The Hot Pilots (2 page)

“About six months,” Don replied. “I know that’s not very long…”

“Nonsense!” Gold chuckled. “It’s plenty! I knew my Erica maybe six
minutes
when I felt in my bones that she was meant for me.”

“Well, your opinion of Linda means a lot to me, Herman,” Don said quietly.

Gold smiled appreciatively. He’d been emotionally distraught over losing Teddy, and for a long time Gold had put off hiring
a new chief engineer. He’d simply been unable to bear the thought of trying to fill his old friend’s shoes, even though he
knew that it was costing his company productivity as GAT’s heart and soul, its R & D department, drifted leaderless. When
Gold had finally been able to bring himself to begin his search he’d known that Teddy’s replacement would have to be exceedingly
talented to ever have a hope of measuring up to his predecessor. It hadn’t taken long for Gold to discover that if he wanted
the best and the brightest to head up his research and development department, there was only one choice: Donald Harrison.

Gold had kept his promise to Harrison to involve the young man in all aspects of the business, and had been impressed by his
versatility. Unlike many talented but technical sorts who couldn’t get beyond their narrow specialties, Don had an innate
business savvy; the ability to comprehend the big picture. It hadn’t taken long for Gold to discover that having the young
man by his side as a protégé was an asset, not a liability. Since then, a strong friendship had developed as Gold had come
to rely on Don as a sounding board as well as a creative source, much as he had relied on Teddy.

“I must say that Linda seemed like a wonderful girl from the times that Erica and I have gotten together with you two,” Gold
said. “Bright, beautiful—a wonderful girl … You know, I never told you, but I met her once some years ago…”

“Really, how?” Don asked.

“Oh, she’s a big newspaper reporter now,” Gold said, chuckling, “but when I met her she was just starting out at some wire
service, so I granted her an interview…” He paused. “I think she wanted to interview me about how the Air Force was using
our MT-37 cargo transports during the Berlin Airlift …”

“I thought you didn’t like granting personal interviews?”

“I didn’t then, and don’t now,” Gold replied. “But this one I granted as a favor to my son.”

“Steven knew her?” Don began, and then snapped his fingers. “Of course. We all met in Washington, back in ‘forty-seven, during
those hearings on the B-45 bomber.” He shook his head. “Funny, though, I don’t recall Linda ever having mentioned that she
and Steve had become friends …”

“Say, now that you and Linda and Steve are all together again in Los Angeles, maybe you and Linda could fix Steve up with
a date?”

“Somehow I don’t think Steve needs much help in that department.” Don chuckled. “Anyway, his leave is just about up, isn’t
it?”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t hurt to get him introduced to a nice girl,” Gold murmured. “A girl who’d lure him home more often …”

He didn’t want to say anything about it just yet to Don, but the other night, over dinner, Steve had brought up the possibility
of leaving the Air Force and coming to work at GAT. Gold, though overjoyed over the prospect of at long last getting his only
son to come into the business, was doing his best to play it cool concerning the idea. He was worried that if he pushed too
hard Steve would back off. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened between father and son …

“Well, I think that I’d like to have some private time with Linda before we start double-dating.” Don laughed. “Our romance
has been pretty much progressing via the telephone these last few weeks, thanks to the rush work on the 909.”

“I see …” Gold frowned apologetically.

Don glanced at Gold. “I know that expression on your face only too well …”

“I’m afraid the 909 is going to continue to keep you apart from your girlfriend for some time to come.”

“What’s happened?” Don sighed, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

“I came here to tell you about it directly from my meeting with the delegation from the airlines,” Gold said. “We’ve got a
big problem with them concerning the 909.”

“The airlines reps seemed to like our airplane just fine this morning, when you gave them a tour of the prototype—”

“They’d still like it fine if the 909 were the only game in town,” Gold muttered. “But it isn’t. The delegation told me that
they’d been over at Amalgamated-Landis, where our friend Tim Campbell recently hosted a tour of a plywood mockup of his AL-12’s
interior cabin.”

