. She just wanted to be finished. This would be the last step. This would end it.
The only person at Norton who really knew what she was doing was Fuller. Fuller had understood immediately when Casey had called him from Video Imaging. Fuller recognized the implications of releasing the tape to Newsline. He saw what it would do to them, how they might be boxed in.
Flight Test had done that
She waited for Malone.
Five minutes later, Jennifer Malone came in, slamming the door behind her. She was wearing a pair of flight test coveralls. Her face was washed, her hair pulled back.
And she was very angry.
"I don't know what you think you proved up there," she said. "You had your fun. Taped the show. Scared the shit out of me. I hope you enjoyed it, because it isn't going to change a fucking thing in our story. Barker is right. Your plane has slats problems, just like he says. The only thing he's missing is that the problem occurs when the autopilot's off. That's all your little exercise demonstrated today. But our story isn't changed. Your plane's a deathtrap. And by the time we air our story, you won't be able to sell one of those planes on Mars. We're going to bury your shitty little airplane, and we're going to bury you."
Casey did not speak. She thought: She's young. Young and stupid. The harshness of her own judgment surprised her. Perhaps she'd learned something from the tough older men at the plant. Men who knew about power, as opposed to posturing and strutting.
She let Malone rant awhile longer, and then she said, "Actually, you're not going to do any of that."
"You fucking watch me."
"The only thing you can do is report what actually happened on Flight 545. You may not want to do that."
"You wait," Malone said, hissing. "You fucking wait. It's a fucking deathtrap."
Casey sighed. "Sit down."
"I'll be goddamned if I will-"
"Did you ever wonder," Casey said, "how a secretary at a video house in Glendale knew you were doing a story on Norton? Had your cell phone number, and knew to call you?"
Malone was silent.
"Did you ever wonder," Casey said, "how Norton's attorney could have found out so quickly you had the tape? And then have gotten a sworn statement from the receptionist that she'd given it to you?'
Malone was silent.
"Ed Fuller walked in the door of Video Imaging just a few minutes after you walked out, Ms. Malone. He was worried about running into you."
Malone frowned. "What is this?"
"Did you ever wonder," Casey said, "why Ed Fuller was so insistent you sign a document saying you didn't obtain the tape from a Norton employee?"
"It's obvious. The tape's damaging. He doesn't want the company to be blamed."
"Blamed by whom?'
"By… I don't know. The public."
"You better sit down," Casey said. She opened the file.
Slowly, Malone sat.
She frowned.
"Wait a minute," Malone said "You're saying that secretary didn't call me, about the tape?" Casey looked at her. "Then who called?' Malone said. Casey said nothing. "It was you!" Casey nodded.
"You wanted me to have that tape?' "Yes." "Why?" Casey smiled
She handed Malone the first sheet of paper. "This is a parts inspection record, stamped off by a PMI at the FAA yesterday, for the number two inboard slats proximity sensor on Flight 545. The part is noted to be cracked and defective. The crack is old."
"I'm not doing a parts story," Malone said
"No," Casey said "You're not Because what flight test showed you today is that any competent pilot could have handled the slats warning initiated by the bad part All the pilot had to do is leave the plane in autopilot. But on Flight 545, he didn't."
Malone said, "We already checked that. The captain of 545 was an outstanding pilot."
"That's right," Casey said.
She passed her the next piece of paper.
"This is the crew manifest submitted to the FAA with the flight plan, on the date of departure of Flight 545."
John Zhen Chang, Captain 5/7/5 1 M
Leu Zan Ping, First Officer 3/11/59 M
Richard Yong, First Officer 9/9/61 M
Gerhard Reimann, First Officer 7/23/49 M
Thomas Chang, First Officer 6/29/70 M
Henri Marchand, Engineer 4/25/69 M
Robert Sheng, Engineer 6/13/62 M
Malone glanced at it, pushed it aside. "And this is the crew manifest we got from Transpacific the day after the incident."
JOHN ZHEN CHANG, CAPTAIN 5/7/51
LEU ZAN PING, FIRST OFFICER 3/11/59
RICHARD YONG, FIRST OFFICER 9/9/61
GERHARD REIMANN, FIRST OFFICER 7/23/49
HENRI MARCHAND, ENGINEER 4/25/69
THOMAS CHANG, ENGINEER 6/29/70
ROBERT SHENG, ENGINEER 6/13/62
Malone scanned it, shrugged "It's the same."
