Free Airframe by Michael Crichton Page A

voice. “You know, Casey, I always liked you.”
    “Thanks, Don,” she said. “Feeling’s mutual.”
    “Those years when you were on the floor, I always kept my eye on you. Kept you out of trouble.”
    “I know that, Don.” She waited. Brull was notorious for long windups.
    “I always thought, Casey isn’t like the others.”
    “What’s going on, Don?” she said.
    “We got some problems with this China sale,” Brull said.
    “What kind of problems?”
    “Problems with the offset.”
    “What about it?” she said, shrugging. “You know there’s always offset with a big sale.” In recent years, airframe manufacturers had been obliged to send portions of the fabrication overseas, to the countries ordering planes. A country that ordered fifty planes expected to get a piece of the action. It was standard procedure.
    “I know,” Brull said. “But in the past, you guys sent part of the tail, maybe the nose, maybe some interior fab. Just parts.”
    “That’s right.”
    “But these tools we’re crating up,” he said, “are for the wing. And the Teamsters on the loading dock are telling us these crates aren’t going to Atlanta—they’re going to Shanghai. The company’s going to give the wing to China.”
    “I don’t know the details of the agreement,” she said. “But I doubt that—”
    “The
wing
, Casey,” he said. “That’s core technology. Nobody ever gives away the wing. Not Boeing, nobody. You give the Chinese the wing, you give away the store. They don’t need us any more. They can build the next generation of planes on their own. Ten years from now, nobody here has a job.”
    “Don,” she said, “I’ll check into this, but I can’t believe the wing is part of the offset agreement.”
    Brull spread his hands. “I’m telling you it is.”
    “Don. I’ll check for you. But right now I’m pretty busy with this 545 incident, and—”
    “You’re not listening, Casey. The local’s got a problem with the China sale.”
    “I understand that, but—”
    “A
big problem
.” He paused, looked at her. “Understand?”
    She did. The UAW workers on the floor had absolute control over production. They could slow down, sick out, break tooling, and create hundreds of other intractable problems. “I’ll talk to Marder,” she said. “I’m sure he doesn’t want a problem on the line.”
    “Marder
is
the problem.”
    Casey sighed. Typical union misinformation, she thought. The China sale had been made by Hal Edgarton and the Marketing team. Marder was just the COO. He ran the plant. He didn’t have anything to do with sales.
    “I’ll get back to you tomorrow, Don.”
    “That’s fine,” Brull said. “But I’m telling you, Casey. Personally. I’d hate to see anything happen.”
    “Don,” she said. “Are you threatening me?”
    “No, no,” Brull said quickly, with a pained expression. “Don’t misunderstand. But I hear that if the 545 thing isn’t cleared up fast, it could kill the China sale.”
    “That’s true.”
    “And you’re speaking for the IRT.”
    “That’s true, too.”
    Brull shrugged. “So, I’m telling you. Feelings are strongagainst the sale. Some of the guys are pretty hot about it. I was you, I’d take a week off.”
    “I can’t do that. I’m right in the middle of the investigation.”
    Brull looked at her.
    “Don. I’ll talk to Marder about the wing,” she said. “But I have to do my job.”
    “In that case,” Brull said, putting his hand on her arm, “you take real good care, honey.”

ADMINISTRATION
4:40 P.M .
    “No, no,” Marder said, pacing in his office. “This is nonsense, Casey. There’s no way we’d send the wing to Shanghai. What do they think, we’re crazy? That’d be the end of the company.”
    “But Brull said—”
    “The Teamsters are screwing with the UAW, that’s all. You know how rumors run through the plant. Remember when they all decided composites made you sterile? Damn guys wouldn’t come to work for