“Big deal!” Don replied. “Like you just said, it’s fucking plywood! We’ve got a real,
metal
airplane, just about ready to fly—”

“Nevertheless, after his presentation Campbell was able to write some substantial orders for his jetliner,” Gold said. “Those
orders
he
wrote are the orders that
we
didn’t get today.”

“I don’t understand it—” Don began to fume.

“Then listen a minute,” Gold said. “And you’ll understand only too well. Number one, Campbell is building the AL-12 longer
and wider than our 909.”

“That I know,” Don said. “I worked for Campbell, remember? Who do you think did the initial design work on the Al-12?”

“Number two, the AL-12 is being touted as having transatlantic cruising capability.”

Don’s jaw dropped. “Herman, that plane was not capable of intercontinental flight when
I
worked on her—”

“Well, she is now.”

“How did Campbell pull it off?” Don wondered, and then frowned. “I should have expected something like this. I should have
warned you …”

“No.” Gold shook his head. “Nobody knows Tim better than I …”

And wasn’t that the truth?
Gold thought bitterly. There was now such bad blood between the two of them that it was hard to believe that there had once
been a time when Gold and Campbell had been business partners, and friends …

Gold met Campbell back in 1925, during the period when Gold Aviation was suffering its setbacks. Gold needed cash, and made
the rounds to the banks looking for a loan, but he found bankers’ doors that had once been open to him were now closed.

Only a junior bank officer named Tim Campbell was willing to talk. Campbell argued convincingly that Gold Aviation was topheavy
with creative types; that what was needed was a money man to keep an eye on the fiscal bottom line. Gold, thinking at the
time that he had little to lose, hired Campbell, and thanks to Tim the company not only survived but also thrived, eventually
going public.

Campbell became increasingly important to GAT as the corporation’s financial dealings—and the world—became more complex. It
was Campbell who expertly piloted GAT through the shoals of the Great Depression, and it was thanks to him that GAT’s air
transport division expanded to become Skyworld Airlines. Gold was content to let Campbell run Skyworld, and keep financial
watch over the entire company, while he and Teddy Quinn indulged themselves by hovering over their drafting tables dreaming
up new airplane designs.

Eventually, however, the inevitable, simmering disagreements about GAT’s corporate direction finally boiled over, and when
they did, it was only natural that someone as bright and talented as Tim Campbell would think that he knew best. Campbell
waged a vicious stock battle to seize control of Skyworld. In 1933 Campbell walked away with Skyworld in his pocket, but Gold
was able to make him pay dearly for his acquisition. Since that bitter parting of the ways the two men had remained overtly
cordial, but Gold had never forgotten how Campbell had vowed to get even for the way that Gold had managed to win the final
hand of their high-stakes, stock market poker game.

In 1946 Campbell bought a huge block of stock in the aircraft building firm of Amalgamated-Landis, getting himself a seat
on the board. He eventually took control of that company.

Now, Gold knew that it was Campbell’s thirst for vengeance that was making Tim strain A-L’s resources in a come-from-behind
sprint to build and market a jetliner. If the AL-12 could steal away the GC-909’s orders, GAT—and Herman Gold—would be ruined,
and Campbell’s revenge would at long last be realized.

“I guess we always knew that Tim Campbell was going to be able to leapfrog us when it came to technical features,” Don said
broodingly. “But that’s only because Campbell bribed an airlines executive to hand over the 909’s spec sheets and blueprints,”
he added angrily. “If Campbell hadn’t had GAT’s design to use as a jumping-off point he never could have caught up so fast—”

Gold shrugged. “As Tim likes to say, there’s only one rule: ‘Don’t get caught.’ The bottom line is that considering his jetliner’s
advanced features, it’s no wonder the airlines are willing to wait to buy the AL-12 instead of our 909.”

“So what’s the answer?” Don asked, sounding dejected.

“The interim answer is to do some fast redesigning …”

Don burst out laughing. “You’re kidding!”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Gold replied. “I’ve salvaged some of our initial orders—and stolen back a few from A-L—by promising
to lengthen the 909’s existing fuselage to accommodate extra passengers. Our plane will still have less capacity than the
AL-12, but at least some of the airlines are willing to accept the compromise because we can deliver units sooner, which means
they’ll have a jetliner fleet faster.”

