"But now you've had two incidents in two days. Are you worried that the flying public will start to think the N-22 is a troubled aircraft?"
She could see the direction his story was going to take. She didn't want to comment, but he was telling her what he would write if she didn't. It was a standard, if minor, form of press blackmail.
"Jack," she said, "we've got three hundred N-22s in service around the world. The model has an outstanding safety record." In fact, in five years of service there had been no fatalities involving the aircraft until yesterday. That was a reason for pride, but she decided not to mention it, because she could see his lead: The first fatalities to occur on a Norton N-22 aircraft happened yesterday…
Instead she said, "The public is best served by getting accurate information. And at the moment, we have no information to offer. To speculate would be irresponsible."
That did it. He took his pen away. "Okay. You want to go off?"
"Sure." She knew she could trust him. "Off the record, 545 underwent very severe pitch oscillations. We think the plane porpoised. We don't know why. The FDR's anomalous. It'll take days to reconstruct the data. We're working as fast as we can."
"Will it affect the China sale?"
"I hope not."
"Pilot was Chinese, wasn't he? Chang?"
"He was from Hong Kong. I don't know his nationality."
"Does that make it awkward if it's pilot error?"
"You know how these investigations are, Jack. Whatever the cause turns out to be, it's going to be awkward for somebody. We can't worry about that. We just have to let the chips fall where they fall."
"Of course," he said. "By the way, is that China sale firm? I keep hearing it's not."
She shrugged. "I honestly don't know."
"Has Marder talked to you about it?"
"Not to me personally," she said. Her reply was carefully worded; she hoped he wouldn't follow up on it. He didn't
"Okay, Casey," he said. "I'll leave this alone, but what've you got? I need to file today."
"How come you're not doing Cheapskate Airlines?" she said, using the derogatory in-house term for one of the low-cost carriers. "Nobody's done that story yet."
"Are you kidding?" Rogers said. "Everybody and his brother's covering mat one."
"Yeah, but nobody's doing the real story," she said. "Super-cheap carriers are a stock scam."
"A stock scam?"
"Sure," Casey said. "You buy some aircraft so old and poorly maintained no reputable carrier will use them for spares. Then you subcontract maintenance to limit your liability. Then you offer cheap fares, and use the cash to buy new routes. It's a pyramid scheme but on paper it looks great. Volume's up, revenue's up, and Wall Street loves you. You're saving so much on maintenance that your earnings skyrocket. Your stock price doubles and doubles again. By the time the bodies start piling up, as you know they will, you've made your fortune off the stock, and can afford the best counsel. That's the genius of deregulation, Jack. When the bill comes, nobody pays."
"Except the passengers."
"Exactly," Casey said. "Flight safety's always been an honor system. The FAA's set up to monitor the carriers, not to police them. So if deregulation's going to change the rules, we ought to warn the public. Or triple FAA funding. One or the other."
Rogers nodded. "Barry Jordan over at the LA Times told me he's doing the safety angle. But that takes a lot of resources-lead time, lawyers going over your copy. My paper can't afford it. I need something I can use tonight."
"Off the record," Casey said, "I've got a good lead, but you can't source it."
"Sure," Rogers said.
"The engine that blew was one of six that Sunstar bought from AeroCivicas," Casey said. "Kenny Burne was our consultant. He borescoped the engines and found a lot of damage."
"What kind of damage?"
"Blade notch breakouts and vane cracks."
Rogers said, "They had fatigue cracks in the fan blades!"
"That's right," Casey said. "Kenny told them to reject the engines, but Sunstar rebuilt them and put them on the planes. When that engine blew, Kenny was furious. So you might get a name at Sunstar from Kenny. But we can't be the source, Jack. We have to do business with these people."
"I understand," Rogers said. "Thanks. But my editor's going to want to know about the accidents on the floor today. So tell me. Are you convinced the China offset stories are groundless?"
"Are we back on?" she said.
"Yes."
"I'm not the person to ask," she said. "You'll have to talk to Edgarton."
"I called, but his office says he's out of town. Where is he? Beijing?"
"I can't comment."
"And what about Marder?" Rogers said.
"What about him?"
Rogers shrugged. "Everybody knows Marder and Edgarton are at each other's throats. Marder expected to be named president, but the Board passed him over. But they gave Edgarton a one-year contract-so he's got only twelve months to produce. And I hear Marder's undercutting Edgarton, every way he can."
"I wouldn't know about that," she said. Casey had, of course, heard such rumors. It was no secret that Marder was bitterly disappointed about Edgarton's appointment. What Marder could do about it was another story. Marder's wife controlled eleven percent of company stock. With Marder's connections, he could probably pull together five percent more. But sixteen percent wasn't enough to call the shots, particularly since Edgarton had the strong support of the Board.
So most people in the plant thought that Marder had no choice except to go along with Edgarton's agenda-at least for the moment. Marder might be unhappy, but he had no option. The company had a cash-flow problem. They were already building planes without buyers. Yet they needed billions of dollars, if they hoped to develop the next generation of planes, and stay in business in the future.
So the situation was clear. The company needed the sale. And everybody knew it. Including Marder.
Rogers said, "You haven't heard Marder's undercutting Edgarton?"
"No comment," Casey said. "But off the record, it makes no sense. Everybody in the company wants this sale, Jack. Including Marder. Right now, Marder's pushing us hard to solve 545, so the sale goes through."
"Do you think the image of the company will be hurt by the rivalry between its two top officers?"
"I couldn't say."
"Okay," he said finally, closing his notepad. "Call me if you get a break on 545, okay?"
"Sure, Jack."
"Thanks, Casey."
Walking away from nun, she realized she was exhausted by the effort of the interview. Talking to a reporter these days was like a deadly chess match; you had to think several steps ahead; you had to imagine all the possible ways a reporter might distort your statement. The atmosphere was relentlessly adversarial.
It hadn't always been that way. There was a time when reporters wanted information, their questions directed to an underlying event They wanted an accurate picture of a situation, and to do that they had to make the effort to see things your way, to understand how you were thinking about it. They might not agree with you in the end, but it was a matter of pride that they could accurately state your view, before rejecting it. The interviewing process was not very personal, because the focus was on the event they were trying to understand.
But now reporters came to the story with the lead fixed in their minds; they saw their job as proving what they already knew. They didn't want information so much as evidence of villainy. In this mode, they were openly skeptical of your point of view, since they assumed you were just being evasive. They proceeded from a presumption of universal guilt, in an atmosphere of muted hostility and suspicion. This new mode was intensely personaclass="underline" they wanted to trip you up, to catch you in a small error, or in a foolish statement-or just a phrase that could be taken out of context and made to look silly or insensitive.