Wind Raker - Book IV of The Order of the Air (2 page)

Lewis straightened up like a hound who's just heard a familiar car coming down the street.

Dora let out a shriek and reached for Alma, but she ducked it. "Floyd Odlum?" He was the owner of Consolidated Aircraft, one of the biggest manufacturers in the country, and a part owner of RKO Pictures, a millionaire a dozen times over, an aircraft magnate to the limit. He'd never called Gilchrist Aviation before.

Stasi nodded, red lipstick unsmeared and hair in finger waves despite Dora's depredations. "I told him you were out in the hangar checking on a plane and that I'd get you immediately."

"What the hell?" Mitch wondered, leaning out the hatch.

"I'll go see." Alma hurried back toward the office, Stasi following with Dora. At not quite two, Dora was much too young for school, and so she came to work every day, to her own little messy corner of the office off the hangar. There was always one of the four adults around to chase her or at least keep her out of things she shouldn't be in, like aviation fuel. Today she seemed to have been making paper hats, which didn't get the billing done, but at least Stasi was answering the phone.

Alma took a deep breath before she picked up the earpiece and the phone. "Mr. Odlum? This is Alma Segura."

His voice was a little high pitched, not what you'd expect. "Out checking on your own planes? I like a hands-on approach."

"So do I," Alma said. She didn't mention that with only three people working on the planes full time, she couldn't exactly sit in a corner office if she wanted to. Unlike Odlum, she didn't have hundreds of employees.

"I'm calling you with a business proposition," Odlum said. "I've been talking with Henry Kershaw over at Republic, and he said he'd hired Gilchrist Aviation to do some work for him in the past and he'd been very, very pleased with the results."

"I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Odlum," Alma said.

"Call me Floyd. Henry had nothing but nice things to say, and I think you're exactly the type of outfit I need for this job."

"What type is that?" Alma asked. "And please — call me Alma."

"Nimble. Independent. Henry said you had top quality pilots, decorated aces who had done some test flights for him. I'd like to contract with you for two or three guys for a couple of months to do some particular tests for me. And of course I'd pay top dollar — eight hundred dollars each per month, or two hundred bucks a week for the part months."

"That's very generous," Alma said. And it was. That was serious money. Mitch and Lewis had done some test flights for Henry for less than that. But a couple of months? "What's the test?"

"I'm sure you've heard about Consolidated's Catalina Flying Boat," Odlum said. "We've got a contract with the Navy to deliver a double-engine seaplane with flexible functions, as a cargo plane, a light bomber, whatever they need — anywhere there's no runway but ocean. The Catalina is in final trials now, and we're very pleased with it." Odlum sounded appropriately smug. "But as you may surmise, the design has commercial applications as well. We've got a nose in from Qantas — you know, those Aussie guys. They're interested in the Catalina as a passenger and cargo airplane for the South Pacific. Since it's a flying boat and doesn't require a runway to land, it would allow for service to islands where there is no runway and no money to build one. That's very interesting to them. And there are a bunch of little guys, small companies and single aviators who provide a lot of the service out there — they want a reliable plane that can land on the water and that isn't fussy about conditions. We think the Catalina could be their plane. We think it's ideal for inter-island service, passenger and cargo both."

"That sounds very promising," Alma said. "As you know, we principally run the Kershaw Terrier, and it's the same kind of flexible utility plane."

"That's why Henry suggested you," Odlum said.

Dora let out a shriek, reaching for Alma's head with both arms, nearly flinging herself off Stasi in the process. Stasi grabbed her around the waist, and Dora screamed.

"Is that a baby?" Odlum said.

"Absolutely not," Alma replied. Nothing looked more unprofessional than Dora in the office.

"Oh," Odlum said, and went on. "The Navy has been conducting field trials appropriate to their anticipated usage, but their data is not only unavailable to the public, but also obviously doesn't apply in many situations."

Stasi did a little dance trying to keep Dora from grabbing the phone's stick in Alma's hand, and Alma picked up a pencil off the desk. She scribbled 'Take her out in the hangar and keep Mitch from spraining something' across the receipt pad.

