Dick Shenk had begun his career in the sixties as a scrappy documentary producer, back in the days when the news divisions were prestige loss leaders for the networks - autonomous, handsomely budgeted, and lavishly staffed. Those were the great days of the CBS White Papers and NBC Reports. Back then, when Shenk was a kid running around with an Arri, he was in the world, getting real stuff that mattered. With age and success, Shenk's horizons had narrowed. His world was now limited to his weekend house in Connecticut and his brownstone in New York. If he went anywhere else, it was in a limousine. But despite his privileged upbringing, his Yale education, his beautiful ex-wives, his comfortable existence, and his worldly success, Shenk at sixty was dissatisfied with his life. Riding around in his limousine, he felt unappreciated: not enough recognition, not enough respect for his accomplishments. The questing kid with the camera had aged into a querulous and bitter adult. Feeling he had been denied respect himself, Shenk in turn denied it to others - adopting a pervasive cynicism toward everything around him. And that was why, she felt certain, he would buy her frame on the Norton story.
Jennifer entered the outer office, stopped by Marian's desk. "Going to see Dick?" Marian said. "Is he in?"
She nodded. "You want company?" "Do I need it?" Jennifer said, raising an eyebrow. "Well," Marian said "He's been drinking." "It's okay," Jennifer said. "I can handle him."
Dick Shenk listened to her, eyes closed, fingers pressed together to make a steeple. From time to time, he nodded slightly as she spoke.
She ran through the proposed segment, hitting all the beats: the Miami incident, the JAA certification story, the Trans-Pacific flight, the jeopardized China sale. The former FAA expert who says the plane has a long history of uncorrected design problems. The aviation reporter who says the company is mismanaged, drugs and gang activity on the factory floor, a controversial new president, trying to boost flagging sales. Portrait of a once-proud company in trouble.
The way to frame the piece, she said, was Rot Beneath the Surface. She laid it out: badly run company makes a shoddy product for years. Knowledgeable people complain, but the company never responds. FAA is in bed with the company and won't force the issue. Now, at last, the truth comes out. The Europeans balk at certification; the Chinese have cold feet; the plane continues to kill passengers, just as critics said it would. And there's tape, riveting tape, showing the agonies passengers went through as several died. At the close, it's obvious to all: the N-22 is a deathtrap.
She finished. There was a long moment of silence. Then Shenk opened his eyes.
"Not bad," he said.
She smiled.
"What's the company's response?" he asked, in a lazy voice.
"Stonewall. The plane's safe; the critics are lying."
"Just what you'd expect," Shenk said, shaking his head. "American stuff is so shitty." Dick drove a BMW; his tastes ran to Swiss watches, French wines, English shoes. "Everything this country makes is crap," he said. He slumped back in his chair, as if fatigued by the thought. Then his voice became lazy again, thoughtful: "But what can they offer as proof?"
"Not much," Jennifer said. "The Miami and Transpacific incidents are still under investigation."
"Reports due when?"
"Not for weeks."
"Ah." He nodded slowly. "I like it. I like it very much. It's compelling journalism - and it beats the shit out of 60 Minutes. They did unsafe airplane parts last month. But we're talking about a whole unsafe aircraft! A deathtrap. Perfect! Scare the hell out of everybody."
"I think so, too," she said. She was smiling broadly now. He had bought it!
"And I'd love to stick it to Hewitt," Dick said. Don Hewitt, the legendary producer of 60 Minutes, was Shenk's nemesis. Hewitt consistently got better press than Shenk, which rankled. 'Those jerkoffs," he said. "Remember when they did their hard-hitting segment on off-season golf pros?"
She shook her head. "Actually, no ..."
"It was a while back," Dick said. He got fuzzy for a moment, staring into space, and it was clear to her that he had been drinking heavily at lunch. "Never mind. Okay, where are we? You got the FAA guy, you got the reporter, you got tape of Miami. The peg is the home video, we lead with that."
"Right," she said, nodding.
"But CNN is going to run it day and night," he said. "By next week, it'll be ancient history. We have to go with this story Saturday."
"Right," she said.
"You got twelve minutes," he said. He spun in his chair, looked at the colored strips on the wall, representing the segments in production, where the talent was going to be. "And you got uh, Marty. He's doing Bill Gates in Seattle on Thursday; we'll shuttle him to LA Friday. You'll have him six, seven hours."
"Okay."
He spun back. "Go do it."
"Okay," she said. "Thanks, Dick."
"You sure you can put it together in time?'
She started collecting her notes. 'Trust me."
As she headed out through Marian's office, she heard him shout, "Just remember, Jennifer - don't come back with a parts story! I don't want a fucking parts story!"
QA/NORTON
2:21 P.M.
Casey came into the QA office with Richman. Norma was back from lunch, lighting another cigarette. "Norma," she said, "have you seen a videotape around here? One of those little eight-millimeter things?"
"Yeah," Norma said, "you left it on your desk the other night. I put it away." She rummaged in her drawer, brought it out. She turned to Richman. "And you got two calls from Marder. He wants you to call him right away."