“The usual panic,” Norma said. ‘Telexes are flying.” She handed a stack to Casey. “The Fizer in Hong Kong phoned three times for you, but he’s gone home now. Fizer in Vancouver was on the horn half an hour ago. You can probably still get him.”
Casey nodded. It was not surprising that the Flight Service Representatives in the major hubs would be checking in. The FSRs were Norton employees assigned to the carriers, and the carriers would be worried about the incident.
“And, let’s see,” Norma said. “The Washington office is all atwitter, they’ve heard the JAA is going to exploit this on Airbus’s behalf. What a surprise. Fizer in Dusseldorf wants a confirm it was pilot error. Fizer in Milan wants information. Fizer in Abu Dhabi wants a week in Milan. Fizer in Bombay heard engine failure. I straightened him out. And your daughter said to tell you she did not need her sweatshirt.”
“Great.”
Casey took the faxes back to her office. She found Richman sitting at her desk. He looked up in surprise, and rose quickly from her chair. “Sorry.”
Casey said, “Didn’t Norma find you an office?”
“Yes, I have one,” Richman said, walking around the desk. “I was just, ah, just wondering what you wanted me to do with this.” He held up a plastic bag with the video camera they had found on the plane.
“I’ll take it.”
He gave it to her. “So. What happens now?”
She dropped the stack of telexes on her desk. “I’d say you’re through for the day,” she said. “Be here tomorrow at seven.”
He left, and she sat down in her chair. Everything seemed to be as she had left it. But she noticed that the second drawer on the desk was not quite closed. Had Richman been going through her desk?
Casey pulled the drawer open, revealing boxes of computer disks, stationery, a pair of scissors, some felt-tip pens in a tray. It all looked undisturbed. But still…
She heard Richman leave, then went back down the hall to Norma’s desk. “That kid,” she said, “was sitting behind my desk.”
‘Tell me,” Norma said. “The little twerp asked me to get him coffee.”
“I’m surprised Marketing didn’t straighten him out,” Casey said. “They had him a couple of months.”
“As a matter of fact,” Norma said, “I was talking to Jean over there, and she says they hardly ever saw him. He was always on the road.”
“On the road? A new kid, a Norton relative? Marketing would never send him on the road. Where’d he go?”
Norma shook her head. “Jean didn’t know. You want me to call Travel, and find out?”
“Yeah,” Casey said. “I do.”
Back in her office, she turned to the plastic bag on the desk, opened it, and pulled the videotape from the shattered camera. She set the tape to one side. Then she dialled Jim’s number, hoping to talk to Allison, but she got the answering machine. She hung up without leaving a message.
She thumbed through the telexes. The only one that interested her was from the FSR in Hong Kong. As always, he was way behind the curve.
FROM: RICK RAKOSKI, FSR HK TO: CASEY SINGLETON, QA/IRT NORTON BBK
TRANSPACIFIC AIRLINES TODAY REPORTS FLIGHT 545, AN N-22, FUSE 271, FOREIGN REGISTRY 098/443/HB09, FLYING FROM HK TO DENVER EXPERIENCED A TURBULENCE UPSET DURING CRUISE FL370 APPROXIMATELY 0524 UTC POSITION 39 NORTH/170 EAST. SOME PASSENGERS AND CREW SUFFERED MINOR INJURIES. AIRCRAFT MADE EMERGENCY LANDING LAX.
FLIGHT PLAN, PASSENGER AND CREW MANIFEST ATTACHED. PLS ADVISE SOONEST.
The telex was followed by four pages of passenger manifest and crew list. She glanced at the crew list:
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
HARRIET CHANG, FLIGHT
ATTENDANT 5/12/77
LINDA CHING, FLIGHT
ATTENDANT 5/18/76
NANCY MORLEY, FLIGHT
ATTENDANT 7/19/75
KAY LIANG, FLIGHT ATTENDANT 6/4/67
JOHN WHITE, FLIGHT ATTENDANT 1/30/70
M. V. CHANG, FLIGHT
ATTENDANT 4/1/77
SHA YAN HAO, FLIGHT
ATTENDANT 3/13/73
YEE JIAO, FLIGHT ATTENDANT 11/18/76
HARRIET KING, FLIGHT
ATTENDANT 10/10/75
B. CHOI, FLIGHT ATTENDANT 11/18/76
YEE CHANG, FLIGHT ATTENDANT 1/8/74
It was an international crew, of the kind that often flew for charter companies. Hong Kong crews had often flown for the Royal Air Force and were extremely well trained.
