by Rick Mofina
Kate was mulling over what she knew when her phone vibrated with a text from Tara Lawson, a reporter at Newslead.
OMG the rumors were true! Chuck Laneer is back!
What? This a joke, Tara?
I’m looking at him in his office now! Maybe he can save us all?
Kate’s spirits soared. Chuck was back. This changed everything.
“Mom? Did you hear me?”
Kate looked from her phone to Grace.
“Can I get new shoes, pink ones like Amber got?”
“No, sweetie. The shoes you have are still new. Maybe in the fall.”
“But Mom! Did you see Amber’s shoes? They’re so amazing!”
“Did you remember to clean the sink when you finished?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want for breakfast, something quick?”
“Toast with honey.”
“Okay, remember your chore today—you water the plants while I fix your toast. Want orange juice or milk?”
“Milk.”
“Milk what?”
“Milk, please and thank you.”
As Kate prepared her daughter’s breakfast, her phone vibrated with another text. This one was from Chuck Laneer, and in typical Chuck fashion, he got straight to the point.
Hey Kate. As you no doubt heard, I’m back. Want to meet with you ASAP to discuss the Flight 4990 story.
I’ll be there within an hour.
Sooner would be better.
Welcome back, Chuck.
Nine
Manhattan, New York
Kate waited alone in Newslead’s corner meeting room.
Looking out at the majestic view of Midtown’s skyscrapers, the Chrysler and Empire State buildings, she reflected.
It had been three years since she’d started working at headquarters for Chuck and she thought about everything that she’d reported on in that time: all the crime, disasters, tragedies, investigations. And with most stories, especially those where she’d dealt face-to-face with victims and their anguished families—I’m so sorry but would you have a picture of your son-daughter-wife-husband-brother-sister-loved-one you could share with us?—she’d given a piece of her soul.
In her heart, she was honored to be part of Newslead because of its history of excellence in journalism, and it troubled her that its integrity was being eroded. But Chuck’s return gave her hope and reason to reconsider leaving, because if anyone could restore morale and rebuild the newsroom it was Chuck Laneer.
A shadow fell across the room.
“Good morning, Kate.”
She felt as if the air had suddenly been poisoned. Sloane flashed his brilliant grin, set his notebook and coffee down then took a seat across the table from her.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked.
“I could ask you the same question.”
He sipped his coffee casually. Reeka entered the room, wearing a navy power suit, her face focused on her phone, thumbs a blur. She completed a message, then looked at Kate.
“Did you send me your overtime sheet?”
“I’ll do that today.”
“Okay, everybody.”
Chuck arrived and shut the door, prompting Sloane to paste on a smile, stand and extend his hand.
“Mr. Laneer, welcome. Sloane F. Parkman. We haven’t met but I’m more than aware of your legendary status in the news craft.”
“It’s Chuck. Thanks.”
“Hi.” Kate smiled.
“Good to see you again, Kate.”
Chuck smiled but his eyes betrayed a tinge of concern. His tie was slightly loosened and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. He’d lost some weight, his hair was thinner and mussed, and the lines in his face had deepened.
“This won’t take long. I wanted to get to the jetliner story before Hersh and I officially address the newsroom this morning about my return.”
Chuck glanced at his watch.
“I’ve looked at our coverage of Flight Forty-nine Ninety, and we have an opportunity here to take command of this story and reassert Newslead’s prominence. By all accounts, something went haywire and a plane nearly fell from the sky. The Richlon-TitanRT-86 is a new model that came into service about two years ago. There are about three hundred in operation around the world and it seems to have a good safety record. We need to know if this is an isolated incident or if there’s a serious problem with that aircraft. Lives could be at risk and it’s our duty to inform the public.”
“My sources said it was not a technical problem but turbulence and pilot error,” Sloane said.
“I heard the crew on the scanner report that it was not turbulence,” Kate said. “That it was some sort of malfunction.”
Chuck leaned forward. “The NTSB and EastCloud haven’t confirmed a damn thing yet,” he said. “Until then, we’re going to own this story and follow it until it’s no longer a story. Now, I’ve spoken with Reeka and I’ve decided to put you both on this one.”
“Both of us?” Kate was stunned.
“That’s right. Both of you. Sloane, have you consulted FAA records on the airworthiness of this plane and the history of the model, or checked our legal databases for any civil action?”
“I was about to do just that, Chuck.”
Shaking her head, Kate turned to the window to avoid screaming while watching hope fade away.
“Kate?” Chuck said.
She turned back.
“Kate, I want you to work every angle you can to get us out front and keep us there.”
“Sure. I’m on it.”
“Good. We’re going to break news with solid, on-the-record reporting. Newslead will be the go-to source for this story and every story we cover. Is that understood?”
“Clearly,” Sloane said.
“Abundantly,” Kate said.
“Okay, that’s it.”
