"Ladies," he said. "I urge you not to do this." He was looking mostly at Singleton. He almost seemed to be angry at her.

Singleton said, "Fly the plane, Teddy."

"That's your best offer?"

"Best and final."

He disappeared. The intercom clicked. "Prepare to close, please." The doors were closed, clicked shut. Thunk, thank. The air was still cold. Jennifer shivered in her harness.

She looked over her shoulder at the rows of empty seats. Then she looked at Singleton.

Singleton stared straight ahead.

Jennifer heard the whine of the jet engines as they started up, a low moan at first, then rising in pitch. The intercom clicked. She heard the pilot say, 'Tower this is Norton zero one, request clearance for FT station check."

Click. "Roger zero one, taxi across runway two left contact point six."

Click. "Roger, tower."

The plane began to move, rolling forward. Out the windows she saw the sky was lightening. After a few moments, the plane stopped again.

"What are they doing?" Jennifer asked.

"Weighing it," Singleton answered. "They weigh before and after, to guarantee we've simulated flying conditions."

"On some kind of scale?"

"Built into the concrete."

Click. 'Teddy. Need, uh, about two feet more on nose."

Click. "Hangon."

The whine of the engines increased. Jennifer felt the plane inch forward slowly. Then it stopped again.

Click. "Thank you. Got it You're at fifty-seven two seven GW and CO is thirty-two percent MAC. Right where you want to be."

Click. "Bye, guys." Click. 'Tower zero one request clearance for takeoff."

Click. "Cleared runway three contact ground point six three when off the runway."

Click. "Roger."

Then the plane began to roll forward, the engines increasing from a whine to a full deep roar, the sound building until it sounded louder to Jennifer than any engines she had beard before. She felt the thump of me wheels going over the cracks in the runway. And then suddenly they had lifted off, the plane going up, the sky blue out the windows.

Airborne.

Click. "Oh-kay, ladies, we are going to proceed to flight level three seven zero, that's thirty-seven thousand feet, and we are going to circle there between Yuma station and Carstairs, Nevada, for the duration of this excursion. Everybody comfy? If you look to your left, you will see our chase plane coming alongside."

Jennifer looked out and saw a silver jet fighter, glinting in the morning light It was very close to their aircraft, close enough to see the pilot wave. Then suddenly it slid backward.

Click. "Uh, you probably won't see much more of him, he'll be staying high and behind us, out of our wake, the safest place to be. Right now we are coming up on twelve thousand feet, you may want to swallow, Ms. Malone, we're not creeping up like the airlines."

Jennifer swallowed, heard her ears pop loudly. She said, "Why are we going up so fast?"

"He wants to get to altitude quickly, to cold soak the plane."

"Cold soak?"

"At thirty-seven thousand feet, the air temperature is minus fifty degrees. The airplane is warmer than that right now, and different parts will cool off at different rates, but eventually on a long flight - such as a long Pacific crossing - all the parts of the plane will reach that temperature. One of the questions for the IRT is whether the cable rigging behaves differently at cold temperature. Cold soaking means putting the plane up at altitude long enough to cool it down. Then we begin the test"

"How long are we talking?" Jennifer said.

"Standard cold soak is two hours."

"We have to sit here for two hours?"

Singleton looked at her. "You wanted to come."

"You mean we spend two hours doing nothing?"

Click. "Oh, we'll try to amuse you, Ms. Malone," the pilot said. "We're now at twenty-two thousand feet and climbing. It'll be another few minutes to cruise altitude. We are at two eighty-seven KIAS and we will stabilize at three forty KIAS which is point eight Mach, eighty percent of the speed of

sound. That's the usual cruise speed for commercial aircraft Everybody comfy?"

Jennifer said, "Can you hear us?"

"I can hear you and see you. And if you look to your right, you can see me."

A monitor in the cabin in front of them came on. Jennifer saw the pilot's shoulder, his head, the controls arrayed in front of him. Bright light out the window.

Now they were high enough that full sunlight streamed in through the windows. But the ulterior of the plane was still cold. Because she was sitting in the center of the cabin, Jennifer could not see the ground out the windows.

She looked at Singleton.

Singleton smiled.

Click. "Ah, okay, we are now at flight level three seven zero, Doppler clear, no turbulence, a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Would you ladies please unbuckle your harnesses, and come to the cockpit"

What? Jennifer thought But Singleton was already taking hers off, standing up in the cabin.

"I thought we couldn't walk around."

"It's okay right now," Singleton said.

Jennifer climbed out of her harness, and walked with Singleton up through first class, to the cockpit. She felt the faint vibration of the airplane beneath her feet. But it was quite stable. The door to the cockpit was open. She saw Rawley in there, with a second man he didn't introduce, and a third who was working with some instrumentation. Jennifer stood with Singleton just outside the cockpit looking in.

