She turned to face Malone.
“Ms. Malone,” Casey said, “I think everyone here is deeply committed to flight safety.” She hoped that would explain Marder’s outburst. “We’re committed to product safety, and the N-22 has an excellent safety record. And if something does go wrong with one of our planes—”
“Something did go wrong,” Malone said, looking evenly at Casey.
“Yes,” Casey said. “And we’re investigating that incident now. I’m on the team conducting that investigation, and we are working around the clock to understand what happened.”
“You mean why the slats extended? But you must know. It’s happened so many times before.”
Casey said, “At this point—”
“Listen,” Marder said, breaking in, “it wasn’t the damn slats. Frederick Barker is a hopeless alcoholic and a paid liar who works for a sleazebag lawyer. No one in his right mind would listen to him.”
Casey bit her lip. She couldn’t contradict Marder in front of the reporter, but—
Malone said, “If it wasn’t the slats—”
“It wasn’t the slats,” Marder said firmly. “We’ll issue a preliminary report in the next twenty-four hours that will conclusively demonstrate that.”
Casey thought: What? What was he saying? There was no such thing as a preliminary report.
“Really,” Malone said, softly.
“That’s right,” Marder said. “Casey Singleton’s the press liaison on the IRT. We’ll be getting back to you, Ms. Malone.”
Malone seemed to realize that Marder was terminating the interview. She said, “But there’s much more, we need to go over, Mr. Marder. There is also the Miami rotor burst. And union opposition to the China sale—”
“Oh, come on,” Marder said.
“Given the seriousness of these charges,” she continued, “I think that you may want to consider our offer to give your president, Mr. Edgarton, an opportunity to respond.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Marder said.
“It’s for your own benefit,” Malone said. “If we have to say that the president refused to talk to us, that sounds—”
“Look,” Marder said. “Let’s cut the crap. Without Trans-Pacific, you have no story. And we are going to issue a preliminary report on Transpacific tomorrow. You’ll be informed when. That’s all we have for the moment, Ms. Malone. Thank you for coming by.”
The interview was over.
NORTON ADMINISTRATION
12:43 p.m.
“I can’t believe that woman,” Marder said, after Malone had gone. “She isn’t interested in the facts. She isn’t interested in the FAA. She isn’t interested in how we build airplanes. She’s just doing a hatchet job. Is she working for Airbus? That’s what I want to know.”
“John,” Casey said, “about the preliminary finding—” “Forget it,” Marder snapped. “I’ll deal with it. You go back to work. I’ll talk to the tenth floor, get some input, arrange a few things. We’ll talk later today.” “But John,” Casey said, “you told her it wasn’t the slats.” “It’s my problem,” Marder said. “You go back to work.”
When Casey was gone, Marder called Edgarton.
“My flight’s in an hour,” Edgarton said. “I’m going to Hong Kong to show my concern for the families of the deceased by personally visiting them. Talk to the carrier, express my sympathies to the relatives.”
“Good idea, Hal,” Marder said.
“Where are we on this press thing?”
“Well, it’s as I suspected,” Marder said. “Newsline is putting together a story that’s extremely critical of the N-22.”
“Can you stop it?’
“Absolutely. No question,” Marder said.
“How?” Edgarton said.
“We’ll issue a preliminary report that it wasn’t slats. Our preliminary will say the accident was caused by a counterfeit cowl on the thrust reversers.”
“Is there a bad cowl on the plane?”
“Yes. But it didn’t cause the accident”
“That’s fine,” Edgarton said. “A bad part is fine. Just so it’s not a Norton problem.”
“Right,” Marder said.
“And the girl’s going to say that?”
“Yes,” Marder said.
“She better,” Edgarton said. “Because it can be tricky talking to these pricks.”
“Reardon,” Marder said. “It’s Marty Reardon.”
“Whatever. She knows what to say?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve briefed her?”
“Yes. And I’ll go over it with her again later.”
“Okay,” Edgarton said. “I also want her to see that media training woman.”
“I don’t know, Hal, do you really think—”
“Yes, I do,” Edgarton said, cutting in. “And so do you. Singleton should be fully prepared for the interview.”
“Okay,” Marder said.
“Just remember,” Edgarton said. “You fuck this up, you’re dead.”