"No, it's not. In one, Thomas Chang is listed as a first officer. In the second list, he appears as an engineer."
Malone said, "A clerical error."
Casey shook her head. "No."
She passed another sheet.
"This is a page from the Transpacific in-flight magazine, showing Captain John Chang and his family. It was sent to us by a Transpacific flight attendant, who wanted us to know the real story. You will notice his children are Erica and Thomas Chang. Thomas Chang is the pilot's son. He was among the flight crew of Flight 545."
Malone frowned.
"The Changs are a family of pilots. Thomas Chang is a pilot, qualified on several commuter aircraft. He is not type certified to fly the N-22."
"I don't believe this," Malone said.
"At the time of the incident," Casey continued "the captain, John Chang, had left the cockpit and walked to the back of the plane for coffee. He was aft when the accident occurred, and severely injured. He underwent brain surgery in Vancouver two days ago. The hospital thought it was the first officer, but his identity has now been confirmed as John Zhen Chang."
Malone was shaking her head
Casey handed her a memo:
FROM: S. NIETO, FSR VANC
TO: C. SINGLETON, YUMA TEST FAC
HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL
AUTHORITIES NOW CONFIRM THE POSTMORTEM IDENTIFICATION OF INJURED CREW MEMBER IN VANCOUVER HOSPITAL AS JOHN ZHEN CHANG THE CAPTAIN OF TRANSPACIFIC FLIGHT 545.
"Chang wasn't in the cockpit," Casey said. "He was in the back of the plane. His hat was found mere. So someone else was in the captain's chair, when the incident occurred."
Casey turned on the television, started the tape. "These are the concluding moments of the videotape which you obtained from the receptionist. You see the camera falling toward the front of the plane, and twisting to eventually lodge in the cockpit door. But before it does… here!" She froze the frame. "You can see the flight deck."
"I can't see much," Malone said. "They're both looking away."
"You can see that the pilot has extremely short hair," Casey said. "Look at the picture. Thomas Chang has close-cropped hair."
Malone was shaking her head, strongly now. "I just don't believe this. That visual is not good enough, you have a three-quarter profile, it doesn't identify, it doesn't say anything."
"Thomas Chang has a small stud in his ear. You can see it in this magazine photo. And on the video, you can see the same stud catch the light, right there."
Malone was silent.
Casey pushed another piece of paper across to her.
"This is a translation of the Chinese voice communications in the cockpit as recorded on the tape you have. A great deal of it is unintelligible because of the cockpit alarms. But the relevant passage is marked for you."
0544:59 ALM stall stall stall
0545:00 F/O what (unintelligible) you
0545:01 CPTN am (unintelligible) correct the
0545:02 ALM stall stall stall
0545:03 F/O torn release die (unintelligible)
0545:04 CPTN what do (unintelligible) it
0545:11 F/O tommy (unintelligible) when
(unintelligible) must (unintelligible) the
Casey took the paper back. "That's not for you to keep, or refer to publicly. But it corroborates the videotape in your possession."
Malone said, in a stunned voice, "He let his kid fly the plane?"
"Yes," Casey said. "John Chang permitted a pilot who was not type certified to fly the N-22. As a result, fifty-six people were injured and four people died-including John Chang himself. We believe that the aircraft was on autopilot, and Chang left his son momentarily in charge of the flight. That was when the disagree warning occurred, and the son extended the slats to clear it But the son panicked, overcorrected, and porpoised. Eventually we believe Thomas Chang was knocked unconscious by the severe movements of the airplane, and the autopilot took over."
Malone said, "On a commercial flight, some guy lets his fucking kid fly the plane?"
"Yes," Casey said.
"That's the story?'
"Yes," Casey said. "And you have the tape in your possession that proves it. Therefore you are aware of the facts. Mr. Reardon stated on camera that both he and his colleagues in New York have watched the tape in its entirety. So you have seen this shot of the cockpit. I have now informed you what that shot represents. We have provided you with corroborating evidence-not all the evidence, there's more. We have also demonstrated in flight test that there is nothing wrong with the aircraft itself."
"Not everyone agrees…" she began.
