The Hot Pilots (23 page)

Benny was blushing. “You know I don’t mean to brag, but over the years I’ve made a lot of money—the stock market, real estate
investments, and so on—and that’s allowed me to
contribute
a lot to Israel … What I’m getting at is that over there my family and I get the VIP treatment. Because of my aviation background
I mentioned to some people that I would be interested in visiting an air base, which was arranged for me, and when I made
it known that I was still an active pilot who enjoyed flying my own plane, I was invited for a ride in one of their dual-seat
jet trainers.”

“I get it now.” Steve smiled. “And now that I think about it, I’ve got to admit that I’ve arranged for a few stateside VIPs
to go for a ride in the Air Force’s two-seaters. Well, how’d you like it?”

“It was incredible!” Benny exclaimed. “The pilot even let me take the stick.”

“Now that’s something I’ve never arranged for any of our VIPs!” Steve laughed.

“I tried a few of the aerobatic tricks we used to pull on the Japs.” Benny looked proud. “That pilot was surprised to see
what I could do!”

“I’ll bet he was,” Steve said earnestly. “
I’ll
tell
you
something, if your Israeli pilot was like any of the youngsters our Air Force is training, he probably thought air combat
maneuvers had gone out with the biplane.”

“No, it’s not like that over there,” Benny replied. “You’d like the way they do things, Steve. There’s no red tape, no bullshit,
you know? They can’t afford it. They know that if they ever lose a war they’ll have
had
it.”

“Sounds like you’re ready to re-up,” Steve joked.

Benny just smiled. “Anyway, I’m glad we got onto this subject. You see, there’s something I need to ask you …”

“What is it?” Steve asked. He noticed that Benny was looking troubled. “What’s eating you, old buddy?”

“Care for some more cider?” Benny asked. “More whiskey?”

Steve shook his head. “Why do I get the feeling you’re buttering me up smoother than you buttered this cider?”

“Because I am,” Benny admitted. “I’m about to ask you a big favor…”

“Well?”

“I need something from you,” Benny began. He took a deep breath. “Actually, I need you to get something from your father.
It’s no secret that GAT is in partnership with Aérosens to build a jetliner for the European market.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, Aérosens is the same French aviation company that’s been supplying Israel with its jet fighters, the latest being the
Tyran II—”

“I’m familiar with that bird’s specs.” Steve nodded. “She’s a beauty. An outstanding, delta-winged fighter. She can carry
a variety of ordnance, and a brace of thirty-millimeter guns.”

“She is a superb airplane,” Benny said. “But she needs one thing to be able to outfight anything in the Arab arsenal, and
that’s the Vector-A radar ranging weapons firing system. The catch is that the Vector-A is manufactured by GAT, in a co-venture
with an independent avionics firm, and there’s a United States Government export restriction on the system—”

Steve’s stomach sank as he finally realized what his friend was getting at.

“I’d like you to convince your father to defy that restriction,” Benny finished.

“You mean convince my father to break the
law
by smuggling Vector-As into Israel?”

“I’d like to think of it as obeying a higher, moral law in order to bring about the survival of one’s people,” Benny said
quietly. “Herman Gold is a Jew, after all …”

“And I thought
you
were my friend!” Steve savagely shot back. “Getting around to this was the whole reason why you invited me for this stay,
wasn’t it?”

“No, of course not—”

“Ah, stop it, Benny. For a successful lawyer, you’re a lousy liar …”

“Look at me,” Benny commanded.

“What?” Steve felt hurt and betrayed.

“If you will speak to your father about this matter a lot of people will be grateful,” Benny said. “If you decide you’d rather
not, that’s that. But I’ll
always
be your friend …”

“This is real important to you, huh?” Steve sighed.

“The importance goes far beyond me,” Benny said. “But if you prefer to think of it that way, then yes; with all you know about
me, you should realize that I would never have asked such a thing of you if it wasn’t of crucial importance to me …”

“Then I’ll speak to my father,” Steve said. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll speak to him …”

“Thank you,” Benny said happily. “Whatever the outcome, you have the gratitude of an entire nation—”

“What are friends for?” Steve murmured.

