Free Fall (5 page)

Eight

Manhattan, New York

K
ate woke up angry.

In the shower she scrubbed until her skin reddened, as if she could wash away yesterday's indignation.

I can't believe what Sloane and Reeka did. Are they setting me up to get rid of me?

Toweling off, she tried to calm down but it was futile.

Senior management knew about Reeka's incompetence, her arrogance and her mean-spiritedness, but they were afraid to do anything about her because of her family connection to the board. And now here she was building her own fiefdom with minion jerks like Sloane.

Kate had had enough.

I could leave Newslead.

Sure, news jobs were scarce, but she had friends at Bloomberg and Reuters who could help her land something.

I could call them today
.

Still, the thought of walking away from a news agency she revered, a job she loved, of leaving behind all that she'd strived for, everything she'd invested, not only saddened her—it sickened her.

I'm not going to give it all up because of Reeka. I bled to get here.

As she wiped the steam from the mirror Kate looked back on the tragedies and triumphs of her life. After her parents had died in a hotel fire when she was seven, she and her little sister, Vanessa, had lived with relatives for a while, and then in foster homes. One summer, they'd been on vacation in British Columbia with their foster parents, driving through the Canadian Rockies, when their car went off the road and crashed into a river. That moment still burned in Kate's memory.

The car sinking...rolling...windows breaking...the icy water...grabbing Vanessa's hand...pulling her free...to the surface...the frigid current numbing her...fingers loosening...Vanessa slipping away...disappearing...

Kate survived.

The bodies of her foster parents had washed up on the riverbank, but Vanessa's body hadn't been found. Searchers had reasoned that it had got wedged in the rocks downstream, but Kate had never given up believing that Vanessa had somehow gotten out of the river.

In the time following the tragedy, Kate had bounced through the foster system until she'd eventually run away, spending most of her teen years on the street or in youth homes, while keeping a journal and wondering about the little sister she'd lost. Kate had managed to get back into school, and eventually pursued her love of writing. She took any job she could get to put herself through community college where she'd studied journalism, then found work in newsrooms across the country.

In San Francisco, she'd become pregnant by a man who'd lied to her about being married. He'd offered to pay for an abortion before dumping her. That had been the end of that. Kate had kept her baby, a girl she'd named Grace. She'd moved to Ohio and worked at a newspaper in Canton for several good years before downsizing cost her that job. But she never gave up. She got a short-term reporting position in Dallas with Newslead and did outstanding work there, which impressed Chuck Laneer. He offered her a job as a national correspondent at Newslead's world headquarters in Manhattan.

Kate knew how blessed she was to have the Newslead job, and to have her daughter and sister in her life.

We've all come a long way.

For some twenty years, Kate had never given up searching for Vanessa, even during her darkest moments. The day Vanessa was found after she'd been held captive, the day they were reunited, was a day that had changed them both forever.

Now it had been more than two years since her sister had been back in her life, living with her and Grace. Vanessa had proven to be unbreakable. Her therapy was helping her heal and she'd gotten her high school diploma. She was working as a waitress and taking business courses, determined to open her own restaurant one day.

The book that Kate and Vanessa had written together on their lost years had done well, providing Vanessa with some savings and Kate with a college fund for Grace.

We're hanging in there
.

Kate glanced at the time. She was running late.

Pulling on her robe, she went down the hall to Grace's room, taking in the stuffed bears and bunnies, the posters of Harry Styles and Justin Bieber. The corkboard held Kate's favorite item: a drawing of three stick people with enormous smiles entitled “Mommy, Aunt Vanessa and Me.” The newest was a picture of Grace in the planetarium at the Vanderbilt Museum. She'd written on the bottom: “I want to live on a star.”
She's growing up too fast,
Kate thought, as she gazed upon her sleeping daughter. She bent over the bed, gently brushed Grace's hair aside and kissed her cheek, causing her to stir.

“Time to get up and get ready for school, kid.”

Grace moaned and pulled the sheets over her head.

