"Okay..."
"And I'd prefer you not mention this to anybody."
"Including Bill?" That was her husband.
Casey nodded. "Is that a problem?"
"Not at all." She looked at the tape in her hand. "When?"
'Tomorrow? Friday at the latest?"
"Done," Ellen Fong said.
NAIL
5:55 P.M.
Casey took the second copy of the tape to the Norton Audio Interpretation Lab, in the back of Building 24. NAIL was run by a former CIA guy from Omaha, a paranoid electronics genius named Jay Ziegler, who built his own audio filter boards and playback equipment because, he said, he didn't trust anyone to do it for him.
Norton had constructed NAIL to help the government agencies interpret cockpit voice recorder tapes. After an accident, the government took CVRs and analyzed them in Washington. This was done to prevent them from being leaked to the press before an investigation was completed. But although the agencies had experienced staff to transcribe the tapes, they were less skilled at interpreting sounds inside the cockpit - the alarms and audio reminders that often went off. These sounds represented proprietary Norton systems, so Norton had built a facility to analyze them.
The heavy soundproof door, as always, was locked. Casey pounded on it, and after a while a voice on the speaker said, "Give the password."
"It's Casey Singleton, Jay."
"Give the password."
"Jay, for Christ's sake. Open the door."
There was a click, and silence. She waited. The thick door pushed open a crack. She saw Jay Ziegler, hair down to his shoulders, wearing dark sunglasses. He said, "Oh. All right. Come ahead, Singleton. You're cleared for this station."
He opened the door a fraction wider, and she squeezed past him into a darkened room. Ziegler immediately slammed the door shut, threw three bolts in succession.
"Better if you call first, Singleton. We have a secure line in. Four-level scramble encoded."
"I'm sorry, Jay, but something's come up."
"Security's everybody's business."
She handed him the spool of magnetic tape. He glanced at it. "This is one-inch mag, Singleton."
"We don't often see this, at this station."
"Can you read it?"
Ziegler nodded. "Can read anything, Singleton. Anything you throw at us." He put the tape on a horizontal drum and threaded it. Then he glanced over his shoulder. "Are you cleared for the contents of this?"
"It's my tape, Jay."
"Just asking."
She said, "I should tell you that this tape is - "
"Don't tell me anything, Singleton. Better that way."
On all the monitors in the room, she saw oscilloscope squiggles, green lines jumping against black, as the tape began to play. "Uh ... okay," Ziegler said. "We got high-eight audio track, Dolby D encoded, got to be a home video camera ..." Over the speaker, she heard a rhythmic crunching sound.
Ziegler stared at his monitors. Some of them were now generating fancy data, building three-dimensional models of the sound, which looked like shimmering multicolored beads on a string. The programs were also generating slices at various hertz.
"Footsteps," Ziegler announced "Rubber-soled feet on grass or dirt. Countryside, no urban signature. Footsteps probably male. And, uh, slight dysrhythmic, he's probably carrying something. Not too heavy. But consistently off-balance."
Casey remembered the first image on the videotape: a man walking up the path, away from a Chinese village, with the child on his shoulder.
"You're right," she said, impressed.
Now there was a tweeting sound - some sort of birdcall. "Hold on, hold on," Ziegler said, punching buttons. The tweet replayed, again and again, the beads jumping on the string. "Huh," Ziegler said finally. "Not in the database. Foreign locale?"
"China."
"Oh well. I can't do everything."
The footsteps continued. There was the sound of wind. On the tape, a male voice said, "She's fallen asleep..."
Ziegler said, "American, height five-nine to six-two, mid thirties."
She nodded, impressed again.
He pushed a button, and one of the monitors showed the video image, the man walking up the path. The tape froze. "Okay," Ziegler said. "So what am I doing here?"
Casey said, "The last nine minutes of tape were shot on Flight 545. This camera recorded the whole incident."
"Really," Ziegler said, rubbing his hands together. "That should be interesting."
"I want to know what you can tell me about unusual sounds in the moments just prior to the event. I have a question about - "
"Don't tell me," he said, holding up his hand. "I don't want to know. I want to take a clean look."
"When can you have something?"
'Twenty hours." Ziegler looked at his watch. 'Tomorrow afternoon."
"Okay. And Jay? I'd appreciate if you'd keep this tape to yourself."
Ziegler looked at her blankly. "What tape?" he said.
QA
6:10 P.M.
Casey was back at her desk a little after 6 P.M. There were more telexes waiting for her.