"Now Ms. Malone," Rawley said. "You interviewed Mr. Barker, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"What did he say was the cause of the accident?"

"He said the slats deployed."

"Uh-huh. Okay, please watch carefully. This is the flaps slats handle here. We are at cruise speed, cruise altitude. I am now going to deploy the slats." He reached his hand forward to the thing between the seats.

"Wait a minute! Let me get strapped in!"

"You're perfectly safe, Ms. Malone."

"I want to sit down, at least."

"Then sit down."

Jennifer started back, then realized that Singleton was remaining standing by the cockpit door. Staring at her. Feeling foolish, Jennifer went back and stood by Singleton.

"Deploying slats now."

Rawley pushed the lever down. She heard a faint rumble that lasted a few seconds. Nothing else. The nose tilted, steadied.

"Slats are extended." Rawley pointed to the instrument panel. "You see the speed? You see the altitude? And you see that indicator that says SLATS? We have just duplicated the exact conditions that Mr. Barker insists caused the death of three people, on this very same aircraft. And as you see, nothing happened. The attitude is rock solid. Want to try again?"

"Yes," she said. She didn't know what else to say.

"Okay. Slats retracting. This time, maybe you'd like to do it yourself, Ms. Malone. Or maybe you'd like to walk over and look at the wings, see what actually happens when the slats extend. It's kind of neat."

Rawley pressed a button. "Ah, Norton station, this is zero one, can I have a monitor check?" He listened a moment. "Okay, fine. Ms. Malone, move a little forward, so your friends can see you on that camera up there." He pointed up to the ceiling of the cockpit. "Give 'em a wave."

Jennifer waved, feeling foolish.

"Ms. Malone, how many more times would you like us to extend and retract the slats to satisfy your cameras?"

"Well, I don't know ..." She was feeling more foolish by the minute. The flight test was starting to seem like a trap. The footage would make Barker look like a fool. It would make the whole segment look ridiculous. It would make -

"We can do this all day, if you like," Rawley was saying. "That's the point. No problem deploying the slats at cruise speed on the N-22. Plane can handle it fine."

'Try it once more," she said, tightly.

"That's the handle there. Just flip that little metal cover up, and pull it down about an inch."

She knew what he was doing. Putting her in the shot.

"I think you'd better do it."

"Yes, ma'am. Whatever you say."

Rawley pulled the lever down. The rumbling occurred again. The nose went up slightly. Exactly as before.

"Now," Rawley said, "we've got the chase plane getting views for you showing the slats extending, so you'll have exterior angles showing all the action. Okay? Slats retracting."

She watched impatiently. "Well," she said. "If the slats didn't cause this accident, what did?"

Singleton spoke for the first time. "How long has it been now, Teddy?"

"We've been up twenty-three minutes."

"Is that long enough?"

"Maybe. Could happen any minute now."

"What could happen?" Jennifer said.

"The first part of the sequence," Singleton said, "that caused the accident."

"The first part of the sequence?"

"Yes," Singleton said. "Nearly all aircraft accidents are the result of a sequence of events. We call it a cascade. It's never one thing. There's a chain of events, one after another. On this aircraft, we believe the initiating event was an erroneous fault reading, caused by a bad part."

With a sense of dread, Jennifer said, "A bad part?'

She was immediately recutting the tape in her mind. Getting around this awkward point. Singleton had said it was the initiating event. That didn't have to be emphasized, especially if it was just a link in the chain of events. The next link in the chain was equally important - probably more important After all, what had happened on 545 was terrifying and spectacular, it involved the whole airplane, and it was surely unreasonable to blame it on a bad part.

"You said there was a chain of events..."

"That's right," Singleton said. "Several events in a sequence that we believe led to the final outcome."

Jennifer felt her shoulders drop.

They waited.

Nothing happened.

Five minutes went by. Jennifer was cold. She kept glancing at her watch. "What exactly are we waiting for?'

"Patience," Singleton said.

Then there was an electronic ping, and she saw amber words flash on the instrument panel. It said SLATS DISAGREE.

"There it is," Rawley said.

"There what is?'

"An indication that the FDAU believes the slats are not where they're supposed to be. As you see, the slats lever is up, so the slats should be stowed. And we know they are. But the airplane is picking up a reading that they are not stowed. In this case, we know the warning is coming from a bad proximity sensor in the right wing. The proximity sensor should read the presence of the retracted slat. But this sensor's been damaged. And when the sensor gets cold, it behaves erratically. Tells the pilot the slats are extended, when they're not."

