Airframe (31 page)

She called Steve Nieto, the Fizer in Vancouver, and got his secretary. “Steve’s not here,” she said. “He had to leave early. But I know he wanted to talk to you. He said he had bad news.”

Casey sighed. That seemed to be the only kind of news she was getting. “Can you reach him?”

“Not until tomorrow.”

“Tell him I called.”

Her cell phone rang.

“Jesus, that Benson is unpleasant,” Richman said. “What’s his problem? I thought he was going to hit me.”

“Where are you?”

“At the office. Want me to come to you?”

“No,” Casey said. “It’s after six. You’re done for today.”

“But—”

“See you tomorrow, Bob.”

She hung up.

On the way out of Hangar 5, she saw the electrical crews rigging TPA 545 for the CET that night. The entire aircraft had been raised ten feet into the air, and now rested on heavy blue metal fixtures beneath each wing, and fore and aft on the fuselage. The crews had then slung black safety webbing beneath the underside of the aircraft, some twenty feet above the ground. All along the fuselage, doors and accessory panels were open, and electricians standing on the webbing were running cables from the junction boxes back to the main CET test console, a six-foot square box that was placed in the center of the floor to one side of the aircraft.

The Cycle Electrical Test, as it was known, consisted of sending electrical impulses to all parts of the aircraft’s electrical system. In rapid succession, every component was tested—everything from cabin lights to reading lights, cockpit display panels, engine ignition, and landing-gear wheels. The full test cycle ran two hours. It would be repeated a dozen times, throughout the night.

As she passed the console, she saw Teddy Rawley. He gave her a wave, but didn’t approach her. He was busy; undoubtedly he’d heard that Flight Test was scheduled three days from now, and he would want to be sure the electrical test was performed correctly.

She waved to Teddy, but he had already turned away.

Casey headed back to her office.

Outside, it was growing dark, the sky a deep blue. She walked back toward Administration, hearing the distant rush of takeoffs from Burbank airport. On the way, she saw Amos Peters, shuffling toward his car, carrying a stack of papers under his arm. He looked back and saw her.

“Hey, Casey.”

“Hi, Amos.”

He dropped his papers with a thud on the roof of his car, bent to unlock the door. “I hear they’re putting the screws to you.”

“Yeah.” She was not surprised he knew. The whole plant probably knew by now. It was one of the first things she had learned at Norton. Everyone knew everything, minutes after it happened.

“You going to do the interview?”

“I said I would.”

“You going to say what they want you to say?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t get high and mighty,” he said. “These are television people. They’re beneath pond scum on the evolutionary scale. Just lie. Hell with it.”

“We’ll see.”

He sighed. “You’re old enough to know how it works,” he said. “You going home now?”

“Not for a while.”

“I wouldn’t be hanging around the plant at night, Casey.”

“Why not?”

“People are upset,” Amos said. “Next few days, it’d be better to go home early. You know what I mean?”

“I’ll bear it in mind.”

“Do that, Casey. I mean it.”

He got in his car, and drove off.

Norma was gone. The QA office was deserted. The cleaning crews had already started in the back offices; she heard a tinny portable radio playing “Run Baby Run.”

Casey went to the coffeemaker, poured a cup of cold coffee, and took it into her own office. She flicked on the lights, stared at the stack of papers waiting on her desk.

She sat down and tried not to be discouraged by the way things were going. She had twenty hours until the interview, and her leads were falling apart.

Just lie. Hell with it.

She sighed. Maybe Amos was right.

She stared at the papers, pushing aside the picture of John Chang and his smiling family. She didn’t know what to do, except go through the papers. And check.

She again came to the charts of the flight plan. Again, they teased her. She remembered she had had an idea, just before Marder called her the night before. She had a feeling … but what was it?

Whatever it was, it was gone now. She set the flight plan aside, including the General Declaration (Outward/Inward) that had been filed with it, which listed the crew:

She paused, sipped the cold coffee. There was something odd about this list, she thought. But she couldn’t put her finger on it.

She set the list aside.

Next, a transcript of communications from Southern California Air Traffic Approach Control. As usual it was printed without punctuation, the transmission to 545 intermixed with transmissions to several other aircraft:

Casey puzzled over the exchanges. Because they suggested very erratic behavior by the pilot.

For example, the TransPacific incident had occurred shortly after five in the morning. At that time, the plane was still in radio contact with Honolulu ARINC. With so many injuries, the captain could have reported an emergency to Honolulu.

But he hadn’t done that.

Why not?

Instead, the pilot continued to Los Angeles. And he had waited until he was about to land before reporting an emergency.

Why had he waited so long?

And why would he say the incident had been caused by turbulence? He knew that wasn’t true. The captain had told the stewardess the slats deployed. And she knew, from Ziegler’s audio, that the slats
had
deployed. So why hadn’t the pilot announced it? Why lie to approach control?

Everyone agreed John Chang was a good pilot. So what was the explanation for his behavior? Was he in shock? Even the best pilots sometimes behaved oddly in a crisis. But there seemed to be a pattern here—almost a plan. She looked ahead:

The captain seemed to report the fatalities as an afterthought. What was really going on?

Casey thought,
Minor damage only?
That cabin had sustained millions of dollars of damage. Hadn’t the captain gone back to look for himself? Did he not know the extent of the damage? Why would he say what he did?

At that moment one of the first officers had been covered in blood. Again, did the pilot not know? She glanced at the rest of the transcript, then pushed it aside. She’d show it to Felix tomorrow, and get his opinion.

She went on, looking through the Structure Reports, the Interior Cabin Reports, the relevant PMA records for the counterfeit slats locking pin and the counterfeit thruster cowl. Steadily, patiently, she worked on into the night.

*  *  *

It was after ten o’clock when she again turned to the faults printout from Flight 545. She had been hoping she could skip this, and use the flight recorder data instead. But now there was nothing to do but slog through it.

Yawning, tired, she stared at the columns of numbers on the first page:

She didn’t want to do this. She hadn’t eaten dinner yet, and she knew she should eat. Anyway, the only questions she had about these fault listings were the AUX readings. She had asked Ron, and he had said the first was the auxiliary power
unit, the second and third were unused, and the fourth, AUX COA, was a customer installed line. But there wasn’t anything on those lines, Ron said, because a zero reading was normal. It was the default reading.

So she was really finished with this listing.

She was done.

Casey stood up at her desk, stretched, looked at her watch. It was ten-fifteen. She’d better get some sleep, she thought. After all, she was going to appear on television tomorrow. She didn’t want her mother to call afterward saying, “Dear, you looked so
tired
 …”