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She had an emotional connection to it. The image of Diane Wilson’s farewell video to her family burned in Kate’s mind as she tried to imagine the horror of what the people on that flight had faced. One moment you’re living your life. The next moment you’re falling from the sky, expecting to die.
What happened to that plane?
No one had broken any new angles on the story. She put her phone down, finished dressing and went to the kitchen where Vanessa was working on her laptop, concentrating behind her glasses, hair curtained to one side. For a moment Kate acknowledged some facts of her sister’s tragedy. She had not just been found, she’d been a prisoner before she was rescued, and the man who’d held her all those years had allowed her to read. In fact, he’d given her all kinds of books—novels, text books, encyclopedias and dictionaries. Books had become her lifeline. Her reading and comprehension skills were remarkable, the therapists had said. Despite her nightmare, her lost years and everything that she’d endured, Vanessa had emerged a poised, self-assured, beautiful young woman, Kate thought.
“You’re up early,” Kate said.
“Got a test coming. I need to study.”
“Commerce?”
“Economics. I made some raspberry tea.”
“Thanks. I could use it.”
“You got back later than we expected. How’d things go for you yesterday?”
“Awful. I’m thinking of leaving Newslead. The place is falling apart.”
Vanessa looked up from her work, pushed her hair back.
“But you love it there. You’re devoted to that place.”
Hands cupped around her mug, Kate shook her head, sipped some tea and told Vanessa about her ordeal. When Kate finished, Vanessa considered the matter then said, “You don’t want to quit over this.”
“Why not?”
“You’re bigger than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just let it go.”
“But what happened is wrong on so many levels, and I don’t see it getting better.”
“It all comes down to bumper sticker clichés, Kate. ‘What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.’ Suck it up, step back and look at where we’ve been and where we are now. You’re tougher than Sloane and Reeka and you know it.”
Absorbing Vanessa’s suggestion, Kate caressed the guardian angel necklace she always wore as she looked to the wall, at the framed cover of the book they’d written together: Echo In My Heart: A Relentless Story of Love, Loss and Survival. For years, Vanessa had been locked up by a madman, and Kate had helped rescue her. Through it all, neither of them had quit and neither of them had given up hope. Vanessa was Kate’s inspiration.
“You make a good point,” Kate said.
“Think it over. I’ve got to get dressed.”
Vanessa smiled before she left. Alone in the kitchen, Kate couldn’t suppress her need to know more about EastCloud Flight 4990. She got on her phone and again researched the plane. Again, as far as she could tell, the Richlon-TitanRT-86 was a new model, without any known history of major problems. The crew said it was a malfunction, not turbulence. And in its statement, EastCloud had said the flight had “encountered a situation on its approach into New York.”
Kate was mulling over what she knew when her phone vibrated with a text from Tara Lawson, a reporter at Newslead.
OMG the rumors were true! Chuck Laneer is back!
What? This a joke, Tara?
I’m looking at him in his office now! Maybe he can save us all?
Kate’s spirits soared. Chuck was back. This changed everything.
“Mom? Did you hear me?”
Kate looked from her phone to Grace.
“Can I get new shoes, pink ones like Amber got?”
“No, sweetie. The shoes you have are still new. Maybe in the fall.”
“But Mom! Did you see Amber’s shoes? They’re so amazing!”
“Did you remember to clean the sink when you finished?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want for breakfast, something quick?”
“Toast with honey.”
“Okay, remember your chore today—you water the plants while I fix your toast. Want orange juice or milk?”
“Milk.”
“Milk what?”
“Milk, please and thank you.”
As Kate prepared her daughter’s breakfast, her phone vibrated with another text. This one was from Chuck Laneer, and in typical Chuck fashion, he got straight to the point.
Hey Kate. As you no doubt heard, I’m back. Want to meet with you ASAP to discuss the Flight 4990 story.
I’ll be there within an hour.
Sooner would be better.
Welcome back, Chuck.
Nine
Manhattan, New York
Kate waited alone in Newslead’s corner meeting room.
Looking out at the majestic view of Midtown’s skyscrapers, the Chrysler and Empire State buildings, she reflected.
It had been three years since she’d started working at headquarters for Chuck and she thought about everything that she’d reported on in that time: all the crime, disasters, tragedies, investigations. And with most stories, especially those where she’d dealt face-to-face with victims and their anguished families—I’m so sorry but would you have a picture of your son-daughter-wife-husband-brother-sister-loved-one you could share with us?—she’d given a piece of her soul.