Jennifer was shaking her head. "Proximity sensor ... I'm not following you. What does this have to do with Flight 5457'

Singleton said, 'The cockpit on 545 got a warning that something was wrong with the slats. Warnings like that happen fairly frequently. The pilot doesn't know whether something is really wrong, or whether the sensor is just acting up. So the pilot tries to clear the warning; he runs out the slats and retracts them."

"So the pilot on 545 deployed the slats, to clear the warning?"

"Yes."

"But deploying the slats didn't cause the accident..."

"No. We' ve just demonstrated that."

"What did?"

Rawley said, "Ladies, if you will please take your seats, we will now attempt to reproduce the event."

ABOARD TPA 545

6:25 A.M.

In the center passenger cabin, Casey pulled the harness straps over her shoulders and cinched them tight She looked over at Malone, who was sweating, her face pale.

'Tighter," Casey said

"I already did - "

Casey reached over, grabbed her waist strap, and pulled as hard as she could.

Malone grunted. "Hey, for Christ's - "

"I don't much like you," Casey said, "but I don't want your little ass getting hurt on my watch."

Malone wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Although the cabin was cold, sweat was running down her face.

Casey took out a white paper bag, and shoved it under Malone's thigh. "And I don't want you throwing up on me," she said.

"Do you think we'll need that?"

"I guarantee it," Casey said.

Malone's eyes were flicking back and forth. "Listen," she said, "maybe we should call this off."

"Change the channel?"

"Listen," Malone said, "maybe I was wrong."

"About what?"

"We shouldn't have come on the plane. We should have just watched."

'Too late now," Casey said.

She knew she was being tough with Malone because she was frightened herself. She didn't think Teddy was right about the airframe cracking; she didn't think he was foolish enough to go up in a plane that hadn't been thoroughly checked. He had hung around every minute of the tests, during the structural work, the CET, because he knew in a few days he was going to have to fly it. Teddy wasn't stupid.

But he was a test pilot, she thought.

And all test pilots were crazy.

Click. "All right, ladies, we are initiating the sequence. Everybody strapped in tight?"

"Yes," Casey said.

Malone said nothing. Her mouth was moving, but she wasn't saying anything.

Click. "Ah, chase alpha, this is zero one, initiating pitch oscillations now."

Click. "Roger zero one. We have you. Initiate on your mark."

Click. "Norton ground, this is zero one. Monitor check."

Click. "Check confirm. One to thirty."

Click. "Here we go, fellas. Mark."

Casey watched on the side monitor, which snowed Teddy in the cockpit His movements were calm, assured. His voice relaxed.

Click. "Ladies, I have received my slats disagree warning, and I am now extending the slats to clear the warning. Slats are now extended. I am out of the autopilot now. Nose is up, speed decreases... and I now have a stall..."

Casey heard the harsh electronic alarm, sounding again and again. Then the audio warning, the recorded voice flat and insistent: "Stall... Stall... Stall..."

Click. "I am bringing the nose down to avoid the stall condition..."

The plane nosed over, and began to dive.

It was as if they were going straight down.

Outside the scream of the engines became a shriek. Casey's body was pressing hard against the harness straps. Sitting beside her, Jennifer Malone began to scream, her mouth open, a single unvarying scream that merged with the scream of the engines.

Casey felt dizzy. She tried to count how long it was lasting. Five... six ... seven... eight seconds... How long had the initial descent been?

Bit by bit, the plane began to level, to come out of the dive. The scream of die engines faded, changed to a lower register. Casey felt her body grow heavy, then heavier still, then amazingly heavy, her cheeks sagging, her arms pressed down to the armrests. The G-forces. They were at more than two Gs. Casey now weighed two hundred and fifty pounds. She sank lower in the seat, pressed down by a giant hand.

Beside her, Jennifer had stopped screaming, and now was making a continuous low groan.

The sensation of weight decreased as the plane started to climb again. At first the climb was reasonable, then uncomfortable - then it seemed to be straight up. The engines were screaming. Jennifer was screaming. Casey tried to count the seconds but couldn't She didn't have the energy to focus.

And suddenly she felt the pit of her stomach begin to rise, followed by nausea, and she saw the monitor lift off the floor for a moment held in place by the straps. They were weightless at the peak of the climb. Jennifer threw her hand over her mouth. Then the plane was going over... and down again.

Click. "Second pitch oscillation..."

Another steep dive.

Jennifer took her hand away from her mouth and screamed, much louder man before. Casey tried to hold on to the armrests, tried to occupy her mind. She had forgotten to count she had forgotten to -

The weight again.

Sinking. Pressing.

Deep into the chair.

