Free Fall

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.”