Free Airframe by Michael Crichton Page B

a month. But it wasn’t true. And this one’s not true, either. Those tools are going to Atlanta,” he said. “And for one very good reason. We’re fabbing the wing in Atlanta so that the senator from Georgia will stop messing with us every time we go to the Ex-Im Bank for a big loan. It’s a jobs program for the senior senator from Georgia. Got it?”
    “Then somebody better get the word out,” Casey said.
    “Christ,” Marder said. “They know this. The union reps sit in on all the management meetings. It’s usually Brull himself.”
    “But he didn’t sit in on the China negotiations.”
    “I’ll speak to him,” Marder said.
    Casey said, “I’d like to see the offset agreement.”
    “And you will, as soon as it’s final.”
    “What are we giving them?”
    “Part of the nose, and the empennage,” Marder said.“Same as we did for France. Hell, we can’t give them anything else, they’re not competent to build it.”
    “Brull was talking about interfering with the IRT. To stop the China sale.”
    “Interfering how?” Marder said, frowning at her. “Did he threaten you?”
    Casey shrugged.
    “What did he say?”
    “He recommended a week’s vacation.”
    “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Marder said, throwing up his hands. “This is ridiculous. I’ll talk to him tonight, straighten him out. Don’t worry about this. Just stay focused on the job. Okay?”
    “Okay.”
    “Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll take care of this for you.”

NORTON QA
4:53 P.M .
    Casey rode the elevator from the ninth floor down to her own offices, on the fourth floor. She replayed the meeting with Marder, and decided he wasn’t lying. His exasperation had been genuine. And it was true what Marder said—rumors flew through the plant, all the time. A couple of years back, there was a week when the UAW guys had all come up to her, asking solicitously, “How do you feel?” It was days before she learned there was a rumor she had cancer.
    Just a rumor. Another rumor.
    She walked down the corridor, past the photographs of famous Norton aircraft from the past, with a celebrity posed in front: Franklin Delano Roosevelt beside the B-22 that carried him to Yalta; Errol Flynn, with smiling girls in the tropics, in front of an N-5; Henry Kissinger, on the N-12 that had taken him to China in 1972. The photographs were sepia-toned, to convey a sense of age, and the stability of the company.
    She opened the doors to her offices: frosted glass, with raised lettering: “Quality Assurance Division.” She came into a large open room. The secretaries sat in the bullpen; executive offices lined the walls.
    Norma sat by the door, a heavyset woman of indeterminate age, with blue-rinse hair, and a cigarette dangling from her mouth. It was against regulations to smoke in the building, but Norma did as she pleased. She had been with the company aslong as anyone could remember; it was rumored that she had been one of the girls in the picture with Errol Flynn, and that she had had a hot affair with Charley Norton back in the fifties. Whether any of that was true or not, she certainly knew where all the bodies were buried. Within the company, she was treated with a deference bordering on fear. Even Marder was cautious around her.
    Casey said, “What’ve we got, Norma?”
    “The usual panic,” Norma said. “Telexes are flying.” She handed a stack to Casey. “The Fizer in Hong Kong phoned three times for you, but he’s gone home now. Fizer in Vancouver was on the horn half an hour ago. You can probably still get him.”
    Casey nodded. It was not surprising that the Flight Service Representatives in the major hubs would be checking in. The FSRs were Norton employees assigned to the carriers, and the carriers would be worried about the incident.
    “And, let’s see,” Norma said. “The Washington office is all atwitter, they’ve heard the JAA is going to exploit this on Airbus’s behalf. What a surprise. Fizer in Düsseldorf wants a