Was there?
BLDG 64
4:30 P.M.
Casey was walking through the northeast corner of Building 64, past the huge tools on which the wing was built. The tools were crisscrossed blue steel scaffolding, rising twenty feet above the ground. Although they were the size of a small apartment building, the tools were precisely aligned to within a thousandth of an inch. Up on the platform formed by the tools, eighty people were walking around, putting the wing together.
To the right, she saw groups of men packing tools into large wooden crates. “What’s all that?” Richman said.
“Looks like rotables,” Casey said.
“Rotables?”
“Spare tooling that we rotate into the line if something goes wrong with the first set We built them to gear up for the China sale. The wing’s the most time-consuming part to build; so the plan is to build the wings in our facility in Atlanta, and ship them back here.”
She noticed a figure in a shirt and tie, shirtsleeves rolled up, standing among the men working on the crates. It was Don Brull, the president of the UAW local. He saw Casey, called to her, and started toward her. He made a flicking gesture with his hand; she knew what he wanted.
Casey said to Richman, “Give me a minute. I’ll see you back at the office.”
“Who is that?” Richman said.
“I’ll meet you back at the office.”
Richman remained standing there, as Brull came closer. “Maybe you want me to stay and — ”
“Bob,” she said. “Get lost.”
Reluctantly, Richman headed back toward the office. He kept glancing over his shoulder as he walked away.
Brull shook her hand. The UAW president was a short and solidly built man, an ex-boxer with a broken nose. He spoke in a soft voice. “You know, Casey, I always liked you.”
“Thanks, Don,” she said. “Feeling’s mutual.”
“Those years when you were on the floor, I always kept my eye on you. Kept you out of trouble.”
“I know that, Don.” She waited. Brull was notorious for long windups.
“I always thought, Casey isn’t like the others.”
“What’s going on, Don?” she said.
“We got some problems with this China sale,” Brull said.
“What kind of problems?”
“Problems with the offset.”
“What about it?” she said, shrugging. “You know there’s always offset with a big sale.” In recent years, airframe manufacturers had been obliged to send portions of the fabrication overseas, to the countries ordering planes. A country that ordered fifty planes expected to get a piece of the action. It was standard procedure.
“I know,” Brull said. “But in the past, you guys sent part of the tail, maybe the nose, maybe some interior fab. Just parts.”
“That’s right.”
“But these tools we’re crating up,” he said, “are for the wing. And the Teamsters on the loading dock are telling us these crates aren’t going to Atlanta — they’re going to Shanghai. The company’s going to give the wing to China.”
“I don’t know the details of the agreement,” she said. “But I doubt that—”
“The wing, Casey,” he said. “That’s core technology. Nobody ever gives away the wing. Not Boeing, nobody. You give the Chinese the wing, you give away the store. They don’t need us any more. They can build the next generation of planes on their own. Ten years from now, nobody here has a job.”
“Don,” she said, “I’ll check into this, but I can’t believe the wing is part of the offset agreement.”
Brull spread his hands. “I’m telling you it is.”
“Don. I’ll check for you. But right now I’m pretty busy with this 545 incident, and—”
“You’re not listening, Casey. The local’s got a problem with the China sale.”
“I understand that, but—”
“A big problem” He paused, looked at her. “Understand?’
She did. The UAW workers on the floor had absolute control over production. They could slow down, sick out, break tooling, and create hundreds of other intractable problems. “I’ll talk to Marder,” she said. “I’m sure he doesn’t want a problem on the line.”
“Marder is the problem.”
Casey sighed. Typical union misinformation, she thought. The China sale had been made by Hal Edgarton and the Marketing team. Marder was just the COO. He ran the plant. He didn’t have anything to do with sales.
“I’ll get back to you tomorrow, Don.”
“That’s fine,” Brull said. “But I’m telling you, Casey. Personally. I’d hate to see anything happen.”
“Don,” she said. “Are you threatening me?”
