Top Gun (21 page)

“Ah, shit,” Linda cursed softly. “You mean Watergate?”

“Yep. Our congressmen said both Houses are in no mood to take up consideration of a bailout bill, not when they’re confronting
the real possibility that a United States president might be impeached.” Gold laughed thinly. “They said there might be something
they could do for us in the fall.”

“Great,” Linda muttered. “By then, GAT will be like Humpty-Dumpty; nobody will be able to put all the pieces back together
again.” She brightened. “But what about that lobbyist of yours?”

“He felt—and by the way, we agreed with him—that things are currently too sensitive concerning the DOD light-weight fighter
competition to go rocking the boat. Who knows what little thing might tip the scale for or against the Stiletto?”

“I see.” Linda nodded. “If your lobbyist goes to the DOD and starts making noises about what bad shape financially GAT is
in, that might be sufficient grounds for the Stiletto to be rejected due to questions about the reliability of its supplier.”

“You got it.”

“Well, I thought my idea was a good one at the time,” Linda said lamely.

“It was a swell idea,” Gold assured her. “One that might have worked if the timing for GAT had been better.”

“So what’s left?”

“For me?” Gold shrugged. “To fly home, supervise the destruction of my father’s dream, and then open up a model-airplane hobbyists’
shop in a modest suburb of Los Angeles. “ He winked at her as they came up on Claridge’s dignified, Victorian entrance. “Or
maybe I’ll let
you
support me. I could hang around the house and be your stud….”

Linda said: “Well, let’s get upstairs and I’ll begin my job interview.”

The doorman tipped his visored cap to them as they entered the hotel, crossing the elegant lobby with its gleaming black and
white marble floor and its mammoth red leather armchairs invitingly arranged around the crackling hearth.

“Just a moment,” Gold told Linda. “I want to see the concierge about booking our flight.”

“Ah, Mr. Gold,” the concierge said as Gold approached the desk. “I believe there’s a message for you.” He handed Gold a sheet
of stationery folded in half.

“What is it?” Linda asked, coming up behind Gold as he unfolded the note.

“It’s from Don. He wants me to call him at the office immediately.” Gold glanced at his watch. “It’d be about one in the afternoon
in L.A., right?”

Linda nodded. “What do you suppose he wants?”

He tapped the sheet of paper. “Whatever it is, this says that it’s urgent.…”

Fifteen minutes later, they were upstairs in their suite. Gold was in the bedroom, seated in the armchair alongside the big
double bed. He had his shoes off and was chain-smoking, watching the clock on the mantel above the fireplace and staring at
the telephone on the nightstand, wondering how long it was going to take the hotel switchboard to put the call through.

The telephone rang.

He lunged for the receiver. “Steve Gold here!”

“Mr. Gold,” the operator said. “Your call to America.”

There was some clicking on the line, and then Gold heard: “Hello? Hello, Steve?”

“Yes, Don! It’s me. What’s up?”

“Steve, I’ve got great news!” Don laughed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gold saw Linda bring him a scotch on the rocks nightcap from the wet bar in the living room.
He smiled at her gratefully as she set the drink down on the nightstand, blew him a silent kiss, and then went padding off
into the big, marbled, master bath adjoining the bedroom. A moment later. Gold heard the shower running.

“What’s the good news, Don? Did you manage to arrange our line of credit financing, after all?”

“Better than that!” Don crowed. “We got it, partner! We won the DOD competition! The Air Force wants the Stiletto!”

Gold found himself unable to speak.
Thanks, Pop,
he thought as his eyes filled.
Thanks for saving our asses one last time. I promise you
—/
swear it—from here on in we’ll handle things the way we ought to.

“Steve? Are you there?” Don demanded. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah,” Gold responded huskily. “That’s great, partner!”

“You know who we
really
have to thank for this?” Don began.

Steve smiled. “Yeah, I do, and I appreciate the fact that you realize it as well.”

“From here on in, our troubles are solved,” Don said. “Thanks to the Stiletto contract, we’ll have the financial credibility
to borrow money from AVG on our own terms! I can’t wait to contact that asshole Tolliver and rub it in.”

“Hold off on that,” Gold said.

“Huh?”

“Hold off initiating any further negotiations with AVG.”

“But why?” Don demanded.

“I’ve got an alternative idea.” Gold heard the shower being shut off in the bathroom. He smiled. “Actually, it was Linda’s
idea.”