“You better get moving, kiddo, or you're gonna be late. Okay?”

Kate patted her leg. Grace's head nodded under the covers and Kate returned to her room to get dressed. But she paused. She needed to know how the competition had done on EastCloud Flight 4990. She checked the
New York Times
, the
Wall Street Journal
, the
Post
, the
Daily News
and the other wires.

I've been pushed off this story. Why do I care?

Because deep down it was her story.

She had an emotional connection to it. The image of Diane Wilson's farewell video to her family burned in Kate's mind as she tried to imagine the horror of what the people on that flight had faced. One moment you're living your life. The next moment you're falling from the sky, expecting to die.

What happened to that plane?

No one had broken any new angles on the story. She put her phone down, finished dressing and went to the kitchen where Vanessa was working on her laptop, concentrating behind her glasses, hair curtained to one side. For a moment Kate acknowledged some facts of her sister's tragedy. She had not just been found, she'd been a prisoner before she was rescued, and the man who'd held her all those years had allowed her to read. In fact, he'd given her all kinds of books—novels, text books, encyclopedias and dictionaries. Books had become her lifeline. Her reading and comprehension skills were remarkable, the therapists had said. Despite her nightmare, her lost years and everything that she'd endured, Vanessa had emerged a poised, self-assured, beautiful young woman, Kate thought.

“You're up early,” Kate said.

“Got a test coming. I need to study.”

“Commerce?”

“Economics. I made some raspberry tea.”

“Thanks. I could use it.”

“You got back later than we expected. How'd things go for you yesterday?”

“Awful. I'm thinking of leaving Newslead. The place is falling apart.”

Vanessa looked up from her work, pushed her hair back.

“But you love it there. You're devoted to that place.”

Hands cupped around her mug, Kate shook her head, sipped some tea and told Vanessa about her ordeal. When Kate finished, Vanessa considered the matter then said, “You don't want to quit over this.”

“Why not?”

“You're bigger than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just let it go.”

“But what happened is wrong on so many levels, and I don't see it getting better.”

“It all comes down to bumper sticker clichés, Kate. ‘What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.' Suck it up, step back and look at where we've been and where we are now. You're tougher than Sloane and Reeka and you know it.”

Absorbing Vanessa's suggestion, Kate caressed the guardian angel necklace she always wore as she looked to the wall, at the framed cover of the book they'd written together:
Echo In My Heart: A Relentless Story of Love, Loss and Survival
. For years, Vanessa had been locked up by a madman, and Kate had helped rescue her. Through it all, neither of them had quit and neither of them had given up hope. Vanessa was Kate's inspiration.

“You make a good point,” Kate said.

“Think it over. I've got to get dressed.”

Vanessa smiled before she left. Alone in the kitchen, Kate couldn't suppress her need to know more about EastCloud Flight 4990. She got on her phone and again researched the plane. Again, as far as she could tell, the Richlon-TitanRT-86 was a new model, without any known history of major problems. The crew said it was a malfunction, not turbulence. And in its statement, EastCloud had said the flight had “encountered a situation on its approach into New York.”

Kate was mulling over what she knew when her phone vibrated with a text from Tara Lawson, a reporter at Newslead.

OMG the rumors were true! Chuck Laneer is back!

What? This a joke, Tara?

I'm looking at him in his office now! Maybe he can save us all?

Kate's spirits soared. Chuck was back. This changed everything.

“Mom? Did you hear me?”

Kate looked from her phone to Grace.

“Can I get new shoes, pink ones like Amber got?”

“No, sweetie. The shoes you have are still new. Maybe in the fall.”

“But Mom! Did you see Amber's shoes? They're so amazing!”

“Did you remember to clean the sink when you finished?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want for breakfast, something quick?”

“Toast with honey.”

“Okay, remember your chore today—you water the plants while I fix your toast. Want orange juice or milk?”

“Milk.”

“Milk what?”

“Milk, please and thank you.”

