Free Fall

“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.”

“I know.”

“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?”

“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.

As she waited, she ran Raymond Matson’s name through several of Newslead’s archives and news information networks to see of he’d ever been the subject of a news story.

Nothing. She left a message on Marsha’s voice mail.

She checked his name with several popular social media sites.

Nothing.

As she downed her coffee her phone rang.

“Hi, Kate, it’s Marsha.”

“Hey, Marsha.”

“How’re Vanessa and Grace doing?”

“Vanessa’s doing great, and Grace—well, they grow up too fast, don’t they? How’s your son doing? Still posted overseas?”

“He comes home from South Korea next month.”

“Oh, that’s good. I’m happy for you.”

“Now about your subject, Raymond Brian Matson. He’s close to you. According to his valid state driver’s license he resides in Westfield, New Jersey, Lamberts Mill Road.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll send you the address. Oh, I also saw that he’s involved in divorce proceedings, so bear that in mind.”

“I appreciate this, Marsha.”

“Anytime.”

Eleven

Westfield, New Jersey

Lamberts Mill Road ran through a quiet, tree-lined section of Westfield.

The Matson house, a century-old two-story colonial with a screened side porch, sat back from the street. No vehicles were in the driveway when Kate pulled up.

It looked like no one was home.

She rang the bell but got no response.

Kate had been afraid this would happen—that no one would be home. The for-sale sign and the divorce were likely factors, she thought as she drove off and parked several doors down.

She adjusted the car’s mirror and settled in to watch the address. Showing up cold was always a risk whenever you were pursuing a sensitive interview. When you emailed, or called, people were quick to delete or hang up. When you appeared at their door and looked them in the eye, the odds sometimes worked in your favor.

Not always but sometimes.

The air was tranquil with sounds of birdsong, the wind through the trees and the distant laughter of children. Traffic had been good. It had taken her about forty-five minutes using one of Newslead’s leased cars to make the trip across the Hudson.

Kate worked on her phone, building a story based on the few updates she had from the people she’d reached earlier. Between sentences, she monitored her mirrors, noting that the for-sale sign could also mean that Matson no longer lived here.

She wasn’t happy with the story; she didn’t have much. The strongest stuff was the FAA records showing the incident history of the Richlon-TitanRT-86. She’d just finished folding the various reports into her piece when something blurred in her side mirror.

An SUV had rolled into the Matson driveway.

Kate gave it a moment. Then she collected her things, approached the house and rang the bell. A long moment passed before the door was opened by a man wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants. He was in his late forties with deep-set eyes that gave him a rugged look.

“Yes?”

“Raymond Matson?”

“Yes.”

“Captain Raymond Matson with EastCloud Airlines?”

“Yes, who’re you?”

“I’m Kate Page, a reporter with Newslead, the wire service.”

The air tensed.

“Sir, I need to talk to you about what happened on Flight Forty-nine Ninety.”

His jaw tightened then he moved to shut the door.

“I have no comment.”

“Wait, Captain Matson, please. Is the New York Times accurate? Was it pilot error?”

“I haven’t seen the New York Times.”

“Hold on, I have it right here.”

Kate displayed the story on her phone and passed it to him. As he read something flashed behind his eyes.

“No. That’s wrong.” He passed the phone back. “I don’t have anything to say to the press.”

“Are you going to let the Times story stand? Do you want to leave the impression that the crew overreacted and caused the plane to roll?”

“I’m bound to a process.”

“The NTSB can take a year to issue its official report. If you talk to me you can correct the record now, put the facts and the truth of what happened out there. Otherwise, this stands as human error for a year or longer. I understand that there may have been a malfunction?”

Matson arched an eyebrow as he absorbed Kate’s argument. She gave him another point to consider.

“Who better than you to explain what really happened.”

Matson considered for several moments. Worry clouded his eyes, and he adjusted his grip on the door. She sensed he was walking a mental tightrope before he came to a decision and pushed it open.

“Come in.”

He indicated the living room.

“Have a seat. Want a soda? I think I also have orange juice.”

