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.

'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.

There it is, she thought. In living color.

But what was she going to do about it?

Nothing, she realized. There was nothing she could do. She had the information now, but she could not possibly release it, and hold on to her job. But she realized she was probably going to lose her job anyway. Marder and Edgarton had set her up to do the press. Whether she lied, as Marder wanted her to do, or whether she told the truth, she was in trouble. There was no way out.

The only possible solution that Casey could see was not to do the interview. But she had to do it. She was caught in the middle.

"Okay," she said, sighing. "I've seen enough."

"What do you want to do?'

"Run another copy."

Harmon pressed a button on the console. He shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. "Ms. Singleton," he said. "I feel I have to mention something. The people who work here have seen this tape, and frankly, they're pretty upset."

"I can imagine," Casey said.

"They've all seen that guy on television, the attorney, who says you're covering up the real cause of the accident…"

"Uh-huh…"

"And one person in particular, a woman in reception, dunks we should turn this tape over to the authorities, or to the television stations. I mean, it's like the Rodney King thing. We're sitting on a bomb here. People's lives are at risk."

Casey sighed. She was not really surprised. But it presented a new issue, and she would have to deal with it. "Has that already happened? Is that what you're telling me?'

"No," Harmon said. "Not yet"

"But people are concerned"

"Yes."

"And what about you? What do you think?"

"Well. To tell you the truth, I'm bothered, as well," Harmon said. "I mean, you work for the company, you have your loyalties. I understand that. But if there really is something wrong with this airplane and people died because of it…"

Casey's mind was working fast again, thinking through the situation. There was no way to know how many copies of the tape had already been made. There was no way to contain or control events, now. And she was tired of the intrigue-with the carrier, with the engineers, with the union, with Marder, with Richman. All these conflicting agendas, while she was caught in the middle, trying to hold it together.

And now the damn tape company!

She said, "What's the name of the woman in reception?"

"Christine Barron."

"Does she know your company has signed a non-disclosure agreement with us?'

"Yeah, but… I guess she thinks her conscience takes precedence."

"I need to make a call," Casey said. "On a private line."

He took her to an office that wasn't being used. She made two telephone calls. When she came back, she said to Harmon, "The tape is Norton property. It is not to be released to anyone without our authorization. And you have signed a nondisclosure agreement with us."

"Doesn't your conscience bother you?' Harmon said.

"No," Casey said. "It doesn't. We're investigating this, and we'll get to the bottom of it. All you're doing is talking about things you don't understand. If you release this tape, you'll help a bottom-feeder lawyer sue us for damages. You signed an NDA with us. You violate it, and you're out of business. Keep it in mind."

She took her copy of the tape, and walked out of the room.

Frustrated and angry, Casey stormed into her office at QA. An elderly woman was waiting for her. She introduced herself as Martha Gershon, in "media training." In person, she looked like a kindly grandmother: gray hair, tied up in a bun, and a beige, high-necked dress.

Casey said, "I'm sorry, I'm very busy. I know Marder asked you to see me, but I'm afraid that-"

"Oh, I realize how busy you are," Martha Gershon said. Her voice was calm, reassuring. "You don't have time for me, especially today. And you don't really want to see me, do you? Because you don't much care for John Marder."

Casey paused.

She looked again at this pleasant lady, standing there in her office, smiling.

"You must feel you've been manipulated by Mr. Marder. I understand. Now that I've met him, I must say I don't get a strong feeling of integrity from him. Do you?"

"No," Casey said.

"And I don't think he likes women much," Gershon continued. "And I suspect he's arranged for you to speak to the television cameras, in the hope that you would fail. Gosh, I'd hate to see that happen."

Casey stared at her. "Please sit down," she said.

"Thank you, dear." The woman sat on the couch, her beige dress billowing around her. She folded her hands neatly in her lap. She remained utterly calm. "I won't take long," she said.

"But perhaps you'd be more comfortable if you sat down, too."

Casey sat down.

"There's just a few things I'd like to remind you of," Gershon said, "before your interview. You know you'll be speaking to Martin Reardon."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes," she said, "which means you'll be dealing with his distinctive interviewing style. That will make it easier."

"I hope you're right."

"I am, dear," she said. "Are you comfortable now?"