As Kate prepared her daughter's breakfast, her phone vibrated with another text. This one was from Chuck Laneer, and in typical Chuck fashion, he got straight to the point.

Hey Kate. As you no doubt heard, I'm back. Want to meet with you ASAP to discuss the Flight 4990 story.

I'll be there within an hour.

Sooner would be better.

Welcome back, Chuck.

Nine

Manhattan, New York

K
ate waited alone in Newslead's corner meeting room.

Looking out at the majestic view of Midtown's skyscrapers, the Chrysler and Empire State buildings, she reflected.

It had been three years since she'd started working at headquarters for Chuck and she thought about everything that she'd reported on in that time: all the crime, disasters, tragedies, investigations. And with most stories, especially those where she'd dealt face-to-face with victims and their anguished families—
I'm so sorry but would you have a picture of your son-daughter-wife-husband-brother-sister-loved-one you could share with us?
—she'd given a piece of her soul.

In her heart, she was honored to be part of Newslead because of its history of excellence in journalism, and it troubled her that its integrity was being eroded. But Chuck's return gave her hope and reason to reconsider leaving, because if anyone could restore morale and rebuild the newsroom it was Chuck Laneer.

A shadow fell across the room.

“Good morning, Kate.”

She felt as if the air had suddenly been poisoned. Sloane flashed his brilliant grin, set his notebook and coffee down then took a seat across the table from her.

“What're you doing here?” she asked.

“I could ask you the same question.”

He sipped his coffee casually. Reeka entered the room, wearing a navy power suit, her face focused on her phone, thumbs a blur. She completed a message, then looked at Kate.

“Did you send me your overtime sheet?”

“I'll do that today.”

“Okay, everybody.”

Chuck arrived and shut the door, prompting Sloane to paste on a smile, stand and extend his hand.

“Mr. Laneer, welcome. Sloane F. Parkman. We haven't met but I'm more than aware of your legendary status in the news craft.”

“It's Chuck. Thanks.”

“Hi.” Kate smiled.

“Good to see you again, Kate.”

Chuck smiled but his eyes betrayed a tinge of concern. His tie was slightly loosened and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. He'd lost some weight, his hair was thinner and mussed, and the lines in his face had deepened.

“This won't take long. I wanted to get to the jetliner story before Hersh and I officially address the newsroom this morning about my return.”

Chuck glanced at his watch.

“I've looked at our coverage of Flight Forty-nine Ninety, and we have an opportunity here to take command of this story and reassert Newslead's prominence. By all accounts, something went haywire and a plane nearly fell from the sky. The Richlon-TitanRT-86 is a new model that came into service about two years ago. There are about three hundred in operation around the world and it seems to have a good safety record. We need to know if this is an isolated incident or if there's a serious problem with that aircraft. Lives could be at risk and it's our duty to inform the public.”

“My sources said it was not a technical problem but turbulence and pilot error,” Sloane said.

“I heard the crew on the scanner report that it was not turbulence,” Kate said. “That it was some sort of malfunction.”

Chuck leaned forward. “The NTSB and EastCloud haven't confirmed a damn thing yet,” he said. “Until then, we're going to own this story and follow it until it's no longer a story. Now, I've spoken with Reeka and I've decided to put you both on this one.”

“Both of us?” Kate was stunned.

“That's right. Both of you. Sloane, have you consulted FAA records on the airworthiness of this plane and the history of the model, or checked our legal databases for any civil action?”

“I was about to do just that, Chuck.”

Shaking her head, Kate turned to the window to avoid screaming while watching hope fade away.

“Kate?” Chuck said.

She turned back.

“Kate, I want you to work every angle you can to get us out front and keep us there.”

“Sure. I'm on it.”

“Good. We're going to break news with solid, on-the-record reporting. Newslead will be the go-to source for this story and every story we cover. Is that understood?”

“Clearly,” Sloane said.

“Abundantly,” Kate said.

“Okay, that's it.”

* * *

What's going on? I don't believe this.