"This is no longer a matter of opinion, Ms. Malone. It is a matter of fact. You are undeniably in possession of the facts. If Newsline does not report these facts, which you are now aware of, and if it makes any suggestion whatsoever that there is anything wrong with the N-22 aircraft based on this incident, we will sue you for reckless disregard and malicious intent. Ed Fuller is very conservative, but he thinks we will certainly win. Because you acquired the tape that proves our case. Now, would you like Mr. Fuller to call Mr. Shenk and explain the situation, or would you prefer to do it yourself?"
Malone said nothing.
"Ms. Malone?"
"Where's a phone?" she said.
"There's one in the corner."
Malone got up, and walked over to the phone. Casey headed for the door.
"Jesus Christ," Malone said, shaking her head. "The guy lets his kid fly a plane full of people? I mean, how can that happen?"
Casey shrugged. "He loves his son. We believe he's allowed him to fly on other occasions. But there's a reason why commercial pilots are required to train extensively on specific equipment, to be type certified. He didn't know what he was doing, and he got caught." Casey closed the door, and thought: And so did you.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Dick Shenk said. "I got a hole in the show the size of Afghanistan and you're telling me you've got a bad parts story? Featuring Yellow Peril Pilots? Is that what you're telling me, Jennifer? Because I'm not going to run with that. I'll get murdered. I'm not going to be the Pat Buchanan of the airwaves. Fuck that noise."
"Dick," she said. "It doesn't really play that way. It's a family tragedy, the guy loves his son, and-"
"But I can't use it," Shenk said. "He's Chinese. I can't even go near it."
"The kid killed four people and injured fifty-six-"
"What difference does that make? I'm very disappointed in you, Jennifer," he said. "Very, very disappointed. Do you realize what this means? This means I have to go with the gimp Little League segment."
"Dick," she said. "I didn't cause the accident, I'm just reporting the story…"
"Wait a minute. What fresh bullshit is this?"
"Dick, I-"
"You're reporting your ineptitude, is what you're reporting," Shenk said. "You fucked up, Jennifer. You had a hot story, a story I wanted, a story about a crappy American product, and two days later you come back with some horseshit about a whack. It's not the airplane, it's the pilot. And maintenance. And bad parts."
"Dick-"
"I warned you, I didn't want bad parts. You fucked this one to death, Jennifer. We'll talk Monday." And he hung up.
Newsline's closing credits were running when Casey's phone rang. An unfamiliar, gruff voice said, "Casey Singleton?"
"Speaking."
"Hal Edgarton here."
"How are you, sir?"
"I'm in Hong Kong, and I've just been told by one of my board members that Newsline did not run a Norton story tonight."
"That's right, sir."
"I'm very pleased," he said. "I wonder why they didn't run it?"
"I have no idea," Casey said.
"Well, whatever you did, it was obviously effective," Edgarton said. "I'm leaving for Beijing in a few hours, to sign the sales agreement. John Marder was supposed to meet me there, but I'm told that, for some reason, he hasn't left California."
"I don't know anything about that," she said.
"Good," Edgarton said. "Glad to hear it. We'll be making some changes at Norton in the next few days. Meanwhile I wanted to congratulate you, Casey. You've been under a lot of pressure. You've done an outstanding job."
"Thank you, sir."
"Hal."
"Thank you, Hal."
"My secretary will call to arrange lunch when I get back," he said. "Keep up the good work."
Edgarton hung up, and then there were other calls. From Mike Lee, congratulating her, in guarded tones. Asking how she managed to kill the story. She said she had nothing to do with it, that Newsline for some reason had decided not to run it.
Then there were more calls, from Doherty, and Burne, and Ron Smith. And Norma, who said, "Honey, I'm proud of you."
And finally Teddy Rawley, who said he happened to be in the neighborhood, and wondered what she was doing.
"I'm really tired," Casey said "Another time, okay?"
"Aw, babe. It was a great day. Your day."
"Yeah, Teddy. But I'm really tired."
She took her phone off the hook, and went to bed.
It was a clear evening. She was standing outside her bungalow, in the twilight, when Amos came up with his dog. The dog slobbered on her hand.
"So," Amos said. "You dodged a bullet."
"Yes," she said. "I guess so."
"Whole plant's talking. Everyone's saying you stood up to Marder. Wouldn't lie about 545. That true?"