FROM: S. NIETO, FSR VANC TO: C. SINGLETON, QA/IRT
F/O ZAN PING AT VANC GEN HOSPITAL FOLLOWING COMPLICATIONS FROM SURGERY REPORTED UNCONSCIOUS BUT STABLE. CARRIER REP MIKE LEE WAS AT THE HOSPITAL TODAY. I WILL TRY TO SEE F/O TOMORROW TO VERIFY HIS CONDITION AND INTERVIEW HIM IF POSSIBLE.
"Norma," she called, "remind me to call Vancouver tomorrow morning."
"I'll make a note," she said. "By the way, you got this." She handed Casey a fax.
The single sheet appeared to be a page from an in-flight magazine. The top read: "Employee of the Month," followed by an inky, unreadable photograph.
Underneath the photo was a caption: "Captain John Zhen Chang, Senior Pilot for Transpacific Airlines, is our employee of the month. Captain Chang's father was a pilot, and John himself has flown for twenty years, seven of those with Transpacific. When not in the cockpit, Captain Chang enjoys biking and golf. Here he relaxes on the beach at Lantan Island with his wife, Soon, and his children, Erica and Tom."
Casey frowned. "What's this?"
"Beats me," Norrna said.
"Where'd it come from?" There was a phone number at the top of the page, but no name.
"A copy shop on La Tijera," Norma said.
"Near the airport," Casey said.
"Yes. It's a busy place, they had no idea who sent it."
Casey stared at the photo. "It's from an in-flight magazine?'
"TransPacific's. But not this month. They pulled the contents of the seat pockets - you know, passenger announcements, safety cards, barf bags, monthly magazine - and sent it over. But that page isn't in the magazine."
"Can we get back copies?"
"I'm working on it," she said.
"I'd like to get a better look at this picture," Casey said.
"I figured," Norma said.
She went back to the other papers on her desk.
FROM: T. Korman, PROD SUPPORT TO: C. Singleton, QA/IRT
We have finalized the design parameters of the N-22 Virtual Heads-Up Display (VHUD) for use by ground personnel at domestic and foreign repair stations. The CD-ROM player now clips to the belt, and the goggles have been reduced in weight. The VHUD allows maintenance personnel to scroll Maintenance Manuals 12A/102-12 A/406, including diagrams and parts cutaways. Preliminary articles will be distributed for comments tomorrow. Production will begin 5/1.
This Virtual Heads-Up Display was part of Norton's ongoing effort to help the customers improve maintenance. Airframe manufacturers had long recognized that the majority of operational problems were caused by bad maintenance. In general, a properly maintained commercial aircraft would run for decades; some of the old Norton N-5s were sixty years old and still in service. On the other hand, an improperly maintained aircraft could get in trouble - or crash - within minutes.
Under financial pressure from deregulation, the airlines were cutting personnel, including maintenance personnel. And they were shortening the turnaround time between cycles; time on the ground had in some cases gone from two hours to less than twenty minutes. All this put intense pressure on maintenance crews. Norton, like Boeing and Douglas, saw it as in their interest to help crews work more effectively. That was why the Virtual Heads-Up Display, which projected the repair manuals on the inside of a set of glasses for maintenance people, was so important.
She went on.
Next she saw the weekly summary of parts failures, compiled to enable the FAA to track parts problems more carefully. None of the failures in the previous week was serious. An engine compressor stalled; an engine EOT indicator failed; an oil filter clog light illuminated incorrectly; a fuel heat indicator went on erroneously.
Then there were more IRT follow-up reports from past incidents. Product Support checked all incident aircraft every two weeks for the next six months, to make sure that the assessment of the Incident Review Team had been accurate, and that the aircraft was not experiencing further trouble. Then they issued a summary report, like the one she now saw on her desk:
AIRCRAFT INCIDENT REPORT
PRIVILEGED INFORMATION - FOR INTERNAL USE ONLY
REPORT No: IRT-8-2776 TODAY'S DATE: 08 April
MODEL: N-20 INCIDENT DATE: 04 March
OPERATOR: Jet Atlantic FUSELAGE No: 1280
NFA REPORTED BY: J. Ramones LOCATION: PS Portugal
FSR
REFERENCE: a) AVN-SVC-08774/ADH
Subject: Main Landing Gear Wheel Failure During Takeoff
DESCRIPTION OF EVENT:
It was reported that during takeoff roll the "Wheel Not Turning" alert came on and the flight crew aborted the takeoff. The nose landing gear (NLG) tires blew and there was a fire in the wheel well which was extinguished by fire trucks on the ground. Passengers and flight crew exited via evacuation slides. No reported injuries.
