Kate Winston entered and sat down gingerly on the opposite side of the table. The lawyer’s business suit was in total contrast to the tight jeans and scanty T-shirt she had worn for the flight. “Good morning, gentlemen, General Pontowski.”
“Good morning, Ms. Winston,” Pontowski answered in the same tone. “I hope you’re recovered from the flight.”
“Oh, yes.” A little smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. “It was an experience.”
“For both of us.”
“Mr. Slater will be here in a moment,” she told them. “Mr. Beason, Sammy’s father, will also be here.” From the look on her face, Pontowski knew she was against the senior Beason attending the meeting because they would be discussing the accident in detail. And all the evidence pointed to his son as the cause.
Jonathan Slater, the partner in charge of the Phoenix office, held the door open for Daniel Beason. Beason was in his late sixties, six feet tall, with a full head of gray hair. His face was red and splotchy. At one time, he had been handsome, but heavy drinking, smoking, and womanizing had ruined his health. Now, he was grossly overweight and his breath came in short gasps. “May I introduce Mr. Daniel Beason?” Slater said. They all stood to shake hands. But when Pontowski extended his hand, Beason turned away and sat down at the head of the table. “Shall we get started?” Slater said.
The head of the NTSB team passed out folders and led them through the preliminary investigation report. He finished by outlining the results of the flight when Pontowski and the FAA inspector re-created the accident profile. He looked sadly at the elder Beason and spoke in bureaucratic tones, trying to soften the reality of what he had to say. “The second flight modeling the mishap fully supports the documentation—”
Beason interrupted him. “I don’t give a damn about your documentation.”
“The documentation in question is the videotape from the mishap aircraft,” the team chief said. He took the mental equivalent of a deep breath. No government official willingly incurred the wrath of Daniel Beason. He plunged ahead. “The accident occurred when the mishap pilot, Johar Adwan, did not have full control of the aircraft. The audio portion of the cockpit videotape indicates the pilot and copilot were fighting over control of the aircraft.”
Beason shot to his feet and leaned across the table, his right hand outstretched, forefinger pointed at Pontowski. He was shaking in his rage. “That bastard killed my son and you’re telling me he’s going to walk!”
“Please, Mr. Beason,” Slater said soothingly. “These are not criminal proceedings.”
Beason’s finger was still wavering at Pontowski. “You’re not getting away with this!” His face was bright red.
Kate Winston came out of her seat and rushed over to Beason. She leaned against him and took his hand, guiding him back into his seat. “Please, Mr. Beason. We understand. We truly do.” It seemed to work and the old man slowly gained control. She gave them all a cautionary look. “Perhaps another day?” she ventured.
“I want to hear what he has to say,” Beason rasped, obviously meaning Pontowski.
“Mr. Beason,” Pontowski said, the pain in his voice obvious. “I am very sorry and I would give all I have for this not to have happened. But it was not my idea for your son to go along as a passenger. Nor did I cause the accident. I was simply there, a helpless bystander when the Marchetti went out of control and entered an inverted spin.”
“You’re not walking away from this,” Beason stood up. “I’ll see you in court.”
Pontowski wanted to be gentle. “And your son’s actions will be held up to public scrutiny. Is that what you want?” For a moment, silence ruled.
“Confusion in the cockpit of the mishap aircraft was the primary cause of the accident,” the NTSB team chief said. Beason spun around and marched out of the conference room. The FAA inspector folded his hands and fixed Slater with a hard look. “There is absolutely no doubt what happened. Your client’s son panicked and took control of the aircraft at a critical moment. He caused the accident. I don’t think you have a case that will stand up in court.”
“So you’re also an expert on courts?” Slater asked.
“No,” the team chief replied. “But I was involved with the TWA Flight 800 court case. Believe me, I know what the legal defenses are.”
“I suppose you’re also a lawyer,” Slater snapped.
“As a matter of fact,” the team chief said, “I am. Don’t embarrass your client with a case you can’t win.” He paused for effect. “Daniel Beason has quite a track record. If you lose this one, which you surely will, he’ll turn on you.” He snapped his briefcase shut. “Think about it.”
The room rapidly emptied leaving Pontowski alone with Kate Winston. She walked around the table and stood next to him. “Mr. Beason has been terribly hurt by the death of his son.”
“I know. I’d be devastated if my son was killed. But Sammy Beason was a poor pilot. Even worse, he didn’t know it. Bringing that out in court, which I will, is only going to hurt him more.”
Kate looked at her hands, wanting to tell him he was right. There was something drawing her to Pontowski that had nothing to do with his good looks. And that made him even more attractive. She raised her head, her eyes bright. She reached out and touched his cheek. Her touch was warm and gentle. “Matt, we need to talk.” Her voice trailed off.
“Your reaction after we landed? That was normal. The need to relieve yourself or a sudden thirst is also very common.”
“And you’d have taken advantage.” Anger laced her words.
He shook his head. “No. But it was a chance for you to understand a little of what’s involved.”
She stared at the floor. “It did get Jonathan’s attention. He finally proposed.”
“Slater?”
She nodded. “And I accepted. I wanted to warn you about Beason.”
“He is your client. Don’t say anything you’ll regret later.”
“Matt, he’s furious that we didn’t confiscate the videotape from Sammy’s airplane and destroy it.”
“Isn’t that tampering with evidence?”
She nodded. “He’s out of control and we’re trying to withdraw from the case.”
“Should you be telling me this?”
Conflicting emotions tore at her. “No. But he’s playing dirty and wants to get you personally. Be careful.”
Pontowski gave a little humph. “I’ve been there before.”
“He’s playing the political card and bought himself a senator.”
“They come cheap these days.”
“Please, be serious.”
“I am.”
Bender took his seat at the witness table in the committee hearing room and waited for the senators to settle in behind the long table that barricaded them at one end of the room. Aides hovered behind each senator, ready to be of instant service. Two senators quickly left the dais when they saw the first TV camera, only to return a few minutes later in makeup. An air of anticipation hung over the packed audience as TV crews set up more cameras. They had all come to witness the best show in town. Senator John Leland was going to live up to his reputation as Madeline Turner’s most ardent opponent and crucify yet another one of her nominees.
Leland was the last to enter and sit down. He rapped the committee to order and made his opening remarks. He used the customs and courtesies of the United States Senate to rule like a feudal monarch and only the constant attention of the TV cameras held him in check. He smiled at Bender. “First, let me thank you for coming on such short notice, General Bender. This won’t take too long.”
Knowing smiles broke out among the aides. Leland was at his best when shredding ambassadorial nominees not on his personal short list of campaign contributors. Bender was lucky to even be sitting in front of the committee and would be dispatched in short order.