"More or less."
"Then you were stupid," Amos said. "You should have lied. They lie. It's just a question of whose lie gets on the air."
"Amos…"
"Your father was a journalist; you think there's some kind of truth to be told. There isn't. Not for years, kid. I watched those scum on the Aloha incident. All they wanted was the gory details. Stewardess gets sucked out of the plane, did she die before she hit the water? Was she still alive? That's all they wanted to know."
"Amos," she said. She wanted him to stop.
"I know," he said. "That's entertainment. But I'm telling you, Casey. You were lucky this time. You might not be as lucky next time. So don't let this become a habit. Remember: they make the rules. And the game's got nothing to do with accuracy, or the facts, or reality. It's just a circus."
She wasn't going to argue with him. She petted the dog.
"Fact is," Amos said, "everything's changing. Used to be-in the old days-the media image roughly corresponded to reality. But now it's all reversed. The media image is the reality, and by comparison day-to-day life seems to lack excitement. So now day-to-day life is false, and the media image is true. Sometimes I look around my living room, and the most real thing in the room is the television. It's bright and vivid, and the rest of my life looks drab. So I turn the damn thing off. That does it every time. Get my life back."
Casey continued to pet the dog. She saw headlights in the darkening night swing around the corner, and come up the street toward them. She walked to the curb.
"Well, I'm rambling," Amos said.
"Good night, Amos," she said.
The car came to a stop. The door flung open.
"Mom!"
Her daughter jumped into her arms, wrapping her legs around her. "Oh, Mom, I missed you!"
"Me too, honey," she said. "Me too."
Jim got out of the car, handed Casey the backpack. In the near darkness, she couldn't really see his face.
"Good night," he said to her.
"Good night, Jim," she said.
Her daughter took her hand. They started back inside. It was growing dark, and the air was cool. When she looked up, she saw the straight contrail of a passenger jet. It was so high, it was still in daylight, a thin white streak across the darkening sky.
5TH STORY of Level 1 printed in
FULL format
COPYRIGHT TELEGRAPH-STAR, INC.
HEADLINE: NORTON SELLS 50 WIDEBODY
JETS TO CHINA
TAILS TO BE MANUFACTURED IN SHANGHAI
CASH FLOW AIDS DEVELOPMENT OF FUTURE
JET. UNION LEADERS CRITICIZE LOSS OF JOBS.
BYLINE: JACK ROGERS
BODY:
Norton Aircraft today announced an eight-billion-dollar sale of fifty N-22 widebody jets to the People's Republic of China. Norton President Harold Edgarton said the agreement signed yesterday in Beijing calls for delivery of the jets over the next four years. The agreement also offsets fabrication work to China, requiring the N-22 tails to be constructed in Shanghai.
The sale represents a coup for the beleaguered Burbank manufacturer, and a bitter defeat for Airbus, which had lobbied heavily, both in Beijing and Washington, for the sale. Edgarton said the fifty Chinese jets, combined with the further sale of twelve N-22s to Transpacific Airlines, will give Norton the cash flow it needs to continue development of the N-XX widebody, its hope for the twenty-first century.
News of the offset agreement produced anger in some quarters of the Burbank company. UAW Local 1214 President Don Brull criticized the offset agreement, noting, "We're losing thousands of jobs every year. Norton is exporting the jobs of American workers in order to make foreign sales. I don't think that's good for our future."
When asked about the alleged job loss, Edgarton stated that "offsets are a fact of life in our industry, and have been for many years. The fact is, if we don't make the agreement, Boeing or Airbus will. I think it is important to look to the future, and the new jobs that will be created by the N-XX widebody line."
Edgarton also noted that China had signed an option for thirty additional jets. The Shanghai factory will begin its work in January of next year.
News of the sale ends industry speculation that much-publicized recent incidents involving the N-22 might terminate the Chinese purchase. Edgarton noted, "The N-22 is a proven aircraft with an excellent safety record. I think the Chinese sale is a tribute to that record."
DOCUMENT ID; C\LEX 40\DL\NORTON
TRANSPACIFIC BUYS NORTON JETS
Transpacific Airlines, the Hong Kong-based carrier, today ordered twelve Norton N-22 widebody jets, giving further proof that the Asian market is the growth segment for the aircraft industry.