“Water would be fine.”

He left and returned, handing her a bottled water.

“Let me make a few calls and I’ll be back,” he said.

The house was fragrant and beautiful, suggesting it had been professionally staged for showings. Fresh flowers bloomed from vases on the mantel and end tables. The hardwood floors gleamed under gorgeous area rugs. Kate looked for telltale signs of family life but nothing was out of place. Still, she’d discerned an air of sadness, of finality.

While waiting, she checked for any breaking news, then reviewed her messages, wincing at one from Sloane.

The FAA and legal records show next to nothing on the plane and the model. I’ll write it up for you.

What? Either Sloane never looked, or he’s lying again.

She was about to respond but thought maybe she should inform Chuck instead. Matson returned.

“I called my lawyer and my union. If I talk to you I’m putting my head on the chopping block.”

“But I think—”

“My head’s already on the chopping block.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You can’t use that. I’ll talk to you but this part you cannot use. You got that? This isn’t for any story. It’s completely off the record, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ve met with the NTSB, my union, EastCloud and all the others who’re investigating and I get the feeling they’re going to put this on me. I can feel a noose tightening. What happens is the airline will try to blame the manufacturer, saying it was a technical issue, to avoid a negative impact on its operations. ‘Hey, it’s not us, it’s the plane.’ And the manufacturer will try to blame the airline, ‘Hey, it’s not our plane, it’s your people, your pilots, your maintenance people,’ to avoid a negative impact on their aircraft and costly litigation. Both players have millions at stake, so the best thing they can do is to ultimately put it on the pilot. ‘Hey, it was this guy, he screwed up. He’s gone so let’s move on.’ This is the context that I feel is at play here. You got that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I want the truth out there, so I’ll tell you what I told the NTSB and everyone else. This is what you can use.”

“Wait.” Kate switched on her recorder. “Okay, go ahead.”

“There was no clear-air turbulence and I did not disable the safety system. The aircraft suddenly rolled. For a critical time, the plane refused to respond to our commands. I don’t know what happened but I know something went wrong. This was a clear flight control computer malfunction.”

“But if it’s a malfunction, a safety issue, is the public at risk?”

“Until they find out the source of this system failure, I’d say yes.”

For the next half hour Matson helped Kate with the timeline of the Buffalo–New York flight and the technical background. Matson said he was in agony for the passengers and his crew members who’d been injured.

“If we didn’t fight for control of the plane the way we did, we would have lost it. And that’s God’s honest truth.”

After Kate got everything down she confirmed with Matson that he hadn’t spoken with any other reporters and that she would use his name and picture with her story.

“Agreed,” he said.

“I’ll be talking to other people for their response.”

“That’s expected, but remember, no matter who you talk to, I was on that flight deck. They weren’t.”

Kate thanked Matson, gave him her card and left.

Heading back to her car, she had to keep from running. She decided to go to a small park, where she sat at a picnic table in the shade of an oak tree and called Chuck Laneer.

“You got the captain?”

“Exclusively.”

“What’d he say?”

“That it was a malfunction and the public is at risk.”

“That’s a helluva story. Get it to us as soon as you can. I’ll alert subscribers telling them what’s coming. Good work.”

Kate stayed at the picnic table, made calls and sent messages requesting comment from EastCloud, the FAA, the NTSB and industry experts. Those who responded underscored that the NTSB had not yet issued a preliminary report and had so far found nothing that warranted grounding of the Richlon-TitanRT-86, or the issuance of safety alerts.

An industry expert in Seattle challenged Matson’s account of the incident.

“The scenario as described by the pilot cannot happen with the type of fly-by-wire system installed in the TitanRT-86. It’s that simple. For the plane to oscillate the way it did, according to the reports of passengers, the safety features would have to be manually switched off. This still sounds like a classic case of a bad response to clear-air turbulence.”

Within two hours of her interview with Captain Raymond Matson, Kate’s exclusive was released to Newslead’s subscribers across the country and around the world.

Twelve

Clear River, North Dakota