Airframe (37 page)

"Remember," she said. "From now on, you're live. They can hear whatever you say."

"Okay," Casey said. She adjusted her clothes. She felt the box pinching at her waist, the wire against the skin of her chest She felt cramped and uncomfortable.

The makeup woman led her back into the War Room, holding her by the elbow. Casey felt like a gladiator being taken into the arena.

Inside the War Room, the lights were glaring. The room was very hot. She was led to her seat at the table, told to watch she didn't trip over the camera cables, and helped to sit down. There were two cameras behind her. There were two cameras facing her. The cameraman behind her asked her to please move her chair an inch to the right. She did. A man came over and adjusted her microphone clip, because he said there was clothing noise.

On the opposite side, Reardon was attaching his own microphone without assistance, chatting with the cameraman. Then he slipped easily into his chair. He looked relaxed, and casual. He faced her, smiled at her.

"Nothing to worry about," he said. "Piece of cake."

Malone said, "Let's go, guys, they're in the chairs. It's hot in here."

"A camera ready."

"B camera ready."

"Sound ready."

"Let's have the lights," Malone said.

Casey had thought the lights were already on, but suddenly, new harsh lights blazed down at her, from all directions. She felt as if she were in the middle of a glaring furnace.

"Camera check," Malone said.

"Fine here."

"We're fine."

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"All right," Malone said. "Roll tape."

The interview began.

WAR ROOM

2:33 P.M.

Marty Reardon met her eyes, smiled, and gestured to the room. "So. This is where it all happens."

Casey nodded.

"This is where the Norton specialists meet to analyze aircraft accidents."

"Yes."

"And you're part of that team."

"Yes."

"You're vice-president of Quality Assurance at Norton Aircraft."

"Yes."

"Been with the company five years."

"Yes."

"They call this room the War Room, don't they?"

"Some do, yes."

"Why is that?"

She paused. She couldn't think of any way to describe the arguments in this room, the flares of temper, the outbursts that accompanied every attempt to clarify an aircraft incident, without saying something he could take out of context.

She said, "It's just a nickname."

"The War Room," Reardon said. "Maps, charts, battle plans, pressure. Tension under siege.

Your company, Norton Aircraft, is under siege at the moment, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure what you're referring to," Casey said.

Reardon's eyebrows went up. "The JAA, Europe's Joint Aviation Authority, is refusing to certify one of your aircraft, the N-22, because they say it's unsafe."

"Actually, the plane's already certified but—"

"And you're about to sell fifty N-22s to China. But now the Chinese, too, are said to be concerned about the safety of the plane."

She didn't get angry at the innuendo; she focused on Reardon. The rest of the room seemed to fade away.

She said, "I'm not aware of any Chinese concerns."

"But you are aware," Reardon said, "of the reason behind these safety concerns. Earlier this week, a very serious accident. Involving an N-22 aircraft."

"Yes."

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'Transpacific Flight 545. An accident in midair, over the Pacific Ocean."

"Yes."

"Three people died. And how many injured?"

"I believe fifty-six," she said. She knew it sounded awful, no matter how she said it

"Fifty-six injured," Reardon intoned. "Broken necks. Broken limbs. Concussions. Brain damage. Two people paralyzed for life ..."

Reardon trailed off, looking at her.

He hadn't asked a question. She said nothing. She waited, in the glaring heat of the lights.

"How do you feel about that?"

She said, "I think everyone at Norton feels very great concern for air safety. That's why we test our airframes to three times the design life—"

"Very great concern. Do you think that's an adequate response?"

Casey hesitated. What was he saying? "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm afraid I don't follow—"

"Doesn't the company have an obligation to build safe aircraft?"

"Of course. And we do."

"Not everyone agrees," Reardon said. "The JAA doesn't agree. The Chinese may not agree ...

Doesn't the company have an obligation to fix the design of an aircraft which it knows to be unsafe?"

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean," Reardon said, "is that what happened to Flight 545 has happened before.

Many times before. On other N-22s. Isn't that true?'

"No," Casey said.

"No?" Reardon's eyebrows shot up.

"No," Casey said, firmly. This was the moment, she thought. She was stepping off the cliff.

"This is the first time?"

"Yes."

"Well then," Reardon said, "perhaps you can explain this list." He produced a sheet of paper, held it up. She knew from across the room what it was. "This is a list of slats episodes on the N-22, going back to 1992, right after the plane was introduced. Eight episodes. Eight separate episodes. Transpacific is the ninth."

"That's not accurate."

"Well, tell me why."

Casey went through, as briefly as she could, the way Airworthiness Directives worked. She explained why they had been issued for the N-22. How the problem had been solved, except for foreign carriers that had failed to comply. How there had not been a domestic incident since 1992.

Reardon listened with continuously raised eyebrows, as if he had never heard such an 210

outlandish thing before.

"So let me see if I understand," he said. "In your view, the company has followed the rules. By issuing these air directives, which are supposed to fix the problem."

"No," Casey said. "The company has fixed the problem."

"Has it? We're told slats deployment is the reason people died on Flight 545."

"That's incorrect" She was now dancing on a tightrope, working a fine and technical line, and she knew it If he asked her, Did the slats deploy? she would be in trouble. She waited breathlessly for the next question.

Reardon said, "The people who told us the slats deployed are wrong?"

"I don't know how they'd know," Casey said. She decided to go farther. "Yes, they're wrong."

"Fred Barker, former FAA investigator, is wrong."

"Yes."

"The JAA is wrong."

"Well, as you know, the JAA is actually delaying certification over noise emissions, and—"

"Let's just stay with this for a moment," Reardon said.

She remembered what Gershon had said: He's not interested in information.

"The JAA is wrong?" he said, repeating the question.

