Barker appeared to be in shock. He mumbled something. The makeup girl came up to him with wipes in her hand and said, "I'll help you get the makeup off..."
Marty Reardon turned to Jennifer. In a low voice he said, "What the fuck are you doing?"
"Marty," she said, answering him in the same low tones, "the CNN tape is dynamite. The story's dynamite. The public's scared to get on airplanes. We're fleshing out the controversy. Performing a public service."
"Not with this clown you're not," Reardon said. "He's a litigator's stooge. All he's good for is an out-of-court settlement. He doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about."
"Marty. Whether you like this guy or not, the plane has a history of problems. And the tape is fabulous."
"Yes, and everybody's seen the tape," Reardon said. "But what's the story! You better show me something, Jennifer."
"I will, Marty."
"You better."
Left unstated was the rest of the sentence: Or I'm going to call Dick Shenk and pull the plug.
AVIATION HIGHWAY
11:15A.M.
For a different look, they shot the FAA guy on the street, with the airport as background. The FAA guy was skinny and wore glasses. He blinked rapidly in the sun. He looked weak and bland. He was such a non-entity, Jennifer couldn't even remember his name. She felt confident he wouldn't hold up well.
Unfortunately, he was devastating about Barker.
"The FAA handles a great deal of sensitive information. Some is proprietary. Some is technical. Some is industry sensitive, and some is company sensitive. Since the candor of all parties is critical to our function, we have very strict rules about the dissemination of this information. Mr. Barker violated those rules. He seemed to have a great desire to see himself on television, and his name in the newspapers."
"He says, not true," Marty replied. "He says, the FAA wasn't doing its job, and he had to speak out."
'To attorneys?"
Marty said, "Attorneys?"
"Yes," the FAA guy said. "Most of his leaks were to attorneys bringing cases against carriers. He released confidential information to attorneys, incomplete information about investigations in progress. And that's illegal."
"Did you prosecute?"
"We're not able to prosecute. We don't have that authority. But it was clear to us that he was being paid under the table by lawyers to give them information. We turned his case over to the Justice Department, which failed to pursue it. We were pretty upset about it. We thought he should go to jail, and the attorneys with him."
"Why didn't that happen?"
"You'd have to ask Justice. But the Justice Department is made up of attorneys. And attorneys don't like to send other attorneys to jail. Sort of professional courtesy. Barker worked for attorneys, and they got him off. Barker still works for attorneys. Everything he says is designed to support or incite a frivolous lawsuit. He has no real interest in aviation safety. If he did, he'd still be working for us. Trying to serve the public, instead of trying to make a lot of money."
Marty said, "As you know, the FAA is currently under fire..."
Jennifer thought she'd better stop Marty now. There wasn't any point in continuing. She already intended to drop most of this interview. She'd use just the early statement where the FAA guy said Barker wanted publicity. That was the least damaging comment, and it would constitute a balanced response in the segment.
Because she needed Barker.
"Marty, I'm sorry, we have to get across town."
Marty nodded, thanked the guy immediately - another indication he was bored - signed an autograph for the guy's kid, and climbed into the limo ahead of Jennifer.
"Jesus," Marty said, as the limo pulled away.
He waved good-bye to the FAA guy through the window, smiled to him. Then he flopped back in the seat. "I don't get it, Jennifer," he said ominously. "Correct me if I'm wrong. But you don't have a story. You got some bullshit allegations by lawyers and their paid stooges. But you've got nothing of substance."
"We've got a story," she said. "You'll see." She tried to sound confident.
Marty grunted unhappily.
The car pulled out, and headed north to the Valley, toward Norton Aircraft.
VIDEO IMAGING SYSTEMS
11:17 A.M.
'Tape's coming up now," Harmon said. He drummed his fingers on the console.
Casey shifted her body in the chair, feeling twinges of pain. She still had several hours before the interview. And she still couldn't decide how she would handle it.
The tape began to run.
Harmon had tripled the frames, the image moving in a jerky slow motion. The change made the sequence appear even more horrifying. She watched in silence as the bodies tumbled, the camera spun and fell, and finally came to rest at the cockpit door.
"Go back."
"How far?"
"As slow as you can."
"One frame at a time?"
"Yes."
The images ran backward. The gray carpet. The blur as the camera jumped away from the door. The glint of light off the open cockpit door. The hot glare from the cockpit windows, the shoulders of the two pilots on either side of the pedestal, captain on the left, first officer on the right
The captain reaching toward the pedestal.
"Stop."
She stared at the frame. The captain was reaching, no hat, the face of the first officer turned forward, away from him.
The captain reaching his hand out.
Casey rolled her chair toward the console, and peered at the monitor. Then she stood, moved very close to the screen, seeing the scan lines.