* * *
What’s going on? I don’t believe this.
Kate headed for her desk, reconsidered then went to Chuck’s office.
Through his open door, she could see that he was standing with his back to her, looking at the empty bookshelves and credenza. Three cardboard boxes sitting on his desk were jammed with items: his baseball autographed by the Yankees, his Pulitzer and his framed photos. One of Chuck with his wife was already on the desk.
Kate was overcome with sadness, seeing him standing there alone, his life in those boxes. How long had it been since they’d talked, a year? She was angry at him for leaving Newslead after his blowout with previous spineless management. The fact he was dealing with his wife’s illness at the same time had only complicated things. She rapped lightly on the door and he turned to her. This time his smile was from the heart.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she said. “It’s been too long.”
“The time got away from us. Look, when I left I had a helluva lot going on and, well—”
“It’s all history now. It’s okay. How’s Audrey doing?”
“Still cancer-free. Thanks for asking.”
“Good, I’m glad.” Kate let a moment pass. She didn’t have much time. “We need to talk about what just happened back there.”
He ran a hand over his face.
“Shut the door.”
Kate closed it.
“Chuck, let me go first. I don’t want to scare you but this place is a mess. The cuts have taken a toll. The new management’s dysfunctional. Morale here sucks. The quality of our work is slipping. The place is fueled by nepotism and cronyism.”
“I know.”
“As for Sloane. Oh. My. God. Chuck, I can’t work with him. The guy’s a freaking liar. It’s a risk to have him in our newsroom and his name on Newslead stories.”
“You know?”
“Nothing leaves this room.”
“Okay.”
“I need you to work with him.”
“What? Why? I don’t get this. The guy should be fired.”
“I can’t do much about him. Not yet. It’s complicated.”
“Do you know what he did on this story? Shirking his duty?”
Chuck nodded.
“Word got to me. Before I came back, I called some people, did some due diligence. Listen, he’s Reeka’s hire and Reeka has pull with senior management. You know that. I can’t touch Sloane. Not yet. She wanted him on this story alone. I pushed back to get you on it because I think it requires two people, even with our smaller stable of reporters. Truth is, I need you to watch over him, to keep him from hurting us.”
“I can’t do that!”
“Kate, I need you to do this, and break stories. We’re under tremendous pressure. You know the song. We’re losing subscribers. We’re getting beat on stories. We’re rushing down the river to irrelevance. From what I’ve learned, Sloane’s not a reporter, at least not the caliber we need to work here, and he’ll fail. Kate, I’m counting on you to prove your strength, like you did in Dallas, and like you did on your sister’s story. I need you to help me fix Newslead.”
Kate weighed the stakes as Chuck glanced at the time.
“Because it’s you, I’ll do it,” she said. “But tell me, if you knew things were bad here, why did you come back?”
“The same reason you’ve stayed.” Chuck glanced at the framed photo of his wife, then at Kate. “We’ve each given everything to this organization and we don’t give up on the things we love and believe in.”
Before Kate could react, a knock sounded at the door. Kate opened it to Sloane and Reeka, who thrust her phone at Chuck.
“The New York Times is now reporting that Flight Forty-nine Ninety encountered severe clear-air turbulence and the pilot disabled the plane’s safety features to deal with it and, in doing so, overreacted.”
Adjusting his glasses, Chuck read the piece.
“See,” Sloane said. “It was turbulence, just as I’d first reported. Looks like pilot error, not mechanical, just like my story said.”
“They’re using unnamed sources,” Chuck said.
“It’s the Times, Chuck,” Reeka said. “I think everybody’s just been killed on this story.”
“We still don’t have officially sourced confirmation,” Chuck said. “Nobody does. Not yet. Sloane, did you check the FAA records and search court records?”
“Working on it.”
“Good. Now, excuse us, if you’d give Kate and me a minute.”
Reeka and Sloane left. Chuck loosened his tie more, then unknotted it and whipped it off.
“Dammit, Reeka’s right. The Times just kicked our asses. We’ve got to get on top of this story.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“We’re going to need more than that, Kate.”
Ten
Manhattan, New York
Kate grabbed a strong coffee and ensconced herself at her desk, still reeling from the New York Times piece while grappling with Chuck’s expectations.
It didn’t help that she could sense Sloane gloating.
Kate shoved it all aside and knuckled down. She started with the key official organizations—texting, emailing and calling for reaction to the Times story and a chance to advance it.
“We don’t comment on speculative press articles. We’ll release a preliminary report in the coming days,” Paul Murther, the spokesperson with the NTSB, told her.
EastCloud responded by sending Kate an updated news release which was light on actual news. The airline had noted what everyone already knew—that nearly all of Flight 4990’s passengers who had been taken to hospital had been released and that EastCloud continued to cooperate with investigators.
Kate called Richlon, the plane’s manufacturer.
