The Hot Pilots (18 page)

“I’m getting a splitting headache,” Harrison complained. “And it’s not from the champagne. Please just answer me this: If
you knew right from the start that this whole thing was a ploy by Tim Campbell, why did you go along with it? Why would you
be so willing to help an enemy?”

“
Who said he helped an enemy?
”

Harrison looked up. Hull was back.

Herman was laughing. “You can hear pretty good when you want to, you old bastard—”

“You sound like my wife,” Hull agreed jovially.

“Where’s your master?” Don asked sarcastically, looking around for Campbell.

“Hey,” Herman reprimanded him as Hull slid into the booth next to Harrison. “Don’t go shooting off your mouth when you don’t
know what you’re talking about.”

Harrison pressed his lips together, feeling surprised and a bit insulted to be put down that way. “I’m just shocked at the
way Hull lets Campbell treat him …” He heard the sulkiness in his voice. It mad him feel doubly embarrassed.

“Ah, Timmy doesn’t mean anything when he talks to me like that,” Hull confided, giving Harrison a friendly nudge with his
shoulder. “He’s like that little white poodle my wife’s got. All yap, with little itty-bitty teeth, can’t give you but a nip,
and
that’s
hardly ever…”

“So where
is
your yapping little poodle?” Herman chuckled.

“Oh, he’s left,” Hull said.

“I hope he’s not driving?” Herman asked, concerned.

“Nope,” Hull winked. “I took his car keys out of his pocket when he wasn’t looking. The guy’s so soused he never even knew.
I fed him a song and dance ‘bout how he must of dropped them somewhere in the restaurant, then I told him I’d come back in
here to look for them, and put him in a cab.”

“I don’t think I ever saw him that juiced,” Herman said.

“He doesn’t usually drink much at all, that’s why.”

“He ought to watch himself …”

“Well, today was his big celebration, you see …” Hull’s smile was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. “Over besting
you …”

Both men burst out laughing.

“What
is
going on here?” Harrision implored, confused and frustrated.

“Let me straighten you out, son,” Hull began, taking a sack of Bull Durham and a packet of cigarette papers out of his pocket.

Harrison, watching Hull adroitly roll himself a smoke, thought:
Put this guy in work clothes and he’d fit right in on the GAT loading dock
.

“First off, Herman saw through Tim’s scheme from day one,” Hull continued, sticking his cigarette between his lips, and then
producing a wooden kitchen match, which he flicked alight with his thumbnail.

“That much I already know,” Harrison complained. “What I
don’t
understand is why he played along.”

“To help
me,
” Hull replied, lighting his cigarette and exhaling smoke. “You see, Tim may
control
Skyworld, but she’s
my
airline. I
run
her. I made her what she is today.”

“That’s true,” Herman interjected. “Hull and his brother ran the operation from its beginning, back when it still was a part
of GAT.”

“Your brother?” Harrison asked Hull, intrigued. “I didn’t know you have a brother.”

“Had,” Hull muttered.

“Lester Stiles is dead,” Herman said evenly. “He died in the cockpit when one of our transports went down, back in ‘twenty-five
… Anyway, the point I was making was that nobody knows the nuts and bolts side of the airlines business like this guy here
…”

Hull smiled at the compliment. “Don, you can imagine that I wasn’t too happy about the fact that Skyworld was gonna get stuck
flying AL-12s when the competition was flocking to the GC-909, but I knew there wasn’t any way around it.”

“It makes sense that Campbell would want his airline to buy from his aircraft company.” Harrison nodded.

“But what really got me upset was finding out that the AL-12 was canceled,” Hull continued. “That left Skyworld with nothing
at all to fly. When Timmy told me about his scheme to con Herman into supplying us with planes I knew right away that Herman
was too smart to fall for it. That’s why I called him, and asked him to play along with the guy for my sake, on account of
old times.”