"Yes, clearly," Alma said. "So I'm guessing, Floyd, that what you're talking about is conducting civilian-use trials that will more closely approximate the kind of flying conditions that your Australian market might anticipate?"

"Got it in one!" Odlum said.

Stasi squinted at the note and nodded, hauling Dora around again in mid-squirm. Dora let out another shriek that was cut off by Stasi closing the hangar door behind them.

"We need some data from an independent contractor, as of course our own internal trials aren't going to generate data that's convincing to the Qantas boys or any of the rest of them. Gilchrist has done good work for Republic in the past, and Henry says your pilots are top-notch. I remember meeting your husband and being very impressed."

"Lewis is a good pilot," Alma said. "And yes, he's done test piloting for Republic as well as winning the DSC in France for his air service."

"I thought I saw something about him being decorated for his search and rescue flying recently," Odlum said. "For the reserves."

"Yes," Alma said. "Lewis and Mitchell Sorley too. They're who I'd suggest for your job." Not that she wouldn't want to do it, Alma thought with a twinge, but her credentials on paper weren't nearly as good, not to mention that she couldn't leave Dora for a couple of months. That was just off the table. "I take it you'd want them in LA?"

"That sounds good," Odlum said, "But not in LA. We want to approximate the kind of inter-island flying that our South Pacific buyers expect to do. Same weather conditions, same water landings, same challenges, same kind of wear and tear on the equipment. We'll be conducting the trials in the Hawaiian Islands. My friend Miss Cochran — I think you met her at Henry's a couple of years ago?"

"Yes," Alma said, "I did." Hawaii. Lewis would go to Hawaii without her. For business, of course.

"Miss Cochran was in the MacRobertson Air Race last fall. London to Melbourne. Had to drop out with damage in Bucharest, sadly. Anyway, she hasn't won one yet."

"I hope she does," Alma said. She only vaguely remembered the pretty young brunette she'd seen on Odlum's arm at Henry's party. There had been so much going on that night.

"Well, I'm saying that there's no reason she shouldn't," Odlum said. "That's what I'm saying. Any chance you might be willing to take some of the test flights yourself? I hear good things about you in the air."

Alma opened her mouth and shut it again. Generally she had to shout to be heard, fight to prove that she ought to be allowed to take the controls, push clients who wanted Segura or Sorley to accept her because she was the owner. The only thing people wanted an aviatrix for was novelty value. Even Henry would rather deal with Mitch.

But Odlum's trials were private. There would be no publicity, no pictures. This was for an in-house audience, the aviators themselves who were making the decisions about which planes to buy, and a bunch of guys in Australia would have no idea whether L. Segura and A. Segura were man and wife or brothers. If Odlum wanted her it was because he thought she could do the job. And that was different, different enough to leave her momentarily speechless.

"I know it's hard to get out of the office," Odlum said. "But I'd make it worth your while. I was thinking we'd kick this off in June or July, so you've got a few weeks to get your ducks in a row."

"It's a possibility," Alma said cautiously. "I'd have to look into arrangements." Which might sound like she meant the business, not Dora. What if she and Lewis went to Hawaii? Would Mitch and Stasi keep Dora? She'd be fine, surely. She knew them like second parents anyhow. But Odlum would be paying for Mitch, and he’d probably want to go anyway. Putting aside a trip to Hawaii, it was a hell of a lot of money for Mitch to pass up.

"Of course," Odlum said. "I understand how hard it is to get away. If the cat's away, the mice play! But please think it over, Alma. If you've got an interest in Gilchrist doing this."

"I'm absolutely interested," Alma said quickly. "I think we're just the company for your job, Floyd. You'll want to show prospective buyers not only how the Catalina performs, but how easy it is for owner/operators to maintain. After all, a lot of your buyers are going to be small businesses."

"Exactly," Odlum said. "How about I send you a formal letter of intent and you can run the terms past your legal guys?"

"That sounds perfect," Alma said. As if she had a legal department. Well, she'd show the contract to Milton Overman and see what he thought. He handled anything too complicated for Al's own eyes, and as attorneys went she thought he was pretty straightforward.

"Good. Then you give me a ring when you've had a looksee."

"I'll do that," Alma said.

