Airframe (30 page)

"Yes, it might."

"Suppose we lost business as a result of their show. If we can demonstrate that Newsline presented an erroneous view— and we told them it was erroneous—can we sue them for damages?"

"As a practical matter, no. We would probably have to show they proceeded with 'reckless disregard' for the facts known to them. Historically, that has been extremely difficult to prove."

"So Newsline is not liable for damages?"

"No."

"They can say whatever they want, and if they put us out of business, it's our tough luck?"

"That's correct."

"Is there any restraint at all on what they say?"

"Well." Fuller shifted in the chair. "If they falsely portrayed the company, they might be liable.

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But in this instance, we have a lawsuit brought by an attorney for a passenger on 545.

So Newsline is able to say they're just reporting the facts: that an attorney has made the following accusations about us."

"I understand," Marder said. "But a claim filed in a court has limited publicity. Newsline is going to present these crazy claims to forty million viewers. And at the same time, they'll automatically validate the claims, simply by repeating them on television. The damage to us comes from their exposure, not from the original claims."

"I take your point," Fuller said. "But the law doesn't see it that way. Newsline has the right to report a lawsuit."

"Newsline has no responsibility to independently assess the legal claims being made, no matter how outrageous? If the lawyer said, for example, that we employed child molesters, Newsline could still report that, with no liability to themselves?"

"Correct."

"Let's say we go to trial and win. It's clear that Newsline presented an erroneous view of our product, based on the attorney's allegations, which have been thrown out of court. Is Newsline obligated to retract the statements they made to forty million viewers?"

"No. They have no such obligation."

"Why not?"

"Newsline can decide what's newsworthy. If they think the outcome of the trial is not newsworthy, they don't have to report it. It's their call."

"And meanwhile, the company is bankrupt," Marder said. "Thirty thousand employees lose their jobs, houses, health benefits, and start new careers at Burger King. And another fifty thousand lose their jobs, when our suppliers go belly up in Georgia, Ohio, Texas, and Connecticut. All those fine people who've devoted their lives working to design, build, and support the best airframe in the business get a firm handshake and a swift kick in the butt. Is that how it works?"

Fuller shrugged. "That's how the system works. Yes."

"I'd say the system sucks."

"The system is the system," Fuller said.

Marder glanced at Casey, then turned back to Fuller. "Now Ed," he said. "This situation sounds very lopsided. We make a superb product, and all the objective measures of its performance demonstrate that it's safe and reliable. We've spent years developing and testing it. We've got an irrefutable track record. But you're saying a television crew can come in, hang around a day or two, and trash our product on national TV. And when they do, they have no responsibility for their acts, and we have no way to recover damages."

Fuller nodded.

"Pretty lopsided," Marder said.

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Fuller cleared his throat. "Well, it wasn't always that way. But for the last thirty years, since Sullivan in 1964, the First Amendment has been invoked in defamation cases. Now the press has a lot more breathing room."

"Including room for abuse," Marder said.

Fuller shrugged. "Press abuse is an old complaint," he said. "Just a few years after the First Amendment was passed, Thomas Jefferson complained about how inaccurate the press was, how unfair—"

"But Ed," Marder said. "We're not talking about two hundred years ago. And we're not talking about a few nasty editorials in colonial newspapers. We're talking about a television show with compelling images that goes instantaneously to forty, fifty million people—a sizable percentage of the whole country—and murders our reputation. Murders it. Unjustifiably. That's the situation we're talking about here. So," Marder said, "what do you advise us to do, Ed?"

"Well." Fuller cleared his throat again. "I always advise my clients to tell the truth."

"That's fine, Ed. That's sound counsel. But what do we doT

"It would be best," he said, "if you were prepared to explain what occurred on Flight 545."

"It happened four days ago. We don't have a finding yet." Fuller said, "It would be best if you did."

After Fuller had left, Marder turned to Casey. He didn't say anything. He just looked at her.

Casey stood there for a moment. She understood what Marder and the lawyer were doing. It had been a very effective performance. But the lawyer was also right, she thought. It would be best if they could tell the truth, and explain the flight. As she listened to him, she had begun to think that somehow she might find a way to tell the truth—or enough of the truth—to make this work. There were enough loose ends, enough uncertainties, that she might pull them together to form a coherent story.

"All right, John," she said. "I'll do the interview." "Excellent," Marder said, smiling and rubbing his hands together. "I knew you'd do the right thing, Casey. Newsline has scheduled a slot at four P.M. tomorrow. Meantime I want you to work briefly with a media consultant, someone from outside the company—" "John," she said. "I'll do it my way." "She's a very nice woman, and—"

"I'm sorry," Casey said. "I don't have time." "She can help you, Casey. Give you a few pointers."

"John," she said. "I have work to do." And she left the room.

DIGITAL DATA CENTER

6:15 P.M.

She had not promised to say what Marder wanted her to say; she had only promised to do the interview. She had less than twenty-four hours to make significant progress in the investigation.

She was not so foolish as to imagine she could determine what had happened in that time. But she could find something to tell the reporter.

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There were still many dangling leads: the possible problem with the locking pin. The possible problem with the proximity sensor. The possible interview with the first officer in Vancouver. The videotape at Video Imaging. The translation Ellen Fong was doing. The fact that the slats had deployed, but had been stowed immediately afterward—what exactly did that mean?

Still so much to check.

"I know you need the data," Rob Wong said, spinning in his chair. "I know, believe me." He was in the Digital Display Room, in front of the screens filled with data. "But what do you expect me to do?"

"Rob," Casey said. "The slats deployed. I have to know why—and what else happened on the flight. I can't figure it out without the flight recorder data."

"In that case," Wong said, "you better face the facts. We've been recalibrating all the one hundred and twenty hours of data. The first ninety-seven hours are okay. The last twenty-three hours are anomalous."

"I'm only interested in the last three hours."

"I understand," Wong said. "But to recalibrate those three hours, we have to go back to where the bus blew, and work forward. We have to calibrate twenty-three hours of data. And it's taking us about two minutes a frame to recalibrate."

She frowned. "What are you telling me?" But she was already calculating it in her head.

'Two minutes a frame means it'll take us sixty-five weeks."

"That's more than a year!"

"Working twenty-four hours a day. Real world, it'd take us three years to generate the data."

"Rob, we need this now."

"It just can't be done, Casey. You're going to have to work this without the FDR. I'm sorry, Casey. That's the way it is."

She called Accounting. "Is Ellen Fong there?"

"She didn't come in today. She said she was working at home."

"Do you have her number?"

"Sure," the woman said. "But she won't be there. She had to go to a formal dinner. Some charity thing with her husband."

'Tell her I called," Casey said.

She called Video Imaging in Glendale, the company that was working on the videotape for her. She asked for Scott Harmon. "Scott's gone for the day. He'll be in at nine tomorrow morning."

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 169

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 your

"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 take-offs 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?"

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"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.

QA

7:20 P.M.

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: John Zhen Chang, Captain

5/7/51 M

Leu Zan Ping, First Officer

3/11/59

M

Richard Yong, First Officer

9/9/61 M

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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

Harriet Chang, Flight Attendant 5/12/77

F

Linda Ching, Flight Attendant

5/18/76

F

Nancy Morley, Flight Attendant 7/19/75

F

Kay Liang, Flight Attendant

6/4/67 F

John White, Flight Attendant

1/30/70