She didn't really care. Her goal from the beginning had been to blow these people out. To make them worried enough to pass her on to the president. Jennifer wanted Marty Reardon to interview the president.

This was vital to her story. It would undermine the segment if Newsline made serious charges against the N-22, and the company fielded a middle-level flunky or a press nerd to respond. But if she could get the president on camera, her whole segment attained a new level of credibility.

She wanted the president.

Things were going well.

Marder said, "You explain it, Casey."

Casey had been appalled by Marder's explosion. Marder was famously bad tempered, but it was a major tactical error to blow up in front of a reporter. And now, still red faced and huffing behind his desk, Marder said, "You explain it, Casey."

She turned to face Malone.

"Ms. Malone," Casey said, "I think everyone here is deeply committed to flight safety." She hoped that would explain Marder's outburst. "We're committed to product safety, and the N-22 has an excellent safety record. And if something does go wrong with one of our planes-"

"Something did go wrong," Malone said, looking evenly at Casey.

"Yes," Casey said. "And we're investigating that incident now. I'm on the team conducting that investigation, and we are working around the clock to understand what happened."

"You mean why the slats extended? But you must know. It's happened so many times before."

Casey said, "At this point-"

"Listen," Marder said, breaking in, "it wasn't the damn slats. Frederick Barker is a hopeless alcoholic and a paid liar who works for a sleazebag lawyer. No one in his right mind would listen to him."

Casey bit her lip. She couldn't contradict Marder in front of the reporter, but-

Malone said, "If it wasn't the slats-"

"It wasn't the slats," Marder said firmly. "We'll issue a preliminary report in the next twenty-four hours that will conclusively demonstrate that."

Casey thought: What? What was he saying? There was no such thing as a preliminary report.

"Really," Malone said, softly.

"That's right," Marder said. "Casey Singleton's the press liaison on the IRT. We'll be getting back to you, Ms. Malone."

Malone seemed to realize that Marder was terminating the interview. She said, "But there's much more, we need to go over, Mr. Marder. There is also the Miami rotor burst. And union opposition to the China sale-"

"Oh, come on," Marder said.

"Given the seriousness of these charges," she continued, "I think that you may want to consider our offer to give your president, Mr. Edgarton, an opportunity to respond."

"That's not going to happen," Marder said.

"It's for your own benefit," Malone said. "If we have to say that the president refused to talk to us, that sounds-"

"Look," Marder said. "Let's cut the crap. Without Trans-Pacific, you have no story. And we are going to issue a preliminary report on Transpacific tomorrow. You'll be informed when. That's all we have for the moment, Ms. Malone. Thank you for coming by."

The interview was over.

"I can't believe that woman," Marder said, after Malone had gone. "She isn't interested in the facts. She isn't interested in the FAA. She isn't interested in how we build airplanes. She's just doing a hatchet job. Is she working for Airbus? That's what I want to know."

"John," Casey said, "about the preliminary finding-" "Forget it," Marder snapped. "I'll deal with it. You go back to work. I'll talk to the tenth floor, get some input, arrange a few things. We'll talk later today." "But John," Casey said, "you told her it wasn't the slats." "It's my problem," Marder said. "You go back to work."

When Casey was gone, Marder called Edgarton.

"My flight's in an hour," Edgarton said. "I'm going to Hong Kong to show my concern for the families of the deceased by personally visiting them. Talk to the carrier, express my sympathies to the relatives."

"Good idea, Hal," Marder said.

"Where are we on this press thing?"

"Well, it's as I suspected," Marder said. "Newsline is putting together a story that's extremely critical of the N-22."

"Can you stop it?'

"Absolutely. No question," Marder said.

"How?" Edgarton said.

"We'll issue a preliminary report that it wasn't slats. Our preliminary will say the accident was caused by a counterfeit cowl on the thrust reversers."

"Is there a bad cowl on the plane?"

"Yes. But it didn't cause the accident"

"That's fine," Edgarton said. "A bad part is fine. Just so it's not a Norton problem."

"Right," Marder said.

"And the girl's going to say that?"

"Yes," Marder said.

"She better," Edgarton said. "Because it can be tricky talking to these pricks."

"Reardon," Marder said. "It's Marty Reardon."

"Whatever. She knows what to say?"

"Yes."

"You've briefed her?"

"Yes. And I'll go over it with her again later."

"Okay," Edgarton said. "I also want her to see that media training woman."

"I don't know, Hal, do you really think-"

"Yes, I do," Edgarton said, cutting in. "And so do you. Singleton should be fully prepared for the interview."

"Okay," Marder said.

"Just remember," Edgarton said. "You fuck this up, you're dead."

He hung up.

Outside the Administration building, Jennifer Malone got into her car, more distressed than she cared to admit. She now felt it was unlikely the company would produce the president. And she was worried-she had the feeling-that they might make Singleton their spokesperson.

That could alter the emotional tenor of the segment. The audience wanted to see beefy, arrogant captains of industry get their just deserts. An intelligent, earnest, attractive woman wouldn't play nearly as well. Were they smart enough to know that?

And, of course, Marty would attack her.

That wouldn't look so good, either.

Just imagining the two of them together gave Jennifer the shivers. Singleton was bright, with an appealing, open quality. Marty'd be attacking motherhood and apple pie. And you couldn't hold Marty back. He'd go for the throat.

But beyond that, Jennifer was starting to worry that the entire segment was weak. Barker had been so convincing when she interviewed him; she had felt elated afterward. But if these ADs were for real, then the company was on solid ground. And she worried about Barker's record. If the FAA had the goods on him, then his credibility was shot. They'd look foolish giving him airtime.

The reporter, Jack Whatshisname, was disappointing. He didn't play well on camera, and his material was thin. Because in the end, nobody gave a damn about drugs on the factory floor. Every company in America had drug problems. That wasn't news. And it didn't prove the airplane was bad-which was what she needed. She needed vivid, persuasive visuals to demonstrate that airplane was a deathtrap.

She didn't have them.

So far, all she had was the CNN tape, which was old news, and the Miami rotor burst, which was not very compelling visually. Smoke coming out from a wing.

Big deal.

Worst of all, if the company really was going to issue a preliminary finding that contradicted Barker-

Her cell phone rang.

"Speak to me," Dick Shenk said.

"Hi, Dick," she said.

"So? Where are we?" Shenk said. "I'm looking at the board right now. Marty finishes with Bill Gates in two hours."

Some part of her wanted to say, Forget it. The story's flaky. It isn't coming together. I was dumb to think I could nail it in two days.