“I can confirm that we are participating in the NTSB investigation. Other than that, we have no further comment,” Molly Raskin, Richlon’s deputy of public affairs, said from its Burbank, California, headquarters.
The FAA declined to comment, and so did most of the other agencies and groups she’d contacted. While waiting for responses Kate, in keeping with Chuck’s request to be watchful of Sloane’s work, reviewed news photos for the plane’s registration information, known as the N-Number, then used that number to access FAA records on the specific aircraft’s history.
No problems had emerged on that individual plane.
Kate then consulted federal records on the model, and found the Richlon-TitanRT-86 had experienced several incidents.
While taking off for Chicago from Omaha, an improperly secured front cabin door had come loose on an RT-86, forcing an emergency landing without incident. A flight from San Diego blew a tire on landing in Phoenix. No injuries were reported. A flight originating in Boston overshot the runway while landing in Atlanta during a storm. No injuries. There were several separate cases of various emergency-indicator lights automatically activating in the flight deck, for things such as landing gear, fuel supply, someone smoking in the restroom, a small fire in the galley. Emergency ground crews were alerted and in all instances the planes landed safely.
This is relatively standard.
Kate checked Newslead’s legal database for civil action against the airline, scouring the summaries from the list of lawsuits. They concerned lost luggage, job action, overbooked flights, missed flights, claims alleging civil rights abuses and racism. Again, all of it was relatively standard for an airline of EastCloud’s size.
After rereading the Times story, Kate felt stirrings of self-doubt.
Am I wrong about hearing the crew insist there was no turbulence?
She paged through her notes. But it was there. She’d jotted it down the moment it had crackled over the scanner. Sure, there was static, but she’d clearly heard the crew say the problem was “not turbulence” but rather some sort of malfunction.
Kate called the news library and requested they look into possibly purchasing transcripts from one of the professional scanner listening services, even though they were not subscribed.
It was odd. If other news outlets, like the Times or the Associated Press, had possibly consulted transcripts of Flight 4990’s transmissions before landing, wouldn’t they have reported malfunction as the issue? But there had been so much static, maybe they’d missed it.
Kate tapped her pen.
The only way to know what the crew said is to talk to the crew.
But there was no way that was going to happen, she thought. Pilots rarely, if ever, talk to press about an incident while it’s under investigation—way too many policies and too much at stake for them.
Did anyone reach out to the crew?
Kate tapped her pen faster.
She’d met a high-ranking official with the pilots’ union a couple of months back at a security conference at the Grand Hyatt. What was his name? Kate searched her contacts until it came up.
Nick Benko.
He was middle-aged, silver-haired, smart and kind of flirty, but at his core, all business and union tough. They’d had a quick coffee and he’d said to call him if ever she needed help on a story.
Kate sent him a text, reminding him of their meeting and his offer. She asked him to call her. Six minutes later, her cell phone rang.
“Thanks for calling, Nick.”
“No problem. Just stepped out of a meeting. What’s up?”
“You know that EastCloud flight from Buffalo to LaGuardia?”
“Yes, it’s in the news. I saw your name on one of the stories.”
“What can you tell me about the investigation?�
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“I’m not involved in that. Besides, I couldn’t tell you, even if I was.”
“I figured. Nick, I need help reaching the captain.”
“No can do, Kate. There’re policies, security, privacy, all that stuff.”
“I understand, Nick, but if you were me, where would you look?”
Benko hesitated.
“You know I can’t give you that name, Kate.”
“Of course, but if you were looking, say for public sources, where would you look?”
Benko gave it some thought.
“Some airlines post milestone pages online,” he said. “It’s possible that if you looked deep into EastCloud’s site on the ten-year page, you might find something there.”
“Where?”
“Under the M’s.”
Kate jotted it down.
“What if there are other M’s?”
“I don’t think you’ll have a problem.”
Kate’s keyboard clicked and she’d found the site, went to the M’s and landed on a page with a photo and bio of Raymond Brian Matson. His was the only listing under M for ten years with EastCloud. The listing was about three years old.
“Nick, you know you have a friend here who owes you a favor.”
“No favor, Kate.” He chuckled. “Because I didn’t give you any information that wasn’t already public.”
“Understood. Thanks.”
Kate read the brief bio describing Matson’s experience and time with EastCloud. Of course it didn’t list his address or the city where he resided.
He could live anywhere in the country.
She tapped her pen again.
She had another source, Marsha Flood, a retired FBI agent she’d known since she’d been a reporter in California. Marsha ran a private-investigation firm and had quicker and better access to more databases than Kate, like the one containing driver’s licenses. Kate sent her a text requesting help locating an address for Raymond Brian Matson. Then she sent a link to Matson’s bio and pic to help her find the right Matson. Kate calculated the time zone difference, confident that Marsha would be up by now.