EXPERT WITNESS BITES HAND THAT DIDN'T FEED HIM
Controversial aviation expert Frederick "Fred" Barker sued Bradley King for failing to pay promised "holding fees" for his anticipated courtroom appearances. King could not be reached for comment.
AIRBUS CONSIDERS KOREAN PARTNERSHIP Songking Industries, the industrial conglomerate based in Seoul, has announced they are negotiating with Airbus Industrie of Toulouse to manufacture major subassembly components of the new A-340B stretch derivative. Recent speculation has centered on Songking's continuing efforts to establish an aerospace presence in world markets, now that long-rumored secret negotiations with Norton Aircraft in Burbank have apparently broken down.
SHENK TO BE HONORED AT HUMANITARIAN FETE
Richard Shenk, producer of "Newsline, " has been named Humanitarian Producer of the Year by the American Interfaith Council. The Council promotes "humane understanding among the peoples of the world" in contemporary media. Shenk, cited for his "outstanding life-long commitment to tolerance, " will be honored at a banquet on June 10 at the Waldorf Astoria. A star-studded industry audience is expected to turn out.
JAA CERTIFIES N-22 WIDEBODY The JAA today accepted certification of the Norton N-22 widebody commercial aircraft. A JAA spokesman said there was "no substance" to rumors that certification had been delayed for political reasons.
MARDER TAKES CONSULTING POST In a surprise move, John Marder, 46, has left Norton Aircraft to head The Aviation Institute, an aerospace consulting firm with close ties to European carriers. Marder assumes his new position effective immediately. Coworkers at Norton praised the departing Marder as "a leader of deep integrity."
U.S. JOBS EXPORTED-A DISTURBING TREND?
Responding to the recent sale of fifty Norton jets to China, William Campbell claimed that American aviation companies will export 250,000 jobs over the next five years. Since much of this export is financed by the Commerce Department's Ex-Im Bank, he says, "It's unconscionable. U.S. workers aren't paying taxes to have the government assist American companies to take away American jobs.* Campbell cites the Japanese corporate concern for their workers as strikingly different from the behavior of American multinationals.
RICHMAN ARRESTED IN SINGAPORE A youthful member of the Norton clan was arrested today by police in Singapore on charges of narcotics possession. Bob Richman, 28, is being held by authorities awaiting arraignment. If convicted under the nation's draconian drug laws, he faces the death penalty.
SINGLETON HEADS DIVISION Harold Edgarton today, named Katherine C. Singleton as the new head of Norton Aircraft's Media Relations Division. Singleton was formerly a vice-president for Quality Assurance at Norton, which is headquartered in Burbank.
MALONE TO JOIN "HARD COPY" STAFF Veteran news producer Jennifer Ma-lone, 29, ends four years with "Newsline" to join the staff of "Hard Copy," it was announced today. Malone 's departure was described as resulting from a contract dispute. Malone said, "'Hard Copy' is what's happening now, and I am just thrilled to be part of it."
AIRCRAFT INCIDENT REPORT
PRIVILEGED INFORMATION -FOR INTERNAL USE ONLY
report No: IRT-96-42 today's date: 18 April
model: N-22 incident date: 08 April
operator: Transpacific fuselage No: 271
reported by: R. Rakoski, location: Pacific Oc
FSRHK
reference: a) AVN-SVC-08764/AAC
subject:
Reportedly during cruise flight a "Slats Disagree" warning appeared on the flight deck, and a member of the flight crew extended the slats in an attempt to clear the warning. Subsequently the aircraft experienced severe pitch oscillations and lost 6,000 feet altitude before control was returned to the autopilot. Four persons died, and fifty-six were injured.
1. The interior cabin sustained substantial damage.
2. The Number 2 IB slats proximity sensor was faulty.
3. The Number 2 slats locking pin was found to be non-PMA.
4. The Number 1 engine thruster panel was found to be non-PMA.
5. Several other non-PMA parts were identified for replacement
Review of human factors revealed the following:
1. Flight deck procedures require added carrier scrutiny.
2. Foreign repair procedures require added carrier scrutiny.
The aircraft is in the process of being repaired. Internal procedures are being reviewed by the carrier.
David Levine
Technical Integration
Product Support
Norton Aircraft Company
Burbank, CA