She sighed. "Jack."
"Oh. Sorry." He took a breath. Then, standing there, he said, "I think that - "
"Wait a minute," she said. "Put your weight on your forward foot. So you're leaning in toward camera."
"Like this?" He shifted his body weight, turned slightly.
"Yeah, that's it. Perfect. Now go ahead."
Standing there, in front of the fence outside Norton Aircraft, with his jacket slung over his shoulder, and his shirtsleeves rolled up, reporter Jack Rogers said, "I think there's no doubt that Norton Aircraft is a company in serious trouble."
Then he paused. He looked at her.
Jennifer smiled. "Thank you very much," she said. "You were great."
NORTON ADMINISTRATION
11:55A.M.
Casey came into John Marder's office a few minutes before noon, and found him smoothing his tie, shooting his cuffs. "I thought we would sit here," he said, pointing to a coffee table with chairs in the corner of his office. "You all set for this?"
"I think so," Casey said.
"Just let me take it, at the beginning," Marder said. "I'll turn to you for assistance if I need it."
"Okay."
Maider continued to pace. "Security says there was a film crew out by the south fence," he said. "They were doing an interview with Jack Rogers."
"Uh-huh," Casey said.
"That idiot Christ. I can imagine what he had to say."
"Did you ever talk to Rogers?" Casey said.
The intercom buzzed. Eileen said, "Ms. Malone is here, Mr. Marder."
"Send her in," Marder said.
And he strode to the door, to greet her.
Casey was shocked by the woman who walked in. Jennifer Malone was a kid, hardly older than Richman. She couldn't be more than twenty-eight or -nine, Casey thought. Malone was blond, and quite pretty - in an uptight. New York sort of way. She had short bobbed hair that downplayed her sexuality, and she was dressed very casually: jeans and a white T-shirt, and a blue blazer with a weird collar. The trendy Hollywood look.
Casey felt uncomfortable, just looking at her. But now Marder had turned, and was saying, "Ms. Malone, I'd like to introduce Casey Singleton, our Quality Assurance specialist on the Incident Review Team."
The blond kid smirked.
Casey shook her hand.
You got to be kidding, Jennifer Malone thought. This is a captain of industry? This jumpy guy with slicked back hair and a bad suit? And who was this woman out of a Talbots catalog? Singleton was taller than Jennifer - which Jennifer resented - and good-looking in a wholesome, midwestern way. She looked like an athlete, and she seemed to be in pretty good shape - although she was long past the age where she could get by with the minimal makeup she wore. And her features were strained, tense. Under pressure.
Jennifer felt disappointed. She had been preparing for this meeting all day, honing her arguments. But she had imagined a much more commanding adversary. Instead, she was back in high school - with the assistant principal and the timid librarian. Little people with no style.
And this office! Small, with gray walls and cheap, utilitarian furniture. It had no character. It was just as well she wasn't filming here, because this room wouldn't photograph. Did the president's office look like this, too? If so, they would have to tape his interview somewhere else. Outside, or on the assembly line. Because these shabby little offices just didn't work for the show. Airplanes were big and powerful. The audience wouldn't believe that they were made by crummy little people in drab offices.
Marder led her to a seating arrangement, to one side. He gestured grandly, as if he were taking her to a banquet. Since he gave her a choice of where to sit, she took a chair with her back to the window, so the sun would be in their eyes.
She got out her notes, shuffled through them. Marder said, "Would you like something to drink? Coffee?"
"Coffee would be great."
"How do you take it?"
"Black," Jennifer said.
Casey watched as Jennifer Malone set out her notes. "I'll be frank," Malone said. "We've gotten some damning material on the N-22 from critics. And on the way this company operates. But there are two sides to every story. We want to make sure we include your response to the criticism."
Marder said nothing, just nodded. He was sitting with his legs crossed, a notepad on his lap.
'To begin," Malone said, "we know what happened on the Transpacific flight."
Really? Casey thought. Because we don't.
Malone said, "The slats came out - deployed? - in midair, and the airplane became unstable, went up and down, killing passengers. Everyone has seen the film of that tragic accident We know passengers have filed lawsuits against the company. We also know the N-22 has a long history of slats problems, which neither the FAA nor the company has been willing to deal with. This, despite nine separate incidents in recent years."
Malone paused for a moment, then went on. "We know that the FAA is so lax in its regulatory policies that it doesn't even require certification documents to be submitted. The FAA has allowed Norton to keep the certification documents here."
Jesus, Casey thought She doesn't understand anything.
"Let me dispose of your last point first," Marder said. "The FAA doesn't have physical possession of certification documents from any manufacturer. Not Boeing, not Douglas, not Airbus, not us. Frankly, we'd prefer the FAA do the warehousing. But the FAA can't store them, because the documents contain proprietary information. If they were in possession of the FAA, our competitors could obtain