Airframe (9 page)

“Thanks, Don,” she said. “Feeling’s mutual.”

“Those years when you were on the floor, I always kept my eye on you. Kept you out of trouble.”

“I know that, Don.” She waited. Brull was notorious for long windups.

“I always thought, Casey isn’t like the others.”

“What’s going on, Don?” she said.

“We got some problems with this China sale,” Brull said.

“What kind of problems?”

“Problems with the offset.”

“What about it?” she said, shrugging. “You know there’s always offset with a big sale.” In recent years, airframe manufacturers had been obliged to send portions of the fabrication overseas, to the countries ordering planes. A country that ordered fifty planes expected to get a piece of the action. It was standard procedure.

“I know,” Brull said. “But in the past, you guys sent part of the tail, maybe the nose, maybe some interior fab. Just parts.”

“That’s right.”

“But these tools we’re crating up,” he said, “are for the wing. And the Teamsters on the loading dock are telling us these crates aren’t going to Atlanta—they’re going to Shanghai. The company’s going to give the wing to China.”

“I don’t know the details of the agreement,” she said. “But I doubt that—”

“The
wing
, Casey,” he said. “That’s core technology. Nobody ever gives away the wing. Not Boeing, nobody. You give the Chinese the wing, you give away the store. They don’t need us any more. They can build the next generation of planes on their own. Ten years from now, nobody here has a job.”

“Don,” she said, “I’ll check into this, but I can’t believe the wing is part of the offset agreement.”

Brull spread his hands. “I’m telling you it is.”

“Don. I’ll check for you. But right now I’m pretty busy with this 545 incident, and—”

“You’re not listening, Casey. The local’s got a problem with the China sale.”

“I understand that, but—”

“A
big problem
.” He paused, looked at her. “Understand?”

She did. The UAW workers on the floor had absolute control over production. They could slow down, sick out, break tooling, and create hundreds of other intractable problems. “I’ll talk to Marder,” she said. “I’m sure he doesn’t want a problem on the line.”

“Marder
is
the problem.”

Casey sighed. Typical union misinformation, she thought. The China sale had been made by Hal Edgarton and the Marketing team. Marder was just the COO. He ran the plant. He didn’t have anything to do with sales.

“I’ll get back to you tomorrow, Don.”

“That’s fine,” Brull said. “But I’m telling you, Casey. Personally. I’d hate to see anything happen.”

“Don,” she said. “Are you threatening me?”

“No, no,” Brull said quickly, with a pained expression. “Don’t misunderstand. But I hear that if the 545 thing isn’t cleared up fast, it could kill the China sale.”

“That’s true.”

“And you’re speaking for the IRT.”

“That’s true, too.”

Brull shrugged. “So, I’m telling you. Feelings are strong
against the sale. Some of the guys are pretty hot about it. I was you, I’d take a week off.”

“I can’t do that. I’m right in the middle of the investigation.”

Brull looked at her.

“Don. I’ll talk to Marder about the wing,” she said. “But I have to do my job.”

“In that case,” Brull said, putting his hand on her arm, “you take real good care, honey.”

“No, no,” Marder said, pacing in his office. “This is nonsense, Casey. There’s no way we’d send the wing to Shanghai. What do they think, we’re crazy? That’d be the end of the company.”

“But Brull said—”

“The Teamsters are screwing with the UAW, that’s all. You know how rumors run through the plant. Remember when they all decided composites made you sterile? Damn guys wouldn’t come to work for a month. But it wasn’t true. And this one’s not true, either. Those tools are going to Atlanta,” he said. “And for one very good reason. We’re fabbing the wing in Atlanta so that the senator from Georgia will stop messing with us every time we go to the Ex-Im Bank for a big loan. It’s a jobs program for the senior senator from Georgia. Got it?”

“Then somebody better get the word out,” Casey said.

“Christ,” Marder said. “They know this. The union reps sit in on all the management meetings. It’s usually Brull himself.”

“But he didn’t sit in on the China negotiations.”

“I’ll speak to him,” Marder said.

Casey said, “I’d like to see the offset agreement.”

“And you will, as soon as it’s final.”

“What are we giving them?”

“Part of the nose, and the empennage,” Marder said.
“Same as we did for France. Hell, we can’t give them anything else, they’re not competent to build it.”

“Brull was talking about interfering with the IRT. To stop the China sale.”

“Interfering how?” Marder said, frowning at her. “Did he threaten you?”

Casey shrugged.

“What did he say?”

“He recommended a week’s vacation.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Marder said, throwing up his hands. “This is ridiculous. I’ll talk to him tonight, straighten him out. Don’t worry about this. Just stay focused on the job. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll take care of this for you.”

Casey rode the elevator from the ninth floor down to her own offices, on the fourth floor. She replayed the meeting with Marder, and decided he wasn’t lying. His exasperation had been genuine. And it was true what Marder said—rumors flew through the plant, all the time. A couple of years back, there was a week when the UAW guys had all come up to her, asking solicitously, “How do you feel?” It was days before she learned there was a rumor she had cancer.

Just a rumor. Another rumor.

She walked down the corridor, past the photographs of famous Norton aircraft from the past, with a celebrity posed in front: Franklin Delano Roosevelt beside the B-22 that carried him to Yalta; Errol Flynn, with smiling girls in the tropics, in front of an N-5; Henry Kissinger, on the N-12 that had taken him to China in 1972. The photographs were sepia-toned, to convey a sense of age, and the stability of the company.

She opened the doors to her offices: frosted glass, with raised lettering: “Quality Assurance Division.” She came into a large open room. The secretaries sat in the bullpen; executive offices lined the walls.

Norma sat by the door, a heavyset woman of indeterminate age, with blue-rinse hair, and a cigarette dangling from her mouth. It was against regulations to smoke in the building, but Norma did as she pleased. She had been with the company as
long as anyone could remember; it was rumored that she had been one of the girls in the picture with Errol Flynn, and that she had had a hot affair with Charley Norton back in the fifties. Whether any of that was true or not, she certainly knew where all the bodies were buried. Within the company, she was treated with a deference bordering on fear. Even Marder was cautious around her.

Casey said, “What’ve we got, Norma?”

“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 Düsseldorf 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 dialed 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.

The telex was followed by four pages of passenger manifest and crew list. She glanced at the crew list:

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.

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 their five-inch displays in the first-class section of American N-22 widebodies.

A list of revisions to the N-20 Aircraft Maintenance Manual (MP. 06-62-02).