Harrison was skeptical. “Come on, you can’t tell me that Herman went to all this trouble just to do you a favor? Why, the
legal expenses alone are going to cost GAT a fortune, and what about all the industry feathers we ruffled by delaying other
airlines orders so that we could bump Skyworld to the top of the 909 delivery list—”

Hull was nodding. “Now, I sure do know that Herman went way out of his way to do me this favor,” he said quickly. “And I do
appreciate it—”

“Bullshit!” Herman scowled. “I haven’t nearly paid you back what I owe you—”

“What
you
owe to Hull?” Harrison repeated, staring at Herman. “Now I’m getting confused all over again.”

“For starters, I owe him my life,” Herman said firmly.

“Now don’t you go running off about that,” Hull grumbled.

“This man wants to know, I’m going to tell him,” Herman declared. “You see, Don, back during Prohibition I did a brief stint
flying booze from Mexico into California.”

Harrison burst out laughing. “Oh, I’m sorry, Herman, but the thought of you as a bootlegger…” He broke up again as the two
older men exchanged bemused glances.

“Kids,” Hull sighed, rolling his eyes.

“They think they’re the only ones ever been young,” Herman commiserated. “Anyway, Don, I got myself into a scrape out in the
desert with some crooked federal lawmen. There was some shooting. If Hull and his brother Les hadn’t come to my rescue I wouldn’t
be here today, and that’s a fact.”

Hull was trying his best to busy himself with smoking his cigarette. Harrison thought the guy actually looked angry over Herman
having brought all this up.

“And if that weren’t enough,” Herman continued, “if it hadn’t been for Hull playing along, I never would have come out on
top back in ‘thirty-three, during my stock battle with Tim over control of Skyworld.”

“But Campbell ended up with Skyworld,” Harrison pointed out.

“Sure, but if Hull hadn’t tipped me off in the beginning about what my partner Tim Campbell was doing behind my back, I might
have lost my entire company. And it was Hull who at great professional risk played along with my final strategy. Thanks to
him, all three of us came out of what could have been a financially mortal combat a little bloodied, but survivors.”

“I’ve got to get going,” Hull said, standing up. He shook hands with Herman. “Thanks again, for everything …”

Herman said, “Anytime, anyplace, I’ll be there for you, the way
you’ve
always been there for me …”

“One last thing, Herman,” Harrison asked as he watched Hull walk away. “Why did you have to go to such an elaborate ruse in
order to help out Skyworld? When Tim Campbell initially approached you, why didn’t you just tell him that you thought his
deal was bogus, but that you were still willing to give him the airplanes on account of your friendship with Hull?”

“Business is business.” Gold smiled, signaling the waiter for the check. “But
revenge
is sweet. By pretending to dance to Tim’s tune, and then to eat a little crow for the guy, I hope that I’ve convinced my
ex-partner that he’s finally gotten the better of me.”

“So what?”

“So
this
way I don’t have to keep looking over my shoulder, waiting for Tim to plant a knife in my back.”

“I’m beginning to understand,” Harrison murmured. “The way you and Hull have worked it, Campbell thinks he’s
already
stabbed you in the back.”

“Um …” Herman grunted, preoccupied as he studied the tab that the waiter had presented him.

“What’s the matter?” Harrison asked.

“Campbell,” Gold muttered affectionately. “Don’t you
know
that on his way out he collared the waiter, and told him to add that extra bottle of champagne to
my
bill, after all?”

Susan Harrison was enjoying the family dinner being held in her parents’ dining room. The room was lined with Japanese silk-screened
panels and was softly illuminated by glittering Waterford chandeliers. A fire crackled in the hearth, and candles cast their
rich glow on the linen-covered Georgian table that had been so elegantly set with sterling flatware, crystal, and fine china.
Now the dessert plates had been cleared away, and the maid was coming around with coffee.

“And this is something very special for tonight,” Susan’s father announced from the head of the table, proudly holding up
a long-necked brown bottle. “It’s a German wine, one that is very rare in this country. It’s a
trockenbeerenauslese:
a wine made from grapes allowed to dry in the sun while still on the vine.”

He stood to pull the wine’s cork, and then, smiling at Suzy, came around the table to pour her some in a small, ornately engraved,
crystal dessert wineglass. “You should have the first sip,” her father continued, his hand on her shoulder. “May my new grandson
Andrew’s life be as sweet as this wine.”