ACTION TAKEN:
Inspection of the aircraft revealed the following damage:
1. Both flaps sustained significant damage.
2. The Number 1 engine sustained heavy soot damage.
3. The inboard flap hinge fairing sustained minor damage.
4. The Number 2 wheel was flat spotted with approximately 30 percent missing. There was no damage to NLG axle or piston.
Review of human factors revealed the following:
1. Flight deck procedures require added carrier scrutiny.
2. Foreign repair procedures require added carrier scrutiny.
The aircraft is in the process of being repaired. Internal procedures are being reviewed by the carrier.
David Levine
Technical Integration
Product Support
Norton Aircraft Company
Burbank,CA
Summary reports were always diplomatic; in this incident, she knew, ground maintenance had been so inept that the nose wheel locked on takeoff, blowing the tires, causing what was very nearly a serious incident. But the report didn't say that; you had to read between the lines. The problem lay with the carrier, but the carrier was also the customer - and it was bad form to knock the customer.
Eventually, Casey knew, Transpacific Flight 545 would end up summarized in an equally diplomatic report. But there was much to do before then.
Norma came back. 'Transpacific's office is closed. I'll have to find that magazine tomorrow."
"Okay."
"Hon?"
"What."
"Go home."
She sighed. "You're right, Norma."
"And get some rest, will you?"
GLENDALE
9:15P.M.
Her daughter had left a message saying she was having a sleep-over at Amy's house, and that Dad said it was all right. Casey wasn't happy about it, she thought her daughter shouldn't have sleep-overs on school nights, but there was nothing she could do now. She got into bed, pulled her daughter's photograph on the bedside table over to look at it, and then turned to her work. She was going through the flight tapes of TPA 545, checking the waypoint coordinates for each leg against the written radio transcripts from Honolulu ARINC and Oakland Center, when the phone rang.
"Casey Singleton."
"Hello, Casey. John Marder here."
She sat up in bed. Marder never called her at home. She looked at the clock; it was after 9 P.M.
Marder cleared his throat. "I just got a call from Benson in PR. He's had a request from a network news crew to film inside the plant. He turned them down."
"Uh-huh ..." That was standard; news crews were never allowed inside the plant
"Then he got a call from a producer on that program Newsline named Malone. She said Newsline was making the request for plant access, and insisted they be allowed in. Very pushy and full of herself. He told her to forget it."
"Uh-huh."
"He said he was nice about it."
"Uh-huh." She was waiting.
"This Malone said Newsline was doing a story on the N-22, and she wanted to interview the president. He told her Hal was overseas, and unavailable."
"Uh-huh."
"Then she suggested we reconsider her request, because the Newsline story was going to focus on flight safety concerns, two problems in two days, an engine problem and slats deployment, several passengers killed. She said she'd spoken to critics - no names, but I can guess - and she wanted to give the president an opportunity to respond."
Casey sighed.
Marder said, "Benson said he might be able to get her an interview with the president next week, and she said no, that wouldn't work, Newsline was running the story this weekend."
"This weekend?"
"That's right," Marder said. 'Timing couldn't be worse. The day before I leave for China. It's a very popular show. The whole damned country will see it."
"Yes," she said.
"Then the woman said she wanted to be fair, that it always looked bad if the company didn't respond to allegations. So if the president wasn't available to talk to Newsline, maybe some other highly placed spokesman would."
"Uh-huh..."
"So I'm seeing this twit in my office tomorrow at noon," Marder said.
"On camera?" Casey said.
"No, no. Background only, no cameras. But we'll cover the IRT investigation, so I think you'd better be there."
"Of course."
"Apparently they're going to do some terrible story on the N-22," Marder said. "It's that damn CNN tape. That's what's started it all. But we're in it now, Casey. We have to handle this as best we can."
'I'll be there," she said.
THURSDAY
AIRPORT MARINA
6:30 A.M.
Jennifer Malone awoke to the soft, insistent buzz of the bedside alarm. She turned it off, and looked over at the tanned shoulder of the man next to her, and felt a burst of annoyance. He was a stuntman on a TV series, she'd met him a few months back. He had a craggy face and a nice muscular body and he knew how to perform ... but Jeez, she hated it when guys stayed over. She had hinted politely, after the second time. But he'd just rolled over and gone to sleep. And now here he was, snoring away.
Jennifer hated to wake up with some guy in the room. She hated everything about it, the sounds they made breathing, the smell coming off their skin, their greasy hair on the pillow. Even the catches, the celebrities who made her heart skip over candlelight, looked like soggy beached whales the next day.
It was like the guys didn't know their place. They came over; they got what they wanted; she got what she wanted; everyone was happy. So why didn't they go the fuck home?
She'd called him from the plane: Hi, I'm coming into town, what are you doing tonight? And he said, without hesitation, Doing you. Which was fine with her. It was sort of funny, sitting in an airplane seat next to some accountant bent over his laptop, the voice in her ear saying, I'm doing you tonight, in every room of your suite. Which, to his credit, he did. Not subtle, this guy, but he had lots of energy, that pure California body energy that you never found in New York. No reason to talk about anything. Just fuck.