“No, no,” Brull said quickly, with a pained expression. “Don’t misunderstand. But 1 hear that if the 545 thing isn’t cleared up fast, it could kill the China sale.”
“That’s true.”
“And you’re speaking for the IRT.”
“That’s true, too.”
Brull shrugged. “So, I’m telling you. Feelings are strong against the sale. Some of the guys are pretty hot about it. I was you, I’d take a week off.”
“I can’t do that. I’m right in the middle of the investigation.”
Brull looked at her.
“Don. I’ll talk to Marder about the wing,” she said. “But I have to do my job.”
“In that case,” Brull said, putting his hand on her arm, “you take real good care, honey.”
ADMINISTRATION
4:40 p.m.
“No, no,” Marder said, pacing in his office. “This is nonsense, Casey. There’s no way we’d send the wing to Shanghai. What do they think, we’re crazy? That’d be the end of the company.”
“But Brull said—”
“The Teamsters are screwing with the UAW, that’s all. You know how rumors run through the plant. Remember when they all decided composites made you sterile? Damn guys wouldn’t come to work for a month. But it wasn’t true. And this one’s not true, either. Those tools are going to Atlanta,” he said. “And for one very good reason. We’re fabbing the wing in Atlanta so that the senator from Georgia will stop messing with us every time we go to the Ex-Im Bank for a big loan. It’s a jobs program for the senior senator from Georgia. Got it?”
“Then somebody better get the word out,” Casey said.
“Christ,” Marder said. “They know this. The union reps sit in on all the management meetings. It’s usually Brull himself.”
“But he didn’t sit in on the China negotiations.”
“I’ll speak to him,” Marder said.
Casey said, “I’d like to see the offset agreement.”
“And you will, as soon as it’s final.”
“What are we giving them?”
“Part of the nose, and the empennage,” Marder said. 75
“Same as we did for France. Hell, we can’t give them anything else, they’re not competent to build it.”
“Brull was talking about interfering with the IRT. To stop the China sale.”
“Interfering how?” Marder said, frowning at her. “Did he threaten you?”
Casey shrugged.
“What did he say?”
“He recommended a week’s vacation.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Marder said, throwing up his hands. “This is ridiculous. I’ll talk to him tonight, straighten him out. Don’t worry about this. Just stay focused on the job. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll take care of this for you.”
NORTON QA
4:53 P.M.
Casey rode the elevator from the ninth floor down to her own offices, on the fourth floor. She replayed the meeting with Marder, and decided he wasn’t lying. His exasperation had been genuine. And it was true what Marder said—rumors flew through the plant, all the time. A couple of years back, there was a week when the UAW guys had all come up to her, asking solicitously, “How do you feel?’ It was days before she learned there was a rumor she had cancer.
Just a rumor. Another rumor.
She walked down the corridor, past the photographs of famous Norton aircraft from the past, with a celebrity posed in front: Franklin Delano Roosevelt beside the B-22 that carried him to Yalta; Errol Flynn, with smiling girls in the tropics, in front of an N-5; Henry Kissinger, on the N-12 that had taken him to China in 1972. The photographs were sepia-toned, to convey a sense of age, and the stability of the company.
She opened the doors to her offices: frosted glass, with raised lettering: “Quality Assurance Division.” She came into a large open room. The secretaries sat in the bullpen; executive offices lined the walls.
Norma sat by the door, a heavyset woman of indeterminate age, with blue-rinse hair, and a cigarette dangling from her mouth. It was against regulations to smoke in the building, but Norma did as she pleased. She had been with the company as long as anyone could remember; it was rumored that she had been one of the girls in the picture with Errol Flynn, and that she had had a hot affair with Charley Norton back in the fifties. Whether any of that was true or not, she certainly knew where all the bodies were buried. Within the company, she was treated with a deference bordering on fear. Even Marder was cautious around her.
Casey said, “What’ve we got, Norma?”