Suzy tilted the glass against the candlelight. The wine was golden and moved slowly in the glass, like syrup. She took a sip.
It was intensely sweet, almost like honey, with an aftertaste like raisins. She found it a bit cloying, but she knew from
the way her father was eagerly watching for her reaction that the stuff must be some big deal …

“It’s delicious, Daddy…”

Her father nodded, handing the bottle to the maid, who went around the table with it. “The taste of that wine reminds me of
my homeland,” he sighed.

“Oh, Herman,” Susan heard her mother scold. Erica got irked when Herman got maudlin about Germany. “You never tasted such
wine in Germany in your life, and you know it!”

“That’s true,” Herman admitted, laughing. “This stuff cost a fortune even in those days. In Germany I never made enough money
in a year to buy a bottle …”

For some reason Susan found that uproarious, but then the wine had been flowing freely all through the night, so that now
she was more than a little tipsy. She felt deliciously sleepy, lulled by the twinkling candlelight, and by the sounds of the
multiple conversations going on at the table.

Her parents were sitting at opposite ends of the table, looking radiant. Her husband was on her right. Robbie was across the
table, sitting next to Steve. Her son, looking quite the young gentleman in his white shirt, striped tie, and blue blazer,
was hanging on Steve’s every word as he told of his work in Washington on behalf of the Air Force.

“… of course the Bell Lab, X-series of rocket planes will be taking the Air Force into outer space,” Steve was telling Robbie.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Don interrupted.

“Pardon?” Steve asked politely from across the table.

Don looked past him, to Robbie, as he spoke. “Well, there’s no point in telling the boy nonsense …”

“What do you think was ‘nonsense’ in what I was saying?” Steve asked tightly.

“Well, it’s clear the Air Force no longer holds the monopoly it used to,” Don replied.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, Don,” Robbie piped up. “
Everybody
knows the Air Force owns the sky.” He smiled at Steve, who winked back.

“Maybe they own the sky,” Don said, “but Steve was talking about space …”

“Yeah, so?” Robbie demanded.

“Well, a few days ago this country launched its first successful space satellite, and according to our contacts in Washington,
the bill to fund that agency—”

“What agency?” Susan interrupted.

“Don means the National Aeronautics and Space Administration,” her father explained to her.

“Right.” Don nodded. “The Air Force will be getting some stiff competition from NASA concerning who gets the funding to explore
space.”

“Aw, come on,” Robbie exclaimed. Susan saw her son look anxiously at Steve. “That’s just a lot of bull, right?” Robbie demanded.

Steve, his mouth compressed into a thin line, didn’t reply.

“Steve, I take it you don’t have much confidence in NASA?” Susan heard her father ask.

“Come on, Pop,” Steve said disdainfully. “I don’t expect Don to understand, but you’re a pilot, like I am.”

Oh, shit
—Susan thought as Don stiffened in his chair. She glanced at her husband and could sense his anger. She wondered if Steve’s
slight was intentional, but then it wouldn’t matter one way or the other, she brooded sadly. She knew that Don would retaliate.

“Well, from a business point of view, our people in Washington tell us that NASA is going to be getting the lion’s share of
the appropriations,” Don said.

“Over the Air Force?” Steve asked skeptically.

“That’s what we’ve heard,” Herman interjected from the head of the table.

“You remember Burt Crenshaw, don’t you, dear?” Erica asked Steve. “Well Burt’s son-in-law is an aide to one of the senators
on the appropriations committee …”

“GAT’s Aerospace Division will be bidding on contracts to build components for the NASA rocket program,” Don said.

Susan saw Steve’s look of dismay. “Pop?” He glanced at the head of the table. “Pop, I thought you told me you were going to
put the company’s R & D resources into the Air Force’s orbiting lab program?”

“Your father and I changed our minds about that,” Don said.

“Well, if you ask me—” Steve began.

“No one did,” Don said curtly.

“Come on now, Don,” Herman said. “No need for that tone of voice …”

“Well if you
did
ask me,” Steve continued, growing angry, “I’d tell you that you were making a big mistake. There’s no way the Air Force is
going to wave the white flag to NASA. We’re going to push ahead. In a few years we hope to have our lab in orbit, and to be
working on space weapons like lasers and particle beams—”