He hung up.
OUTSIDE NORTON ADMINISTRATION
1:04 p.m.
Outside the Administration building, Jennifer Malone got into her car, more distressed than she cared to admit. She now felt it was unlikely the company would produce the president. And she was worried—she had the feeling—that they might make Singleton their spokesperson.
That could alter the emotional tenor of the segment. The audience wanted to see beefy, arrogant captains of industry get their just deserts. An intelligent, earnest, attractive woman wouldn’t play nearly as well. Were they smart enough to know that?
And, of course, Marty would attack her.
That wouldn’t look so good, either.
Just imagining the two of them together gave Jennifer the shivers. Singleton was bright, with an appealing, open quality. Marty’d be attacking motherhood and apple pie. And you couldn’t hold Marty back. He’d go for the throat.
But beyond that, Jennifer was starting to worry that the entire segment was weak. Barker had been so convincing when she interviewed him; she had felt elated afterward. But if these ADs were for real, then the company was on solid ground. And she worried about Barker’s record. If the FAA had the goods on him, then his credibility was shot. They’d look foolish giving him airtime.
The reporter, Jack Whatshisname, was disappointing. He didn’t play well on camera, and his material was thin. Because in the end, nobody gave a damn about drugs on the factory floor. Every company in America had drug problems. That wasn’t news. And it didn’t prove the airplane was bad—which was what she needed. She needed vivid, persuasive visuals to demonstrate that airplane was a deathtrap.
She didn’t have them.
So far, all she had was the CNN tape, which was old news, and the Miami rotor burst, which was not very compelling visually. Smoke coming out from a wing.
Big deal.
Worst of all, if the company really was going to issue a preliminary finding that contradicted Barker—
Her cell phone rang.
“Speak to me,” Dick Shenk said.
“Hi, Dick,” she said.
“So? Where are we?” Shenk said. “I’m looking at the board right now. Marty finishes with Bill Gates in two hours.”
Some part of her wanted to say, Forget it. The story’s flaky. It isn’t coming together. I was dumb to think I could nail it in two days.
“Jennifer? Do I send him, or not?”
But she couldn’t say no. She couldn’t admit she had been wrong. He’d kill her if she backed off the story now. Everything about the way she had made her proposal, and the cool way she had walked out of his office, forced her hand now. There was only one possible answer.
“Yes, Dick. I want him.”
“You’ll have the piece for Saturday?”
“Yes, Dick.”
“And it’s not a parts story?”
“No, Dick.”
“Because I don’t want sloppy seconds on 60 Minutes, Jennifer. It better not be a parts story.”
“It’s not, Dick.”
“I don’t hear confidence,” he said.
“I’m confident, Dick. I’m just tired.”
“Okay. Marty leaves Seattle at four. He’ll be at the hotel about eight. Have the shoot schedule ready when he arrives and fax me a copy at home. You’ve got him all tomorrow.”
“Okay, Dick.”
“Nail it, babe,” he said, and hung up.
She flipped the phone shut, and sighed.
She turned on the ignition, and put the car in reverse.
Casey saw Malone backing out of the parking lot. She was driving a black Lexus, the same car Jim drove. Malone didn’t see her, which was just as well. Casey had a lot on her mind.
She was still trying to figure out what Marder was doing. He had blown up at the reporter, told her it wasn’t a slats incident, and told her there was going to be a preliminary finding from the IRT. How could he say that? Marder had bravado to spare, but this time he was digging a hole. She didn’t understand how his behavior could do anything but damage the company—and himself.
And John Marder, she knew, never damaged himself.
QA
2:10P.M.
Norma listened to Casey for several minutes without interruption. Finally she said, “And what’s your question?’
“I think Marder’s going to make me the spokesman for the company.”
“Par for the course,” Norma said. “The big guys always run for cover. Edgarton will never do it. And Marder won’t, either. You’re the press liaison for the IRT. And you’re a vice-president of Norton Aircraft. That’s what it will say at the bottom of the screen.”
Casey was silent.
Norma looked at her. “What’s your question?” she said again.
“Marder told the reporter that TPA 545 wasn’t a slats problem,” she said, “and that we were going to have a preliminary report by tomorrow.”