Herman Gold’s secretary buzzed him over the intercom to say that his call to Massachusetts had gone through, and Arthur Zolot
was on the line. Herman reached for the telephone, leaning back in his big leather chair and swinging his feet up onto his
desk. “Arthur? Yes, it’s Herman. How are you, my friend?”

“Who’s Arthur Zolot?” Steven Gold asked Don Harrison, who was sitting at the opposite end of the burgundy leather upholstered
couch. Steve was wearing a suit and tie and was feeling very businesslike hanging around the executive suite, jawing with
his old man and his brother-in-law.

“Arthur Zolot is the founder of Aero-Marine Radio Corporation, one of the foremost East Coast avionics firms,” Don said in
hushed, reverent tones. “Arthur
invented
the Vector-A.”

“No shit,” Steve said, thinking that this guy Zolot had to be really something special to get an egghead like Don Harrison
so hot and bothered.

“When you brought all this up last month about smuggling Vector-A radar weapons firing systems into Israel, your father felt
that Arthur had to be consulted.”

Steve nodded. Thinking of eggheads, he was secretly pleased to see that Don’s honey blond hair was thinning faster than his
own. Since Steve had last seen him, Don had taken up pipe smoking, and had cultivated a neatly cropped golden red beard that
gave him a professorial look that fit in with the tweedy sport jackets he favored. The beard made him look older, more distinguished:
Don was a lot easier to take now that he didn’t look too young to be so smart …

“So, Arthur, you got my letter?” Herman was saying. “Yes, yes, that’s why I wrote you. I agree that it’s not the sort of thing
we’d want to discuss in detail over the telephone.”

“And if this guy nixes the idea, that’s that?” Steve asked hopefully.

“Yes.” Don nodded. “I must say, for someone who suggested it, you don’t sound very enthusiastic about this scheme …”

“I’m not,” Steve replied. He looked around his father’s office, at the oil paintings of GAT airplanes in flight and at the
glass display cases filled with mementos chronicling the company’s history, which was also pretty much the history of aviation
since World War I. “I don’t like the idea of Pop risking everything he’s built by breaking the law. I proposed this matter
to him as a favor to a friend. If Pop shoots it down, so be it. I can tell my friend I tried.”

“Well, I’m with you,” Don said. “I hope that this whole outlandish idea gets shot down.”

“Very well, Arthur,” Herman was saying. “I understand. No, the risk would be GAT’s; I just felt I had a moral obligation to
confer with you … Yes, right. I understand. Goodbye, Arthur…”

“Well?” Steve demanded as his father hung up the telephone.

“He’s for the idea,” Gold said. “It turns out Arthur Zolot is a member and generous contributor to many of the same pro-Israel
organizations as your attorney friend, Benjamin Detkin.”

“Oh, great,” Don said broodingly.

“Don, have you talked with your counterpart at Aérosens?” Steve heard his father ask.

“Aero-Marine Radio Corporation can deliver an extra forty Vector-A systems within the next twenty-four months,” Don replied.
“That would pretty much coincide with Aérosens’ shipments of Tyran II fighters to Israel.”

Herman pondered this. “I guess we could juggle the records to let fall between the cracks an extra forty systems …” He glanced
at Steve. “We’ve contracted for hundreds, you see. The Vector-A is just one of the black boxes that’s going into our new,
twin-seat, Super-BroadSword fighter-bomber.”

“I still don’t much like it,” Steve grumbled, looking at his father. “You still have to figure out a way to get the Vector-As
to Israel …”

“Jack Horton has a few ideas about that,” his father said.

“Horton?” Steve blurted. “What’s that CIA rat got to do with any of this?”

“Horton contacted your father to lobby for the idea just a few days after you put it on the table,” Don said.

“No shit … ?” Steve murmured. “Why would the CIA want us to defy the government’s export restrictions on the Vector-A?”

“According to Horton, the United States maintains its position as a friend to all parties in the Mideast,” Don said. “Which
is why we don’t supply things like the Vector-A to anybody in the region.”

“But off the record the CIA works very closely with its Israeli counterpart, the Mossad,” Herman cut in. “For some time now
the Mossad, in cooperation with the Israeli Air Force, has been working on a scheme to get an Arab pilot to defect to Israel
with his MIG-21.”

Steve whistled. His father nodded.