This called for a complicated answer, she thought. How could she put it briefly? "They're wrong to say the aircraft is unsafe."

"So in your opinion," Reardon said, "there is absolutely no substance to these criticisms of the N-22."

"That's correct. It is an excellent aircraft."

"A well-designed aircraft."

"Yes."

"A safe aircraft."

"Absolutely."

"You'd fly in it"

"Whenever possible."

"Your family, your friends ..."

"Absolutely."

"No hesitation whatsoever?"

"That's right."

"So what was your reaction, when you saw the tape on television from Flight 545?"

He 'II get you saying yes, then hit you from left field,

But Casey was ready for it. "All of us here knew that it was a very tragic accident. When I saw the tape, I felt very sad for the people involved."

"You felt sad."

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"Yes."

"Didn't it shake your conviction about the aircraft? Make you question the N-22?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because the N-22 has a superb safety record. One of the best in the industry."

"One of the best in the industry..." Reardon smirked.

"Yes, Mr. Reardon," she said. "Let me ask you. Last year, forty-three thousand Americans died in automobile accidents. Four thousand people drowned. Two thousand people choked to death on food. Do you know how many died in domestic commercial transports?"

Reardon paused. He chuckled. "I must admit you've stumped the panel."

"It's a fair question, Mr. Reardon. How many died in commercial aircraft last year?"

Reardon frowned. "I'll say ... I'll say a thousand."

"Fifty," Casey said. "Fifty people died. Do you know how many died the year before that?

Sixteen. Fewer than were killed on bicycles."

"And how many of those died on the N-22?" Reardon asked, eyes narrowed, trying to recover.

"None," Casey said.

"So your point is ..."

"We have a nation in which forty-three thousand people die every year in cars, and nobody worries about it at all. They get into cars when they're drunk, when they're tired—without a second thought. But these same people are panicked at the thought of getting on an airplane.

And the reason," Casey said,"is that television consistently exaggerates the real dangers involved. That tape will make people afraid to fly. And for no good reason."

"You think the tape shouldn't have been shown?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you said it will make people afraid—for no good reason."

"Correct."

"Is it your view tapes such as these should not be shown?"

She thought: Where is he going? Why is he doing this?

"I didn't say that"

"I'm asking you now."

"I said," Casey replied, "that those tapes create an inaccurate perception of the danger of air travel."

"Including the danger of the N-22?"

"I've already said I think the N-22 is safe."

"So you don't think such tapes should be shown to the public."

What the hell was he doing? She still couldn't figure it out. She didn't answer him; she was thinking hard. Trying to see where he was going with this. She had a sinking feeling she knew.

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"In your view, Ms. Singleton, should such tapes be suppressed?"

"No," Casey said.

"They should not be suppressed."

"No."

"Has Norton Aircraft ever suppressed any tapes?"

Uh-oh, she thought She was trying to figure out how many people knew of the tape. A lot, she decided: Ellen Fong, Ziegler, the people at Video Imaging. Maybe a dozen people, maybe more...

"Ms. Singleton," Reardon said, "are you personally aware of any other tape of this accident?"

Just lie, Amos had said.

"Yes," she said. "I know of another tape."

"And have you seen the tape?"

"I have."

Reardon said, "It's upsetting. Horrifying. Isn't it?'

She thought: They have it. They'd gotten the tape. She would have to proceed very carefully now.

"It's tragic," Casey said. "What happened on Flight 545 is a tragedy." She felt tired. Her shoulders ached from tension.

"Ms. Singleton, let me put it to you directly: Did Norton Aircraft suppress this tape?"

"No-Eyebrows up, the look of surprise. "But you certainly didn't release it, did you."

"No."

"Why not?"

"That tape was found on the aircraft," Casey said, "and is being used in our ongoing investigation. We didn't feel it appropriate to release it until our investigation is completed."

"You weren't covering up the well-known defects of the N-22?"

"No."

"Not everyone agrees with you about that, Ms. Singleton. Because Newsline obtained a copy of that tape, from a conscience-stricken Norton employee who felt that the company was covering up. Who felt the tape should be made public."

Casey held herself rigid. She didn't move.

"Are you surprised?" Reardon said, his lips in a curl.

She didn't answer. Her mind was spinning. She had to plan her next move.

Reardon was smirking, a patronizing smile. Enjoying the moment.

Now.

"Have you yourself actually seen this tape, Mr. Reardon?" She asked the question in a tone that implied the tape didn't exist, that Reardon was making it all up.

"Oh yes," Reardon said solemnly, "I have seen the tape. It's 213

difficult, painful to watch. It is a terrible, damning record of what happened on that N-22

aircraft."

"You've seen it all the way through?"

"Of course. So have my associates in New York."

So it had already gone to New York, she thought.

Careful.

Careful.

"Ms. Singleton, was Norton ever planning to release that taper

"It's not ours to release. We'd return it to the owners, after the investigation was completed. It would be up to the owners to decide what to do with it."

"After the investigation was completed ..." Reardon was shaking his head. "Forgive me, but for a company you say is committed to flight safety, there seems to be a consistent pattern of cover-ups here."

"Cover-ups?"

"Ms. Singleton, if there was a problem with the airplane—a serious problem, an ongoing problem, a problem the company knew about—would you tell us?"

"But there is no problem."

"Isn't there?' Reardon was looking down now, at the papers in front of him. "If the N-22 is really as safe as you say, Ms. Singleton, then how do you explain this?"

And he handed her a sheet of paper.

She took it, glanced at the paper.

"Jesus Christ," she said.

Reardon had his media moment. He had gotten her unguarded, off-balance reaction. She knew it would look bad. She knew there was no way for her to recover from it, no matter what she said from this point on. But she was focused on the paper in front of her, stunned to see it now.