Final Approach (62 page)

“Judging from past performances,” she said, smiling and munching a celery stalk as seductively as she could manage, “I'd say if I could command just a quarter of your physical attention, I'd be in heaven. But if you insist, a rain check, perhaps?”

“Absolutely,” Joe said.

He battled the dragons all night long, sleeping fitfully, rising at 6, having finally concluded that there was nothing Dean Farris could do to him, politically or professionally—a refreshingly positive attitude which held until the elevator doors opened on the eighth floor and a uniformed security guard stepped forward to greet him.

“Mr. Wallingford?”

“Yes?”

“I'm here to inform you, sir, that you have been suspended pending dismissal by order of the NTSB chairman. I'll escort you downstairs, if you'd like.”

Joe shook his head and looked at the man. Just doing his job, of course.

“I'll just get some of my things …”

The guard reached out to take Joe's arm. “Ah … no, Mr. Wallingford. Your office is sealed. Your belongings will be sent to your home after the investigation.”

“What investigation?”

“I don't know sir. I'm just telling you what I was told to tell you.”

Joe pulled his arm away and returned to the elevator, angry and confused and frightened all at the same time. He was halfway to his car in the basement when Beverly Bronson caught up with him.

“Me too, Joe. Dean fired us both, fired Andy, fired Nick Gardner—which we expected, of course—and he's on a rampage. He's not going to resign, he's talking of suing us all, and at this rate he'll self-destruct before dinner.”

“What should …?”

“Drive us to the Hart Building. I've already called Martinson's people.”

“No, Beverly, I can't …”

“What? Ask for help? I'm talking about strategy planning, fellow. You helped start the process of changing the Board, you can't back out now.”

Kell Martinson was waiting for them when they arrived.

“Sit down, Beverly, Joe. This has been a wild morning.”

“For us, too,” Joe said.

Kell sat down behind his desk, leaning forward, drumming his fingers. “Okay, here's where we are. The White House is in disarray about all of this. I was up half the night with … well, let's just say members of my party, okay? They're angry with you, Joe, they're angry with me, and they're infuriated that their man Farris has been exposed as an idiot, too stupid to even be on the take.”

“Where does that leave us?”

Kell held up his hand. “Let me work through all this a minute. Now, so far this morning, the chief of staff has asked Farris for his resignation and been refused, has called me to see if I would amend the bill to sweep the Board clean and start over when the bill passes, if it passes, just so they can get rid of Farris—they're outraged he won't step down—and they've offered the chairmanship to another Board member, which is grossly premature.”

“Who?” Joe asked.

“Dr. Susan Kelly,” Kell replied, noting Joe's stunned expression. “You know her, of course?”

“Yes … I … ah …,” Joe stammered, angry with himself for breaking composure. “What did she say?”

“She said no and suggested someone else. But she's the only politically acceptable member of the Board right now. Okay, I was going to hunt you up, Joe, for a conference this morning, anyway, when I found out from Beverly's call that Farris is firing most of the Western world, and may have to be physically restrained, if I understand the pitch of his anger.”

“You do,” Beverly told him. “I believe the word is
apoplectic
.”

“Well, he's finished in this town politically, though he might succeed in hanging on until the end of his term at the Board. We'd have to have him criminally indicted to get him out of there otherwise.”

“What about the new bill?”

“We
might
be able to legislate him away, but it would take several months, in any event.”

“What a mess,” Joe said, his head still spinning.

“Yeah. The good part is that the media is having a field day with what happened in the hearings, and we tipped them off early this morning about Farris's refusal to resign despite internal pressure. That means that by the time the papers come out in the morning, Farris will be barricading himself against public opinion and a media storm.”

Beverly and Kell talked with Fred Sneadman, who had joined them, notebook in hand, while Joe's mind raced around, looking for lifeboats. All he wanted was his job at the Board. How had all this occurred? Suspended, maybe fired … Farris on a rampage. How had it come to this?

The fact that Fred Sneadman and not Cynthia Collins was serving as administrative assistant finally caught Beverly's attention, and she asked where Cynthia was. Kell's expression changed ever so slightly, a flicker of distress showing for a moment before he caught himself.

“She's taken some much-deserved personal leave.”

“She is coming back?”

Kell stared at her for a moment before answering. “Yes. Of course.”

“Well, if she ever decides not to, keep me in mind. I seem to be out of work at the moment.”

Kell worked hard to smile. “I don't think that condition will last, but if the occasion arises, Beverly, let's talk.” Kell's mind was elsewhere, and the sparkle of unfocused interest in Beverly's eyes which went slightly beyond the professional made no more of an impression on him than her statuesque beauty.

Joe's attention returned to the room suddenly, his head snapping up just enough for the others to notice that he'd been drifting from the conversation. “What should we do?” Joe asked, embarrassed at the lapse.

Kell Martinson looked Joe straight in the eye to the point of discomfort. The senator was trying to read something there.

“Joe, what do you want?”

“From you, Senator?”

“No, what do you really want to do professionally?”

“I just want to be an NTSB investigator. That's all.”

Kell looked at him a bit longer before replying. “You may have to look beyond that, Joe.”

Which means, Joe thought with sinking heart, that it may truly be over. He almost didn't hear Kell's call to action.

“Okay, let's go.”

“Where?” Joe was confused.

“I'm sorry Joe, you were deep in thought a minute ago. We're going to go over to the Executive Office Building to meet with some of the President's people on this. I'd like you both to come along.”

Joe followed Beverly out the door, trying to look engaged, but feeling dead inside. Kell asked him to hold a cab, that he had one phone call to make, and with that they left him and headed for the street.