She counted the names: eighteen in all, including seven flight crew. Such a large flight crew was not strictly necessary. The N-22 was designed to be flown by a two-man crew, just a captain and first officer. But all the Asian carriers were expanding rapidly, and they generally carried larger crews for extra training hours.
Casey went on. The next telex was from the FSR in Vancouver.
FROM: S. NIETO, FSR VANC TO: C. SINGLETON, QA/IRT
FYI FLIGHT CREW TPA 545 DEADHEAD ON TPA 832, FROM LAX TO VANCOUVER, FIRST OFFICER LU ZAN PING TAKEN OFF THE AIRCRAFT AT VANCOUVER MEDICAL EMERGENCY DUE TO PREVIOUSLY UNRECOGNIZED HEAD INJURY. F/0 COMATOSE IN VANC GEN HOSP, DETAILS TF. REMAINING CREW OF TPA 545 TRANSIT BACK TO HONG KONG TODAY.
So the first officer had been seriously injured, after all. He must have been in the tail when the incident occurred. The man whose cap they had found.
Casey dictated a telex to the FSR in Vancouver, asking him to interview the first officer as soon as possible. She dictated another to the FSR in Hong Kong, suggesting an interview with Captain Chang on his return.
Norma buzzed her. “No luck on the kid,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I talked to Maria in Travel. They didn’t make Richman’s arrangements. His trips were charged to a special company account, a set-aside for foreign, off-budget stuff. But she heard the kid ran up a hell of a big charge.”
“How big?” Casey said.
“She didn’t know.” Norma sighed. “But I’m having lunch tomorrow with Evelyn in Accounting. She’ll give me everything.”
“Okay. Thanks, Norma.”
Casey turned back to the telexes on her desk. They were all other business:
Steve Young, from the FAA’s Certification office, asking about fire-retardant test results on seat cushions the previous December.
A query from Mitsubishi about burnouts of then- five-inch displays in the first-class section of American N-22 widebodies.
A list of revisions to the N-20 Aircraft Maintenance Manual (MR 06-62-02).
A revision of the prototype Virtual Heads-Up Display units, to be delivered in the next two days.
A memo from Honeywell advising replacement of die D-2 electrical bus on all FDAU units numbered A-505/9 through A-609/8.
Casey sighed, and went to work.
GLENDALE
7:40 p.m.
She was tired when she got home. The house seemed empty without Allison’s lively chatter. Too tired to cook, Casey went into the kitchen and ate a cup of yogurt. Allison’s colorful drawings were taped on the refrigerator door. Casey considered calling her; but it was right around her bedtime, and she didn’t want to interrupt if Jim was putting her to sleep.
She also didn’t want Jim to think she was checking up on him. That was a sore point between them. He always felt she was checking.
Casey went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She heard the phone ring, and went back into the kitchen to answer it. It was probably Jim. She picked up the receiver. “Hello, Jim—”
“Don’t be stupid, bitch,” a voice said. “You want trouble, you’ll get it. Accidents happen. We’re watching you right now.”
Click.
She stood in the kitchen, holding the phone in her hand. Casey had always thought of herself as levelheaded, but her heart was pounding. She forced herself to take a deep breath as she hung up the receiver. She knew these calls happened sometimes. She’d heard of other vice-presidents getting threatening calls at night. But it had never happened to her, and she was surprised at how frightened she felt. She took another deep breath, tried to shrug it off. She picked up her yogurt, stared at it, put it down. She was suddenly aware that she was alone in a house with all the blinds open.
She went around the living room, closing the blinds. When she came to the front window, she looked out at the street. In the light of the overhead street lamps, she saw a blue sedan parked a few yards up from her house.
There were two men inside.
She could see their faces clearly, through the windshield. The men stared at her as she stood at the window.
Shit.
She went to the front door, bolted it, locked the security chain. She set the burglar alarm, her ringers trembling and clumsy as she punched in the code. Then she flicked off the living room lights, pressed her body to the wall, and peered out the window.
The men were still in the car. They were talking now. As she watched, one of them pointed toward her house.