Kate headed for her desk, reconsidered then went to Chuck's office.

Through his open door, she could see that he was standing with his back to her, looking at the empty bookshelves and credenza. Three cardboard boxes sitting on his desk were jammed with items: his baseball autographed by the Yankees, his Pulitzer and his framed photos. One of Chuck with his wife was already on the desk.

Kate was overcome with sadness, seeing him standing there alone, his life in those boxes. How long had it been since they'd talked, a year? She was angry at him for leaving Newslead after his blowout with previous spineless management. The fact he was dealing with his wife's illness at the same time had only complicated things. She rapped lightly on the door and he turned to her. This time his smile was from the heart.

“I'm glad you're back,” she said. “It's been too long.”

“The time got away from us. Look, when I left I had a helluva lot going on and, well—”

“It's all history now. It's okay. How's Audrey doing?”

“Still cancer-free. Thanks for asking.”

“Good, I'm glad.” Kate let a moment pass. She didn't have much time. “We need to talk about what just happened back there.”

He ran a hand over his face.

“Shut the door.”

Kate closed it.

“Chuck, let me go first. I don't want to scare you but this place is a mess. The cuts have taken a toll. The new management's dysfunctional. Morale here sucks. The quality of our work is slipping. The place is fueled by nepotism and cronyism.”

“I know.”

“As for Sloane. Oh. My. God. Chuck, I can't work with him. The guy's a freaking liar. It's a risk to have him in our newsroom and his name on Newslead stories.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Nothing leaves this room.”

“Okay.”

“I
need
you to work with him.”

“What? Why? I don't get this. The guy should be fired.”

“I can't do much about him. Not yet. It's complicated.”

“Do you know what he did on this story? Shirking his duty?”

Chuck nodded.

“Word got to me. Before I came back, I called some people, did some due diligence. Listen, he's Reeka's hire and Reeka has pull with senior management. You know that. I can't touch Sloane. Not yet. She wanted him on this story alone. I pushed back to get you on it because I think it requires two people, even with our smaller stable of reporters. Truth is, I need you to watch over him, to keep him from hurting us.”

“I can't do that!”

“Kate, I
need
you to do this, and break stories. We're under tremendous pressure. You know the song. We're losing subscribers. We're getting beat on stories. We're rushing down the river to irrelevance. From what I've learned, Sloane's not a reporter, at least not the caliber we need to work here, and he'll fail. Kate, I'm counting on you to prove your strength, like you did in Dallas, and like you did on your sister's story. I need you to help me fix Newslead.”

Kate weighed the stakes as Chuck glanced at the time.

“Because it's you, I'll do it,” she said. “But tell me, if you knew things were bad here, why did you come back?”

“The same reason you've stayed.” Chuck glanced at the framed photo of his wife, then at Kate. “We've each given everything to this organization and we don't give up on the things we love and believe in.”

Before Kate could react, a knock sounded at the door. Kate opened it to Sloane and Reeka, who thrust her phone at Chuck.

“The
New York Times
is now reporting that Flight Forty-nine Ninety encountered severe clear-air turbulence and the pilot disabled the plane's safety features to deal with it and, in doing so, overreacted.”

Adjusting his glasses, Chuck read the piece.

“See,” Sloane said. “It was turbulence, just as I'd first reported. Looks like pilot error, not mechanical, just like my story said.”

“They're using unnamed sources,” Chuck said.

“It's the
Times
, Chuck,” Reeka said. “I think everybody's just been killed on this story.”

“We still don't have officially sourced confirmation,” Chuck said. “Nobody does. Not yet. Sloane, did you check the FAA records and search court records?”

“Working on it.”

“Good. Now, excuse us, if you'd give Kate and me a minute.”

Reeka and Sloane left. Chuck loosened his tie more, then unknotted it and whipped it off.

“Dammit, Reeka's right. The
Times
just kicked our asses. We've got to get on top of this story.”

“I'll do my best.”

“We're going to need more than that, Kate.”