Kell sat back down for a moment in troubled thought. Beverly's question had triggered feelings he was trying to hold at bay. His divorce from Julie had become final on the eighth, two days ago. He had hoped they could remain friends, but Julie's voice when she'd called about the final decree had been frosty and distant. He was truly alone now, and with Cindy still in Missouri, he was lonely as well. What was she thinking out there? he wondered. Had she watched the hearing? Was she thinking of him? Should he call her? They hadn't talked for a week, and even then it had been strained and she had been noncommittal. He was living in fear she might call to say it was over, yet he longed to hear her voice. God, how he missed her.

Kell Martinson got up and slowly pulled on his coat as he looked around at the impressive collection of framed plaques and certificates and pictures, shots of him with presidents and dignitaries, the sort of thing a U.S. senator collects as a visible record of achievement. Yes, he was proud of all that. Yes, it was his life. But it wasn't enough, and he knew that now more than ever. Without the right someone to share the victories, they were hollow. Kell sighed and stood up, grabbing his briefcase as he headed out the door to join the others.

For Joe, the short taxi ride to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue served only as a distant and blurred background for the rapid progression of desperate thoughts of where he would go, what he would do, how he would live. It wasn't that life away from his position at the Board had never been considered, it had simply never been taken seriously. Ethereal thoughts of “What if?” were simply that: ethereal thoughts.

This, however, was reality—the result of a technician blundering stupidly into the maelstrom of the political world. In that game, Joe now knew only too well, he was no match for anyone.

As they got out, Kell motioned Joe aside for a moment.

“Joe, did you talk to someone at Kansas City Airport about the problem we discussed?”

“Yes I did. Over the weekend.”

“Well, I want to thank you. It worked. I got a call this morning from their security chief, and the general gist of the conversation was, if I won't make a big deal out of which airport had the breach in security that would permit a car to roll through undetected, they won't make a big deal about the technical impropriety of my probing their defenses, especially since the FAA has declined prosecution.”

“I'm glad to hear that.”

“It can still blow up publicly, but I think now I could handle it. Thanks again, Joe.”

A deputy to the chief of staff was waiting to escort them over to the White House itself. The domestic-policy group had become involved, given the embarrassing nature of the situation to the administration. Joe had always wished he could be invited to some nonpublic function within the walls of the world-famous building, but not in the present circumstance. Now they loomed more like the fortress housing the gallows than a place of awe and beauty and power.

“Mr. Wallingford, Senator Martinson …” The voice came from a small man with flint-hard features and eyes like tiny coals, both of them boring into Joe's. “We've got a difficult problem here.”

The hearing, the bill, and especially the unmasking of Bill Caldwell at the hand of the NTSB chairman, who was appointed by the sitting administration, had been a political embarrassment that could only be handled by the departure of both men, along with Presidential support of a bill the President's domestic staff had originally thought unnecessary, but which now
would
be politically expedient. “We'll have to support it now to make it look like this was a Republican response to the very problems created by our Republican chairman.”

They were mad as hell at Martinson and mad as hell at Joe for starting the entire affair, but they were also realists. “There are,” the deputy said, “… solutions.”

The man who entered the room at that point with profound displeasure showing clearly on his face was far too familiar to trigger the appropriate recognition response in Joe, until, as he shook the proffered hand, he realized it belonged to the President of the United States, who sat on the edge of a desk and regarded Joe in silence for a few seconds.

“Dean Farris has just given up. His resignation will be on my desk in an hour. I had to twist his arm nearly off, but he's out.” The President's hand swept toward the door for emphasis, and he got up then and walked toward the end of the small office. “We offered the job to Susan Kelly this morning, on the supposition that Farris would leave. She turned us down … said she hasn't been there long enough. I know this new bill, if it makes it, will require the chairman to have technical expertise and since I'm now forced to support the damn shake-up, I might as well put us on the side of the angels with a qualified individual. Mr. Wallingford, for all the grief you've caused me so far, I should support your canning by Dean Farris as his last act on political earth. Instead, I'm going to appoint you chairman.”

Joe just stared at him. That made no sense. “Of what, sir?”

The President laughed—a short, rapid chuckle replaced instantly by the same serious face. “Things been moving a little fast for you, Joe? Of the NTSB. I want you to take over for Farris and lead the Board into the new world you and my overly exuberant friend from the Hill here”—he motioned to Martinson—“have concocted.” The chief executive's eyes were hard and none too friendly and they were aimed directly at Joe, cutting through any imagined defenses like a laser through butter.

“Sir, I'm flattered, but …”

“Goddammit, Wallingford, I'm not here to flatter you. I'm here to put you back to work. You got yourself fired this morning for going around your boss, and I don't, in principle, disagree with that. Federal employees must maintain some degree of decorum when it comes to a chain of command or we'd have anarchy. I'm sure as hell not honoring what you did in running to the senator here, but I have to admit two things: One, you were right that Farris was damaging your operations. The admissions that you drew out, Senator, at your subcommittee hearings made that clear. Two, there seems to be no better-qualified person at the Board to take care of it with the technical side in mind, especially if the Board is broken away as an aviation-only entity. Even if the bill fails, there's no better candidate around, since Susan won't take it. I have to tell you, parenthetically, that you are my second choice because I don't know you, and my people do know Susan Kelly by reputation. Now. The ball's in your court. You're not being honored, you're being given a serious assignment of great import. I expect a quick decision.” The President looked at his watch, then at an aide who had materialized at his elbow. “About time, Fred?”

“Yes sir. They're waiting.”

“Okay.” He turned back to the thunderstruck former IIC of the Kansas City investigation. “Joe … may I call you Joe?”

“Uh … good Lord, of course, Mr. President.”

“Good. Joe, I need a quick answer.”

“Sir, I'm not a politician …”

“Which is exactly why I'm appointing you.” The President turned and left, smoothly transitioning to a running discussion with his aide over another unrelated problem waiting in the Oval Office.