Mitch came in the door of the hangar with Dora on his shoulder, one grubby little hand hanging on to the back of his neck, an inquisitive look on his face. Alma gestured to say
one minute
, hoping Dora would be quiet. She was more often for Mitch than Stasi.

"It's a pleasure," Odlum said. "I'll talk to you in a few days then."

"Absolutely," Alma said. "And thank you so much for thinking of Gilchrist. I'll be looking for your letter." She rang off and put the receiver down with a deep breath.

"Good or bad?" Mitch said, putting Dora down to run shrieking back to her toys in the corner.

"Good," Alma said. "Very, very good." She glanced toward the door. "What's going on out there?"

"Stasi's helping Lewis load cargo." Mitch looked duly sheepish. "Al, I think we should go check on Joey Patterson. It's not like him to just blow off work."

"It is," Alma said. "He's done it before."

"Not for three days," Mitch pointed out.

"Well, no. But how would you like to go to Hawaii?"

"Hawaii?"

"That was Floyd Odlum with Consolidated. He wants us to test the Catalina Flying Boat in owner/operator conditions in the South Pacific. That's a market he's keen for." Alma stood up, dusting her hands off on her coveralls. "Hawaii."

Mitch frowned. "And it's a complete coincidence that Jerry's in Hawaii with this dig."

"It probably is," Alma said. "What's Odlum got to do with that?"

"You mean it's a coincidence as far as Odlum is concerned," Mitch said. He shook his head. "But you know the old universe doesn't work that way. We could go lifetimes without a job in Hawaii, and we get one at the exact same time that Jerry's there?"

"Ok, that's probably significant," Alma said. There was a prickle at the back of her neck. She looked up at him. "You think there's work put before us?"

"I wouldn't bet against it," Mitch said. He glanced back toward the hangar. "How much is he paying?"

"Two hundred per pilot per week," Alma said, “and he wants all of us. You, Lewis, and me.”

Mitch let out a whistle. "That's some serious lettuce."

"You could hit every dance club in the islands on that," Alma said with a smile. "There might be some people who've never heard of you, Astaire."

Mitch had the good grace to look abashed. "Yeah. Well. What about Dora? Gonna take her with us?"

Alma put her head to the side. "You know," she said. "I don't know why not."

I
t was nearly nine o'clock, and Lewis looked out the window frowning. Dora had been fed and washed and put to bed hours earlier. Stasi was pacing around the living room smoking, the radio tuned to something random instead of any of the programs she liked while the meatloaf sat in the oven staying warm.

"Where in the hell are they?" Lewis asked, looking out the front window again. The Torpedo sat under the trees, but Alma's truck was nowhere in sight. He and Stasi had brought Dora home while Mitch and Alma swung by to see what had happened to Joey Patterson. Mitch had been sure that something was wrong that he hadn't showed up to work in three days. Lewis hadn't had a bad feeling at all, but now….

"Do you think I know, darling?" Stasi snapped. Which was kind of a measure that she was getting worried too. How could it take four hours to run by a house two miles away?

"Maybe I should go over there," Lewis said.

"Oh, and leave me here?"

"Someone has to stay with Dora," Lewis said.

"Well, she's your child. Maybe you should stay with her and I should go rescue Mitch and Alma," Stasi replied.

"We don't know that they need to be rescued," Lewis said. "What could happen to them in town?"

"A car accident?"

"In the truck? On city streets? Ok, maybe a fender bender, but it's not like they're stock car racing or running off a mountainside." He didn't think it was anything like that. Surely he'd know. Of course he'd know. And Alma was a very careful driver, not like Mitch. But she was driving because it was her truck.

Stasi blew out a puff of smoke and ground out the butt in the ashtray. "I'll go find them."

"No, I will."

"Mitch didn't say you could drive the Torpedo," Stasi said. Mitch's car was a Hudson Torpedo, a sporty two-seater that had cost a year's pay back in the twenties. It was a beautiful car, and he waxed it and babied it constantly.

There was the sound of gravel crunching and Lewis swung around. There were headlights on the road, and then the familiar rumble of the Ford's engines coming up the grade. "They're back," he said.

Stasi muttered something under her breath that might have been either imprecation or prayer. "And of course dinner is stone cold," she said. "And of course they didn’t call."