Casey couldn't move. She couldn't turn her head.

Then they were climbing again, steeper than before, the shriek of the engines loud in her ears, and she felt Jennifer reach for her, Jennifer grabbing her arm. Casey turned to look at her, and Jennifer, pale and wild-eyed, was shouting:

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"

The plane was coming to the top of the rise. Her stomach lifting, a sickening sensation. Jennifer's stricken look, hand clapped to her mouth. Vomit spurting through her fingers.

The plane going over.

Another dive.

Click. "Releasing the luggage bins. Give you a sense of how it was."

Along both aisles, the luggage bins above the seats sprang open, and two-foot white blocks spilled out They were harmless neoprene foam, but they bounced around the cabin like a dense blizzard. Casey felt them strike her face, the back of her head.

Jennifer was retching again, trying to pull the bag from under her leg. The blocks tumbled forward, moving down the cabin toward the cockpit. They obscured their view on all sides, until one by one, they began to fall to the floor, roll over, and remain mere. The whine of the engines changed.

The sinking drag of added weight.

The plane was going up again.

The pilot in the F-14 chase plane watched as the big Norton widebody streaked upward through the clouds, climbing at twenty-one degrees.

'Teddy," he said over the radio. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Just reproducing what's on the flight recorder."

"Christ," the pilot said.

The huge passenger jet roared upward, breaking through cloud cover at thirty-one thousand feet. Going up another thousand feet, before losing speed. Approaching stall. Then nosing over again.

Jennifer vomited explosively into the bag. It spilled out over her hands, dribbled onto her lap. She turned to Casey, her face green, weak, contorted.

"Stop it, please. . ."

The plane had started to nose over again. Going down.

Casey looked at her. "Don't you want to reproduce the full event for your cameras? Great visuals. Two more cycles to go."

The plane was diving steeply now. Still looking at Jennifer, Casey said, 'Teddy! Teddy, take your hands off the controls!"

Jennifer's eyes widened. Horrified.

Click. "Roger. Taking my hands off now."

Immediately the plane leveled out. Smoothly, gently. The scream of the engines abated to a constant, steady roar. The foam blocks fell to the carpet, tumbled once, and did not move.

Level flight.

Sunlight streamed through the windows.

Jennifer wiped vomit from her lips with the back of her hand. She stared around the cabin in a daze. "What . . . what happened?"

"The pilot took his hands off the stick."

Jennifer shook her head, not understanding. Her eyes were glazed. In a weak voice she said, "He took his hands off?"

Casey nodded. "That's right."

"Well then ..."

"The autopilot is flying the plane."

Malone collapsed back in her seat, put her head back. Closed her eyes. "I don't understand," she said.

'To end the incident on Right 545, all the pilot had to do was take his hands off the column. If he had taken his hands away, it would have ended immediately."

Jennifer sighed. "Then why didn't he?"

Casey didn't answer her. She turned to the monitor. 'Teddy," she said, "let's go back."

YUMA TEST STATION

9:45 A.M.

Back on the ground, Casey went through the main room of the Flight Test Station, and into the pilots' room. It was an old, wood-paneled lounge for test pilots from the days when Norton still made military aircraft. A lumpy green couch, faded gray from sunlight. A couple of metal flight chairs, pulled up to a scratched Formica table. The only new object in the room was a small television, with a built-in tape deck. It stood beside a battered Coke machine, with a taped card that said OUT OF ORDER. In the window, a grinding air conditioner. It was already blazing hot on the airfield, and the room was uncomfortably warm.

Casey looked through the window at the Newsline crew, walking around Flight 545, filming it as it sat on the runway. The aircraft gleamed in the bright desert sun. The crew seemed lost, not certain what to do. They aimed their cameras as if composing a shot, then lowered them again immediately. They seemed to be waiting.

Casey opened the manila folder she had brought with her, and looked through the sheets of paper inside. The color Xeroxes she asked Norma to make had turned out rather well. And the telexes were satisfactory. Everything was in order.

She went to the television, which she had ordered brought out here. She pushed a tape into the deck, and waited.

Waited for Malone.

Casey was tired. Then she remembered the scope. She rolled up her sleeve, and pulled off the four circular bandages arranged in a row on the skin of her arm. Scopolamine patches, for motion sickness. That was why she had not vomited on the plane. She had known what she was in for, Malone had not.

Casey had no sympathy for her. She just wanted to be finished. This would be the last step. This would end it.

The only person at Norton who really knew what she was doing was Fuller. Fuller had understood immediately when Casey had called him from Video Imaging. Fuller recognized the implications of releasing the tape to Newsline. He saw what it would do to them, how they might be boxed in.

Flight Test had done that

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