“What is it?”

“Trust me,” Gold said. “When you hear it, you’ll love it.” He laughed. “After all, you’re a vindictive son of a bitch just
like I am, and this is going to be the sweetest revenge we ever could have hoped for. How soon can you be here?”

“In London, you mean?” Don sounded baffled.

“I need you here to help me work out the details of what I have in mind.”

“Okay…” Don hesitated. “I guess I can be there Sunday.”

“Great,” Gold said. “First thing Monday morning, we’ll telephone Sir Lyndon Tobray at the Air Ministry to set up another meeting
for us with Stoat-Black and Payn-Reese.” Gold paused. “I think we also better have somebody from Aérosens there, as well.”

“Steve, just give me a hint!” Don pleaded. “What have you got up your sleeve?”

“It’s too complicated to go into over the phone,” Gold began.

Just then the bathroom door opened and out came Linda. “We got the Stiletto contract!” Gold began to tell her, but the words
died in his throat.

“…
unique lingerie
…” Gold remembered Linda saying, as his eyes widened and his heart began to pound.

She was fresh from the shower, her short-cut dark hair touseled into damp ringlets, her skin glowing pink from toweling. She
was wearing silk stockings, a black lace corset shot through with fiery-red satin ribbon, and black, patent-leather high heels.

“Steve?” Don was calling. “Are you still there, Steve?”

Linda was pirouetting. Her high, rounded bottom framed by the garter straps holding up her seamed stockings jutted lewdly
from beneath the tight corset. Then she was coming toward Gold, meanwhile tugging down on the corset to allow her lush, creamy
breasts to pop free.

“What do you think, Colonel?” Linda asked slyly.

“Where the hell did
you find
something like that?”

Linda winked. “England swings like a pendulum do.” She looked down at herself, murmuring. “1 just hope I can get it past Customs.…”

“Hello, Steve?”
Don shouted insistantly.

“Bye, Don,” Gold said.

“But—”

“See you on Sunday,” Gold cut him off as Linda knelt before him, reaching for his zipper. “Can’t talk now, partner,” he added,
hanging up the phone. “Something’s come up.”

(Two)

British Ministry of Aeronautical Science

Whitehall

16 May, 1974

Steve Gold surveyed the men assembled in Sir Lyndon Tobray’s office. “By now, gentlemen, I’m sure you’re aware of GAT’s latest
success concerning the American military’s decision to purchase the Stiletto fighter plane.”

“Yes, quite,” Lord Glass said.

“Stunning achievement,” Quint Peters added.

“Aérosens conveys its congratulations,” said Andre Duvalle in his thickly accented English. The director of Aérosens was a
tall, imposing figure in his sixties, with snow-white hair and brilliant blue eyes. He was impeccably dressed in a charcoal-gray
double-breasted suit.

“And the Prime Minister asked me to relay his personal congratulations,” Sir Lyndon chimed in from behind his desk.

Gold smiled. It was Thursday morning, six days after Don had telephoned with the news that GAT had won the DOD fighter competition,
and all the players, with the addition of Andre Duvalle, were back in Sir Lyndon’s office. Just like last time. Sir Lyndon
was playing the role of referee, hiding behind his desk, and everyone else was sitting in these damned uncomfortable, spindly
armchairs.

Except that this time Gold had his partner, Don Harrison, by his side. And this time it was GAT that had Skytrain and Payn-Reese
on the defensive.

Don Harrison said, “What you gentlemen might not have heard is that the French government and the other NATO powers are interested
in the Stiletto, as well.”

Duvalle asked, “Perhaps GAT will consider involving Skytrain Industrie in a joint construction effort to manufacture the Stiletto
fighters destined for the European market…?”

“That’s an interesting suggestion.” Gold tried not to gloat, but it was hard. Duvalle had claimed he was too busy to attend
the first meeting, but that had been before the DOD had made its announcement. Duvalle had been only too eager to find the
time to wend his way across the Channel in order to attend
this
get-together.

“Monsieur Duvalle,” Don Harrison said evenly. “Before GAT and Skytrain can discuss any new business, we must first settle
the Pont matter at hand.”

“But I should think the Pont affair has been settled nicely.” Lord Glass laughed, a bit too heartily Gold thought. “After
all, now that GAT can count on the cash flow from the Stiletto, your company can certainly arrange the financing to weather
Payn-Reese’s foray into the U.S. market.”