“You said ‘interim solution,”’ Don reminded. “What’s your long-term strategy?”

“We must get started immediately on a redesign,” Gold said. “I want a bigger, wider 909; an intercontinental version. I told
the airlines boys we would have a proposal—a detailed three-view drawing, performance specs, projected cost, and delivery
schedule—by the end of the month. In return, they promised to hold off confirming their orders with A-L.”

“You want a new airplane designed within two weeks,” Don muttered. “My department will have to work around the clock—”

“I don’t care what it costs,” Gold declared.

“That’s good,” Don said dryly. “Because it’s going to cost a lot.”

Gold waved the matter aside. “This thing between Campbell and me is personal. Maybe someday I’ll tell you about it…”

Don nodded, smiling wryly. “Well, I guess I have some work to do …”

“And we’d better get Rogers and Simpson on the horn and give them the good news,” Gold said sarcastically.

“They’re not going to be happy,” Don agreed. “They busted their balls delivering the 909’s engines on time. Now they’re going
to have to come up with something even more powerful …”

“Just tell them what we need and the date we need it on,” Gold interrupted. “And if they give you any lip, tell them that
if they can’t handle the job we’ll go to Pratt & Whitney, or GE—”

“Herman, calm down!” Don said. “You’re pissed off at Tim Campbell. No need to take it out on the whole world.”

“You’re right,” Gold sighed.

Don abruptly frowned. “Shit! I forgot that we’ve got those meetings in Washington next week. And Horton said they were urgent—”

“It’s the CIA’s style to call everything urgent,” Gold grumbled.

“We can’t stand them up—”

“You just like fooling around with all that top-secret stuff,” Gold teased.

“Herman—What are we going to do about those meetings?”

Gold pondered it. “Okay, I’ll go alone to Washington while you stay here and ride herd on the 909–1.”

“The
what?
”

“The 909-International.” Gold laughed over his shoulder as he began to walk back toward the hangar entrance. “I wish I could
build them as easily as I name them.”

Don Harrison was dialing Linda’s number at the newspaper when he was interrupted by the electrician foreman. Harrison wanted
to give Linda the good news about how he was going to be in town next week, but the foreman said a wiring problem had him
stumped, and his crew idled, so Harrison hung up the telephone and went to take a look. Then one thing led to another, and
by the time he did get a spare moment to call Linda, he’d thought it over and decided against it …

Linda had lately been mildly complaining that he was too predictable, so why not surprise her? Why not keep the fact that
he was staying in Los Angeles his little secret? That way he could get some solid work done during the next few days, which
would give him the excuse to goof off one night and show up unannounced at her apartment with a bottle of champagne in hand.

It was unlike him—and exciting—to be so impetuous, but then it was also unlike him to have a swell girl like Linda. He began
whistling merrily to himself as he went back to work. He was positive that she would enjoy the surprise, just as he’d enjoy
the opportunity while Herman was away to spend some time with his girl.

Steve Gold carried his sandals as he walked along the waterline, up to his ankles in the surf that broke in frothing bubbles
on the sand. He pretty much had the beach to himself due to the day—it was a Tuesday—and the weather, which was overcast.
Steve didn’t mind the fact that the beach was deserted. He liked being alone; always had. And a quiet beach was his favorite
place, next to being in the cockpit of a fighter jet.

Steve was twenty-nine years old. He was six feet tall and weighed 170 pounds. He had blond hair, cut moderately short so he
could easily deal with it in order to look presentable, and squint lines etched vertically on either side of his nose and
around his brown eyes, thanks to the long hours spent scanning the sky from various fighter cockpits. Steve was an Air Force
lieutenant colonel and a fighter ace, with fourteen and a half confirmed Japanese kills during World War II, and six MIGs
accounted for during the Korean conflict.

The fifth MIG he’d shot down had been especially sweet because it had given him twenty and a half official kills:
one half
kill more than his old man had tallied during World War I, when Herman Gold had flown with the Red Baron.