"Did you finish it?'
"Yes. I finished it."
"Can you fax it to me?" Casey said. There was a pause. "I don't think I should do that," Ellen said. "All right..."
"Do you know why?" Ellen Fong asked. "I can guess."
"I will bring it to your office," Ellen said. 'Two o'clock?" "Fine," Casey said.
The pieces were coming together. Fast.
Casey was now pretty sure she could explain what happened on Flight 545. She could almost lay out the entire chain of causal events. With luck, the tape at Video Imaging would give her final confirmation.
Only one question remained.
What was she going to do about it?
SEPULVEDA BOULEVARD
10:45 A.M.
Fred Barker was sweating. The air conditioner was turned off in his office, and now, under Marty Reardon's insistent questioning, sweat trickled down his cheeks, glistened in his beard, dampened his shirt
"Mr. Barker," Matty said, leaning forward. Marty was forty-five, handsome in a thin-lipped, sharp-eyed way. He had the air of a reluctant prosecutor, a seasoned man who'd seen it all. He spoke slowly, often in short fragments, with the appearance of reasonableness. He was giving the witness every possible break. And his favorite tone was that of disappointment. Dark eyebrows up: How could this be? Marty said, "Mr. Barker, you've described 'problems' with the Norton N-22. But the company says Airworthiness Directives were issued that fixed the problems. Are they right?"
"No." Under Marty's probing, Barker had dropped the full sentences. He now said as little as possible.
"The Directives didn't work?'
"Well, we just had another incident, didn't we. Involving slats."
"Norton told us it wasn't slats."
"I think you'll find it was."
"So Norton Aircraft is lying?"
"They're doing what they always do. They come up with some complicated explanation that conceals the real problem."
"Some complicated explanation," Marty repeated. "But aren't aircraft complicated?"
"Not in this case. This accident is the result of their failure to redress a long-standing design flaw." "You're confident of that." "Yes."
"How can you be so sure? Are you an engineer?" "No."
"You have an aerospace degree?" "No."
"What was your major in college?" "That was a long time ago..."
"Wasn't it music, Mr. Barker? Weren't you a music major?"
"Well, yes, but, uh..."
Jennifer watched Marty's attack with mixed feelings. It was always fun to see an interview squirm, and the audience loved to watch pompous experts cut down to size. But Marty's attack threatened to devastate her entire segment. If Marty I destroyed Barker's credibility...
Of course, she thought, she could work around him. She didn't have to use him.
"A Bachelor of Arts. In music," Marty said, in his reasonable tone. "Mr. Barker, do you think that qualifies you to judge aircraft?"
"Not in itself, but - " "You have other degrees?"
"No."
"Do you have any scientific or engineering training at all?" Barker tugged at his collar. "Well, I worked for the FAA..."
"Did the FAA give you any scientific or engineering training? Did they teach you, say, fluid dynamics?" "No."
"Aerodynamics?" "Well, I have a lot of experience - "
"I'm sure. But do you have formal training in aerodynamics, calculus, metallurgy, structural analysis, or any of the other subjects involved in making an airplane?"
"Not formally, no."
"Informally?"
"Yes, certainly. A lifetime of experience."
"Good. That's fine. Now, I notice those books behind you, and on your desk." Reardon leaned forward, touched one of the books that lay open. "This one here. It's called Advanced Structural Integrity Methods for Airframe Durability and Damage Tolerance. Pretty dense. You understand this book?"
Chapter 20
"Most of it, yes."
"For example." Reardon pointed to the open page, turned it to read. "Here on page 807, it says, 'Leevers and Radon introduced a biaxiality parameter B that relates the magnitude of the T stress as in equation 5.' You see that?"
"Yes." Barker swallowed.
"What is a 'biaxiality parameter'?"
"Uh, well, it's rather difficult to explain briefly ..."
Marty jumped: "Who are Leevers and Radon?"
"They're researchers in the field."
"You know them?"
"Not personally."
"But you're familiar with their work."
"I've heard their names."
"Do you know anything about them at all?"
"Not personally, no."
"Are they important researchers in the field?"
"I've said I don't know." Barker tugged at his collar again.
Jennifer realized she had to put a stop to this. Marty was doing his attack-dog routine, snarling at the smell of fear. Jennifer couldn't use any of this stuff; the significant fact was that Barker had been on a crusade for years, he had a track record, he was committed to the fight. In any case she already had his slats explanation from the day before, and she had softball answers to the questions she had asked herself. She tapped Marty on the shoulder. "We're running late," she said.
Marty responded instantly; he was bored. He jumped up. "I'm sorry, Mr. Barker, we have to cut this short. We appreciate your time. You've been very helpful."