“Lord Glass, nothing has changed since we last met,” Gold said, lighting a cigarette. He was aware of Don’s eyes on him, but
studiously avoided meeting his partner’s gaze. During the past week in which he and Gold had planned the strategy for this
meeting, Don had been steadfastly doubtful and extremely nervous about what Gold wanted to do. Now Gold, who was aware of
his partner’s uncertainties, rushed to get all of GAT’s cards on the table before Don could say or do anything to mitigate
the situation.

“Lord Glass,” Gold firmly began. “Last week, from a position of relative weakness, I told you that Skytrain’s offer to renegotiate
profit sharing was not acceptable, that GAT intended to abide by its original agreement with Skytrain.”

“Yes, well,” Quint Peters, the sales director for Payn-Reese, interrupted, smiling anxiously. “Now at least you can certainly
afford to abide by the original agreement, thanks to your government.”

Gold nodded. “However, last week I also made it clear that GAT expects Stoat-Black to abide by its moral responsibility to
bring your Motor Works firm to heel, Mr. Peters.”

Lord Glass spoke up. “And last week I said that was not in our interest.”

“So be it.” Gold nodded. “GAT and Skytrain agree to let their old agreement concerning the Pont stand. However, in light of
Stoat-Black and Payn-Reese’s insistence upon compromising the situation, GAT finds it necessary to open up a new negotiation
on a related but separate matter—”

“Excuse me, Steve,” Don Harrison politely interrupted, taking some papers from out of his briefcase. “Perhaps it would be
best if you allowed me to run through the details.”

Gold nodded. “Go right ahead, Don.”

“Gentlemen,” Don began. “GAT requires that Skytrain Industrie extend to our firm’s newly formed subsidiary, GAT Credit Corporation,
an interest-free, open-ended line of credit—the first such installment of which will amount to five hundred million dollars—which
GATCC will in turn extend to the U.S. airlines in the form of hundred-percent seller financing at a below-market interest
rate on any minimum purchase of twelve Ponts, regardless of whatever engine a particular airline chooses: be it Rogers and
Simpson’s turbofan or the power plant manufactured by Payn-Reese—”

“How outrageous!” Lord Glass sputtered.

“Excuse me,” Harrison firmly cut him off, “but there’s more. Skytrain must agree to underwrite GATCC in such a manner to be
detailed later that GAT’s own credit rating is not affected, so that GAT will be able to use its own credit in other ways
if it so wishes.…”

Gold, listening, was proud of Don, who was articulating the various terms of GAT’s demands with authority. Don’s performance
was all the more impressive because these were the very demands that Gold had insisted upon, against Don’s judgment.

“For its part,” Don continued, “GAT will make no further attempt to prejudice the U.S. airlines against Payn-Reese. Furthermore,
GAT will enter into a sidebar agreement with Payn-Reese to grant it full R and D input and favored subcontractor status in
all future GAT commercial-jetliner proposals.”

“This is just too ridiculous for words,” Lord Glass scoffed.

“It’s our deal to you, take it or leave it,” Gold interjected.

“Take it or leave it?” Lord Glass echoed in astonishment. “Did you say take it or—”

“But don’t you see?” Quint Peters cut him off. “No U.S. airline would choose a British-manufactured engine over one made in
America unless they got the favorable financing terms that Agatha Holding is offering.”

Don shrugged. “That’s fine with us if you have an agreement with Agatha Holding for the latter to
further
subsidize that portion of buyer financing relating to engine costs, should a customer choose a Payn-Reese-equipped Pont.”

“But, but…” Peters sputtered.

Gold enjoyed Quint Peters’s look of consternation. The Payn-Reese sales exec was likely realizing that Tim Campbell would
marshal all of his legal talent to get Agatha Holding out of the deal as soon as Campbell realized that his scheme was not
going to bring GAT down.

Don continued. “Look, GAT realizes that Payn-Reese may well find itself at a disadvantage to Rogers and Simpson concerning
the U.S. market in light of GAT’s demands. In order to level the playing field for Payn-Reese, GAT is prepared to cooperate
with you on redesigning the Pont’s engine nacelle to accommodate your engine. You know as well as I do, Mr. Peters, that the
engine pod is a tricky component, that the matching of engine, nacelle, and wing is crucial to airplane performance and safety.
Your engine option will be a lot more palatable to the U.S. airlines if they can be assured that GAT stands behind the redesign
to accommodate the Payn-Reese power plant.”