“The MIG-21 is the Soviet Air Force’s top war bird,” Steve’s father told him. “When GAT proposes a new fighter design, the
first question the Air Force’s R & D people ask us is can it beat the ‘21’?”

“Exactly,” Don added. “But that’s a question that can’t be answered. We in the United States have no way of knowing the MIG-21’s
capabilities, or even more important, its
limitations
, because we can’t get our hands on one. According to Horton, the Soviets have recently begun deploying them to their client
countries, including those in the Mideast, but with the airplanes go KGB-trained security teams to guard them, and, needless
to say, only the most senior, trusted pilots get to fly them.”

“So how the hell are the Israelis going to get their mitts on one?” Steve asked.

“That we don’t know,” Don said. “But according to Horton, and to your boss General Simon, if they should succeed in snaring
a MIG-21 the United States Air Force would give its collective right arm to get a chance to put it through its paces.”

“Amen to that,” Steve agreed.

“Here’s the bottom line,” his father said. “The Mossad has offered us a deal: If Israel gets its Vector-A systems, the United
States will get its look at the MIG when the Mossad snares one.”

“
If
the Mossad snares one,” Steve corrected.

“Fair enough.” His father nodded. “But the CIA thinks it’s worth the risk.”

“But
whose
risk?” Don demanded. “Certainly not the CIA’s … Tell me this, Herman: Are you saying that the CIA is going to get us official
clearance to ship the Vector-As to Israel?”

“You know they can’t do that,” Herman quietly replied. “They and the Air Force hope that we’ll go through with the deal, but
Horton has emphasized the risk. If we’re caught, the CIA will disavow all knowledge of the scheme—”

“In other words,” Don interrupted, “if we get caught, GAT gets hung out to dry.”

“And take it from me,” Steve said. “I know from bitter experience that when Horton says he’s prepared to walk away fast from
any public mess he
means
it. They don’t call these guys spooks for nothing.”

“All right—” Herman was leaning back in his chair, studying the two men sitting across from him. “I sense that for once the
pair of you are on the same side of an issue …”

“I guess we are, Pop.” Steve chuckled, glancing at Don, who was also smiling and nodding in agreement.

“So talk to me,” Herman decreed. “Convince me why I shouldn’t go through with this.”

“It’s a tremendous risk, Herman,” Don began.

“Tell me what I don’t know,” he intoned.

“What’s the upside, Pop?” Steve asked. “I mean, say GAT manages to successfully get those black boxes to Israel without getting
caught, and say that the Israelis manage to snare their MIG-21 and give the Air Force its peek, what does GAT get out of it?”

“My point exactly.” Don nodded. “Any GAT employee involved in this is going to be risking a jail term, and the company as
a whole will be risking financial ruin. If we’re caught there’s no way we’d be able to hold on to our security clearances,
which means good-bye to GAT’s defense contracts. And for what? Surely not patriotism?”

“And why not patriotism?” Herman queried. “Has this country been so terrible to you that you don’t feel you owe it something
… ?”

“Pop?” Steve asked softly.

“Yeah?”

“Pop, I know that tone of voice,” Steve said. “I think you’ve already decided you’re going through with this. So what’s up?
What’s
really
on your mind?”

“All right,” his father admitted, smiling. “You’re right, I have decided to do it, or at least
try
to do it,” he amended thoughtfully. “Exactly why I want to is all mixed up inside of me. Part of it has to do with something
Arthur just said on the telephone: ‘You can’t run away from your roots; who you really are.’ ” He paused. “Now, I’m almost
sixty-six years old, and I realize that all my life I haven’t so much been running away as just not looking back.”

“You’re talking like your life is over,” Don chided. “It isn’t.”

“No, of course not.” Herman nodded. “But I am feeling like it’s time to take that look back. I’ve accomplished a lot in my
life, and yet I’ve never come to terms with who I am, and of who I’ll be when I die: a Jew, one cut loose and drifted away
from a life he’s too ignorant to even imagine, but a Jew nonetheless …” He smiled wistfully. “I’ve come so far, I think I’d
like now to take a few steps back, and maybe find a small bit of what’s been lost along the way…”

Don was nodding. “And you think helping the Jewish homeland in this way is a first step in that direction? Is that it, Herman?”