In her heart, she was honored to be part of Newslead because of its history of excellence in journalism, and it troubled her that its integrity was being eroded. But Chuck’s return gave her hope and reason to reconsider leaving, because if anyone could restore morale and rebuild the newsroom it was Chuck Laneer.
A shadow fell across the room.
“Good morning, Kate.”
She felt as if the air had suddenly been poisoned. Sloane flashed his brilliant grin, set his notebook and coffee down then took a seat across the table from her.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked.
“I could ask you the same question.”
He sipped his coffee casually. Reeka entered the room, wearing a navy power suit, her face focused on her phone, thumbs a blur. She completed a message, then looked at Kate.
“Did you send me your overtime sheet?”
“I’ll do that today.”
“Okay, everybody.”
Chuck arrived and shut the door, prompting Sloane to paste on a smile, stand and extend his hand.
“Mr. Laneer, welcome. Sloane F. Parkman. We haven’t met but I’m more than aware of your legendary status in the news craft.”
“It’s Chuck. Thanks.”
“Hi.” Kate smiled.
“Good to see you again, Kate.”
Chuck smiled but his eyes betrayed a tinge of concern. His tie was slightly loosened and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. He’d lost some weight, his hair was thinner and mussed, and the lines in his face had deepened.
“This won’t take long. I wanted to get to the jetliner story before Hersh and I officially address the newsroom this morning about my return.”
Chuck glanced at his watch.
“I’ve looked at our coverage of Flight Forty-nine Ninety, and we have an opportunity here to take command of this story and reassert Newslead’s prominence. By all accounts, something went haywire and a plane nearly fell from the sky. The Richlon-TitanRT-86 is a new model that came into service about two years ago. There are about three hundred in operation around the world and it seems to have a good safety record. We need to know if this is an isolated incident or if there’s a serious problem with that aircraft. Lives could be at risk and it’s our duty to inform the public.”
“My sources said it was not a technical problem but turbulence and pilot error,” Sloane said.
“I heard the crew on the scanner report that it was not turbulence,” Kate said. “That it was some sort of malfunction.”
Chuck leaned forward. “The NTSB and EastCloud haven’t confirmed a damn thing yet,” he said. “Until then, we’re going to own this story and follow it until it’s no longer a story. Now, I’ve spoken with Reeka and I’ve decided to put you both on this one.”
“Both of us?” Kate was stunned.
“That’s right. Both of you. Sloane, have you consulted FAA records on the airworthiness of this plane and the history of the model, or checked our legal databases for any civil action?”
“I was about to do just that, Chuck.”
Shaking her head, Kate turned to the window to avoid screaming while watching hope fade away.
“Kate?” Chuck said.
She turned back.
“Kate, I want you to work every angle you can to get us out front and keep us there.”
“Sure. I’m on it.”
“Good. We’re going to break news with solid, on-the-record reporting. Newslead will be the go-to source for this story and every story we cover. Is that understood?”
“Clearly,” Sloane said.
“Abundantly,” Kate said.
“Okay, that’s it.”
* * *
What’s going on? I don’t believe this.
Kate headed for her desk, reconsidered then went to Chuck’s office.
Through his open door, she could see that he was standing with his back to her, looking at the empty bookshelves and credenza. Three cardboard boxes sitting on his desk were jammed with items: his baseball autographed by the Yankees, his Pulitzer and his framed photos. One of Chuck with his wife was already on the desk.
Kate was overcome with sadness, seeing him standing there alone, his life in those boxes. How long had it been since they’d talked, a year? She was angry at him for leaving Newslead after his blowout with previous spineless management. The fact he was dealing with his wife’s illness at the same time had only complicated things. She rapped lightly on the door and he turned to her. This time his smile was from the heart.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she said. “It’s been too long.”
“The time got away from us. Look, when I left I had a helluva lot going on and, well—”
“It’s all history now. It’s okay. How’s Audrey doing?”
“Still cancer-free. Thanks for asking.”
“Good, I’m glad.” Kate let a moment pass. She didn’t have much time. “We need to talk about what just happened back there.”
He ran a hand over his face.
“Shut the door.”
Kate closed it.
“Chuck, let me go first. I don’t want to scare you but this place is a mess. The cuts have taken a toll. The new management’s dysfunctional. Morale here sucks. The quality of our work is slipping. The place is fueled by nepotism and cronyism.”
“I know.”
