“Can he do that, as a minority member of the committee?” Wister asked, not glancing up from the story he was reading.
“I don’t know,” Schaeffer said. “He’s ranking minority member—”
“And Garrison Helmutsen isn’t the strongest man in the world,” Pace offered.
“—and, that’s right, he could probably browbeat Helmutsen into doing it out of a, quote-unquote, sense of justice.”
Wister looked up at Pace. “Where are Sachs’s political loyalties?”
“He’s a Democrat,” Pace said.
“So there you are,” said Schaeffer. “If the majority on the Transportation Committee doesn’t go along, it looks like they’re protecting one of their own.” He paused and drummed the desktop with his fingers for a moment, then added, “I think we’re stretching you too thin, Steve. Let’s bring Jill Hughes in. God knows, her quick action on the van broke open the murder cases. She deserves a shot at part of the story. With all you have to cover at the NTSB, the D.C. and Virginia cops, and the Justice Department, you’re already running at top speed. Do you mind?”
“No. That’s fine,” Pace replied. “But I want to hang onto the other threads myself.”
“I don’t see any problem unless you get overloaded,” Schaeffer said. “How about if we bring Glenn in? You two get on well, and this is a story he’d take any piece of he could get. You’re still point man. This is your baby, and you’ve been through hell for it. But I want news stories, not heroes, and I’d like Glenn in for support, even if he only does legwork.”
“I think I can handle it alone.” By the tone of his voice, Pace meant to make it plain his objection was not a strong one. He certainly didn’t object to Glenn. If he had to take help, he’d just as soon take it from Glenn as anyone.
“Trust me on this,” Schaeffer said. “When this one starts cracking open, it’s going to break in places we haven’t even dreamed of. You’ll be working seven days a week. You’re going to need some relief.”
“You’re the boss,” Pace replied with a shrug that said he would accept the order gracefully.
“You bet your ass,” Schaeffer boomed. “And I’m damned glad somebody around here finally noticed.”
40
To say the hastily-called press conference was tumultuous would have been gross understatement. Most of the major news organizations in the Western world had at least one reporter crammed into the auditorium. Photographers fought with television cameramen for elbow room, and radio reporters struggled to find open space on the podium where they could clamp microphones. The wooden structure, with the NTSB logo on the front, looked like an electronic forest.
They were drawn there by Mitch Gabriel’s notice that the NTSB chairman would respond to a multitude of questions.
An NTSB aide had taped single sheets of paper to two rows of chairs at the front of the room, scrawling on each sheet the name of a news organization that regularly covered aviation matters. All of the major newspapers, wire services, and networks had reserved spots, as did the trade press. Pace noticed with satisfaction that he was front row, center aisle. Since the television cameras were consigned to the back of the room, Pace had an unobstructed view of the dais and, presumably, a clear shot at being recognized with a question for Sachs.
He expected a sort of grudging coolness from his colleagues, and that’s pretty much what he got, except from Jeffrey Hines, the veteran aviation writer for the Los Angeles Times. Hines was assigned the seat to Pace’s right. He slumped into it, made eye contact with Pace, and grinned.
“You don’t look too bad for a man come back from the dead,” he commented.
“Was that the word around?”
“The gospel, I heard.”
“I got a few lucky bounces.”
The commotion in the room pitched up a notch, and Pace saw Ken Sachs walk in followed by Vernon Lund, Jim Padgett, and Mitch Gabriel.
“They’re bringing out all the guns,” Hines noted, echoing Pace’s thought.
“They’ll need ’em,” Pace said. “Did you see the rocket out of Converse this morning?”
Hines nodded. “The sonic boom broke a couple of windows in the newsroom. You think that’s why they called this?”
“I’m sure somebody will ask.”
Ken Sachs took the podium, and the room quieted expectantly.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ll get right to the point,” he began. “There have been very serious allegations made in the last few days to the effect that the apparent cause of the crash of ConPac Flight 1117 on April 17th was somehow faked. As incredible as it sounds, there is evidence to suggest that the allegations are true.”
Sachs paused as an audible murmur swept across the room. Then he continued. “We planned to meet with you today to bring everyone up to speed on the nature of our renewed investigation. Now the need is doubly important. I understand the Converse Corporation has issued a statement alleging that for reasons of my past brief association with another major engine manufacturer, I have impugned the ConPac evidence. Before you ask, I am here to say the charge is absurd. Mac-Paige was a client of my consulting firm for a short period seven years ago, and on one specific project involving the sale of aviation equipment to China. Because some of the equipment was included on a list of items that could not be sold abroad to Communist countries, Mac-Paige retained my firm to attain a one-time exemption. We were partially successful. The sale was approved with the exception of one computer component which, I might add, was not essential to the completion of the deal. That was my only relationship with the company.”
Sachs paused to be certain everyone was following him, then continued.
“Since I put my interest in the consulting firm into a blind trust during my tenure at the NTSB, I am not aware of the identities of new clients taken on in my absence. In an effort to abide by the rules of the blind trust, but at the same time to fulfill what I believe is my obligation to full disclosure, I asked the solicitor general’s office this afternoon to contact one or more of the present officers of the firm to determine whether there has been, in my absence, further dealings with MacPhearson-Paige. The answer is no. I have copies of the solicitor general’s hand-delivered letter to me stating as much. I hereby issue a public challenge to Converse to produce evidence to the contrary, and until the company does so, I consider the matter closed. I am not going to step aside. And the President assures me he has no intention of asking for my resignation or firing me.”
“Mr. Sachs, can you tell us—” A reporter in the back of the room began a question, but Sachs cut him off with a wave of his hand.
“When we are concluded here, I will take a limited number of questions but not now,” he said sternly. He turned to his left. “Mitch, you want to handle this?”
Gabriel stepped up, the cluster of microphones taped, clipped, and piggybacked to the podium almost obscuring his face from Pace’s view.
“As most of you know,” Gabriel began, “it’s the policy of the National Transportation Safety Board in cases of serious aviation accidents to withhold from the public for at least sixty days the transcripts of dialogue on the thirty-minute tape loop in the cockpit voice recorder. There are good reasons for this practice, none of which we need to reiterate now. Today we’re taking the extraordinary step of releasing the transcript early—” again a murmur ran through the room “—because the reaction of the ConPac crew as the Number Three engine began to break up was one of the strongest pieces of evidence we had to support the notion of a bird strike, and we want you to hear—”