But now, sunlight streaming through the windows ...
Damn.
She got up from the bed, feeling the cold air-conditioned air on her naked skin, and went to the closet to choose the clothes she would wear. She was doing pretty straight types, so she picked jeans, a white Agnes B. T-shirt, and a navy Jil Sander jacket. She carried them into the bathroom, ran a shower. While the water was getting warm, she called the cameraman and told him to have the crew ready in the lobby in an hour.
While she took her shower, she reviewed the coming day. Barker first at nine, she'd film him briefly with some aviation background to warm him up, then break to do the rest at his office.
Next the reporter, Rogers. No time to do him at his newsroom in Orange County; she'd start him at Burbank, another airport, different look. He'd talk about Norton with the Norton buildings behind him.
Then at noon, she'd talk to the Norton guy. By then she'd already know the arguments from the other two guys, and she'd try to scare Norton enough that they'd give her access to the president
And then . . . let's see. The ambulance chaser later in the day, briefly. Someone from the FAA on Friday, for balance. Someone from Norton on Friday, as well. Marty would do a stand-up outside Norton, the script wasn't prepared but all she needed was the intro and the rest was voice-over. B-roll of passengers boarding, going to their doom. Takeoffs and landings, then some good crash shots.
And she was done.
This segment was going to work, she thought, as she stepped out of the shower. There was only one thing that troubled her.
That damned guy in the bed.
Why didn't he go home?
QA
6:40 A.M.
As Casey came into the QA offices, Norma glanced up at her, then pointed down the hall.
Casey frowned.
Norma jerked her thumb. "He was here when I came in this morning," she said. "Been on the phone for an hour solid. Mr. Sleepyhead's suddenly not so sleepy."
Casey went down the hall. As she came to Richman's office, she heard him say, "Absolutely not. We are very confident of how this will turn out No. No. I'm sure. Hasn't a clue. No idea."
Casey stuck her head in.
Richman was leaning back in his chair, with his feet up on the desk, while he spoke on the phone. He appeared startled when he saw her. He put his hand over the phone. "I'll just be a minute here."
"Fine." She went back to her office, shuffled through papers. She didn't want him around. It was time for another errand, she thought
"Good morning," he said as he came in. He was very cheerful, big smile. "I got those FAA documents you wanted. I left them on your desk."
"Thank you," she said. 'Today I need you to go to Trans-Pacific's main office."
'Transpacific? Isn't that at the airport?'
"Actually, I think they're in downtown LA. Norma will get you the address. I need you to pick up back issues of their inflight magazine. As far back as they go. At least a year."
"Gee," Richman said. "Couldn't we have a messenger do that?"
"This is urgent," Casey said.
"But I'll miss the IRT."
"You're not needed at the IRT. And I want these magazines as soon as possible."
"In-flight magazines? What are they for?" he said.
"Bob," she said. "Just get them."
He gave a crooked smile. "You're not trying to get rid of me, are you?"
"Pick up the magazines, get them to Norma, and call me."
WAR ROOM
7:30 A.M.
John Marder was late. He came striding into the room with an irritable, distracted look, and dropped into a seat. "All right," he said. "Let's have it Where are we on Flight 545? Flight recorder?"
"Nothing yet," Casey said.
"We need that data - make it happen, Casey. Structure?'
"Well it's very difficult very difficult indeed," Doherty said, dolefully. "I still worry about that bad locking pin. I think we ought to be more cautious - "
"Doug," Marder said. "I already told you. We'll check it at Flight Test. Now what about hydraulics?"
"Hydraulics are fine."
"Cable rigging?"
"Fine. Of course we're at ambient. Have to cold soak to be sure."
"Okay. We'll do that at Right Test. Electrical?"
Ron said, "We've scheduled the Cycle Electrical Test beginning at 6 P.M., running through the night. If there's a problem we'll know in the morning."
"Any suspicions now?"
"Just those proximity sensors, in the right wing."
"Have we functioned them?"
"Yes, and they appear normal. Of course, to really check them we'd have to remove the sensors from the housings, take them out of the wing, and that means - "
"Delaying everything," Marder said. "Forget it. Powerplant?"
"Zip," Kenny Burne said. "Engines are fine. Some seals on the cooling system were installed backward. And we got a counterfeit reverser cowl. But it's nothing that would cause the accident."
"Okay. Powerplant is eliminated. Avionics?"
Trung said, "Avionics check out within normal limits."
"What about the autopilot? The pilot fighting to override?"
