Barker said, "The plane dives. Then climbs. Then dives again. That is what happened to Flight 545. That is why people died." With a regretful look, he put the model down. Although he did it gently, his very gesture seemed to suggest a crash.

Jennifer had no illusions about what she was watching. This wasn't an interview; it was a performance. But a skilled approach was not rare these days. More and more interview subjects seemed to understand camera angles and editing sequences. She had seen executives show up in full makeup for an interview. At first, television people had been alarmed by this new sophistication. But lately, they'd become used to it. There was never enough time; they were always rushing from one location to the next. A prepared subject made their work so much easier.

But just because Barker was smooth and camera savvy, she wasn't going to let him get away without a little probing. The final part of her job today was to cover the basic questions, in case Marty ran out of time, or forgot to ask them.

She said, "Mr. Barker?"

"Yes?" He turned toward her.

"Check the look," she said to the cameraman.

"His look is wide. Move a little closer to camera."

Jennifer slid her chair over so she was right beside the lens. Barker turned slightly to face her, at her new position.

"His look is fine, now."

"Mr. Barker," Jennifer said, "you are a former FAA employee…"

"I used to work for the FAA," Barker said, "but I left the agency because I disagreed with their hands-off attitude toward manufacturers. The Norton plane is a result of those lax policies."

Barker was again demonstrating his skill: his answer was a complete statement. He knew that he was more likely to get his comments on camera if they were not responses to a question.

Jennifer said, "There is some controversy surrounding your departure."

"I am familiar with some of the allegations about why I left the FAA," Barker said, again making a statement "But the fact is my departure was an embarrassment to the agency. I criticized the way they worked, and when they refused to respond, I left. So I'm not surprised they are still trying to discredit me."

She said, "The FAA claims you leaked materials to the press. They say they fired you for that."

"There's never been any proof of the allegations the FAA has made about me. I have never seen any FAA official produce one shred of evidence to back their criticisms of me."

"You work for Bradley King, the attorney?'

"I have served as an expert aviation witness on a number of legal cases. I think it's important that somebody with knowledge speak out."

"You are paid by Bradley King?'

"Any expert witness is reimbursed for time and expenses. That's standard procedure."

"Isn't it true that you're a full-time employee of Bradley King? That your office, everything in this room, everything we see here, is paid for by King?'

"I am funded by the non-profit Institute for Aviation Research in Washington. My job is to promote safety in civil aviation. I do whatever I can to make the skies safe for travelers."

"Mr. Barker, come on: Aren't you an expert for hire?'

"I certainly have strong opinions about air safety. It's only natural that I would be hired by employers who share my concerns."

"What is your opinion of the FAA?'

"The FAA is well intentioned, but it has a dual mandate, both to regulate air travel and to promote it. The agency needs complete reform. It is much too cozy with the manufacturers."

"Can you give me an example?' It was a feed; she knew from previous conversations what he would say.

Again, Barker made a statement. "One good example of this cozy relationship is the way the FAA treats certification. The documents required to certify a new airplane are not maintained by the FAA, but by the manufacturers themselves. This hardly seems proper. The fox is guarding the chicken coop."

"Is the FAA doing a good job?"

"I'm afraid the FAA is doing a very poor job. American lives are needlessly put at risk. Frankly it's time for a thorough overhaul. Otherwise I am afraid passengers will continue to die, as they did on this Norton aircraft." He gestured-slowly, so the camera could follow-to the model on his desk. "In my opinion," he said, "what happened on that airplane… is a disgrace."

The interview ended. While her crew was packing up, Barker came over to her. "Who else are you seeing?"

"Jack Rogers is next."

"He's a good man."

"And someone from Norton." She consulted her notes. "A John Marder."

"Ah."

"What does that mean?'

"Well, Marder is a fast-talker. He'll give you a lot of double-talk about Airworthiness Directives. A lot of FAA jargon. But the fact is that he was the program manager on the N-22. He supervised the development of that aircraft. He knows there's a problem-he's part of it."

After the practiced smoothness of Barker, the reporter, Jack Rogers, was a bit of a shock. He showed up wearing a lime-green sport coat that screamed Orange County, and his check-patterned tie jumped on the monitor. He looked like a golf pro, spruced up for a job interview.

Jennifer said nothing at first; she just thanked the reporter for coming, and positioned him in front of the chain-link fence, with Norton Aircraft in the background. She went over her questions with him; he gave tentative little answers, excited, eager to please.

"Gee, it's hot," she said. She turned to the cameraman. "How we coming, George?"

"Almost there."

She turned back to Rogers. The sound guy unbuttoned Rogers's shirt, threaded the microphone up to his collar. As preparations continued, Rogers began to sweat. Jennifer called for the makeup girl to wipe him down. He seemed relieved. Then, pleading the heat, she convinced Rogers to remove his sport coat and sling it over his shoulder. She said it would give him a working-journalist look. He gratefully agreed. She suggested he loosen his tie, which he did.

She went back to the cameraman. "How is it?"

"Better without the jacket. But that tie is a nightmare."

She returned to Rogers, smiled. "This is working so well," she said. "How would it be if you take off the tie, and roll up your sleeves?"

"Oh, I never do that," Rogers said. "I never roll up my sleeves."

"It would give you that strong but casual look. You know, rolled-up shirtsleeves, ready to fight. Hard-hitting journalist. That idea."

"I never roll up my sleeves."

She frowned. "Never?"

"No. I never do."

"Well, it's just a look we're talking about here. You'd come off stronger on camera. More emphatic, more forceful."

"I'm sorry."

She thought: What is this? Most people would do anything to get on Newsline. They'd do the interview in their underwear, if she asked them to. Several had. And here was this fucking print journalist, what did he make, anyway? Thirty grand a year? Less than Jennifer's monthly expense account.

"I, uh, can't," Rogers said, "because, uh, I have psoriasis."

"No problem. Makeup!"

Standing with his jacket slung over his shoulder, his tie removed, shirtsleeves rolled up. Jack Rogers answered her questions. He rambled, speaking thirty, forty seconds at a time. If she asked him the same question twice, hoping for a shorter answer, he just started to sweat, and gave a longer answer.

They had to keep breaking for makeup to wipe him down. She had to reassure him again and again that he was doing great, just great. That he was giving her really good stuff.

And he was, but he couldn't punch it. He didn't seem to understand she was making an assembled piece, that the average shot would be less than three seconds, and they would cut to him for a sentence, or a fragment of a sentence, before they cut to something else. Rogers was earnest, trying to be helpful, but he was burying her in detail she couldn't use, and background she didn't care about.