“At that rate the Betsy would have to retail at about twenty-five hundred dollars,” Rourke said.
“Twenty-four ninety-nine is the figure Sales came up with,” said Loren.
“Sounds high compared with the others. The Pinto at nineteen, the Vega at twenty-one, not to mention the imports. They’ll kill us.”
“Now you’re getting an idea of what we’re up against,” Weyman said.
“It’s not that bad,” Loren put in. “With accessories and options you can add four hundred dollars to the average selling price of those cars. We’re not that far off on a net basis.”
Rourke looked at him. “Then you think we have a chance?”
Loren’s gaze was steady. “Not the chance of a snowball in hell. Not the way the costs on this are climbing. It will take a miracle car to convince the public that paying more in this case is actually paying less. We’re going to price ourselves right out of the low-end market and we’ll be right back where we are now. The only difference will be that we’ll be out some three hundred million dollars.” He reached for a cigarette and lit it. “I’m afraid my grandfather is still living in the past, when Henry Ford showed the world how the American production line could bring down the cost per item. But since then the world has caught up and in the case of Japan and Germany has even surpassed us in new equipment and automation. And they have a fantastic advantage that we don’t. German labor costs are sixty percent of ours and the Japanese maybe forty percent.”
He blew out a cloud of smoke and ground the cigarette into the tray on his desk. “The way I see it, Angelo made one big mistake. He should have built his plant in Japan instead of on the Coast. It was the only way he could be cost competitive.”
“Your grandfather wanted an American-built car,” Rourke said.
“I know he did,” Loren replied. “But that doesn’t make it right. People don’t care any more where a thing is built. Only if it is good and its price is right.”
“I’d like a chance to go over those figures,” said Rourke. “Maybe I could come up with something.”
“I hope you can,” Loren said. “We can use all the help we can get.”
“I won’t make any promises,” Rourke said. “Your boys are pretty good.”
“How are things going out there?” Loren asked.
“Okay, now,” Rourke answered. “That injunction last week threw us. But after we showed them that Chrysler had gas turbines on the road since sixty-three and Ford and GM are bringing it out in trucks, it was lifted. Angelo still thinks someone is trying to throw a monkey wrench into the works.”
Loren smiled. “It doesn’t make sense. The other companies know we’re doing them a favor by going so far out on the limb. They’re not risking a penny of their own money and while we’re doing that, they’re minding the store and taking it in as usual.”
“You got to admit that it seems like more than a coincidence. The inquest and the injunction right on top of it.”
“Probably some hot local crusader trying to make a name for himself,” Weyman said.
“If so, why hasn’t he come to the surface yet?” Rourke asked. “I’ve been out there ten years now and have a lot of friends but no one seems to know just where it came from.”
“Will you be talking to Angelo later?” Loren asked.
“Yes.”
“Would you ask him to reserve a suite plus two extra bedrooms for next Friday through Tuesday. I’m coming out there with my daughter and my fiancée.”
Rourke looked at him curiously. He was about to mention that he had met the Lady Ayres but decided to keep his mouth shut. “I’ll give him the message,” he said. “But if you want to stay near the proving grounds, I don’t think the Starlight Motel has any suites.”
“We’ll settle for three large rooms then,” said Loren.
“I’ll take care of it.” Rourke got to his feet. He held out his hand. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Hardeman.”
Loren took it. “You don’t have to thank me. It may not seem like it at times but there is one thing I would like you to remember. We’re all on the same team.”
Rourke met his gaze. “I never doubted that for a moment, Mr. Hardeman.” He looked down at Weyman. “I’ll be over in Production Estimating when you want me, Dan.”
“Right.” Dan sat in his chair and when the door closed behind Rourke, he spoke again. “What do you think, Loren?”
“I think Angelo picked himself a winner. Rourke’s a good man.”
“What I want to know is do you think they’ll come up with who is behind their troubles out there?”
Loren looked at him steadily. “It all depends on how clever your man was in covering his tracks.”
“He’s supposed to be very good,” Dan said. “At least for the money he cost us, he should have been.”
“Then stop worrying about it,” Loren said. He got to his feet. “I guess there’s nothing we can do now to stop it. Just watch the Betsy drive us down the merry road to bankruptcy.”
“You’re still president of the company,” Dan said. “There’s something you can do if you want to.”
Loren’s voice went cold. For a moment he sounded like his grandfather. “Leave it alone.”
Weyman got to his feet. He made a gesture with his hands. “As you say. You’re the boss. Just remember one thing. Time’s running out. In less than sixty days from now we’re going to have to decide if we turn over the Sundancer plant to Angelo or not.”
Loren stared at him. “Aren’t you getting things just a little mixed up, Dan? The question isn’t whether we turn the Sundancer plant over to Angelo. The question is, do we drop the Sundancer and go with the Betsy?”
“It’s the same thing,” Weyman said smoothly. “What I can’t make you understand is that in the eyes of the industry and the public, the man who builds the car runs the company.” He rose from his chair and walked toward the door. There he paused and looked back at Loren. “But the man they’ll hold responsible for the losses will be the president of the company. And that’s you.”
Chapter Four
The interior of the giant hangarlike garage hummed with activity. Jump-suited mechanics in white with BETHLEHEM MOTORS lettered in red across their backs swarmed in beelike clusters around various cars, each over a pit, the body shell raised on front jacks so that the engine and chassis of the car were completely exposed.
“Those are the chameleons,” Angelo explained as he led them toward the rear of the garage.
“Chameleons?” Bobbie asked.
“Camouflaged cars,” Angelo explained. “We use bodies of other companies’ cars so that they can’t get our design. It enables us to test the car on the road without attracting attention.”
He paused in front of giant doors at the back of the hangar. A large sign was posted:
RESTRICTED PERSONNEL.
ALL OTHERS KEEP OUT!
He unpinned the plastic I.D. card from his lapel and inserted it into the slot of an electric lock. The doors began to whir open. He withdrew the card and they walked through, the doors automatically closing behind them. Behind the doors there was a large screening wall, so that no one outside could see into the back when the doors were opened. Angelo led them around the wall.
They came into a large open area in the center of the garage. In this room there were no cars to be seen; instead they were each kept in large, closed-in stalls around the sides of the room. An occasional mechanic would come out of one stall and enter another. An armed security guard came toward them.
He recognized Angelo and nodded. “Good afternoon, Mr. Perino.”
Angelo gave him the I.D. card. He turned to the others. “Give him your I.D. cards. He will return them when you leave.”
Loren unpinned the card and gave it to the guard. He looked carefully at Loren’s photo on it, then at Loren. He nodded and collected the cards from Bobbie and Elizabeth and walked away.
Angelo explained. “The reason for the extra security in this
room is because in here we keep our production design prototypes.”
John Duncan came out of one of the stalls. He came toward them with a smile on his face. “Loren!” he said with obvious pleasure.
“John!” They shook hands. “You look fifteen years younger.”
“I feel that way,” the Scotsman said. “We’re at it again. Doing what we should do.”
“I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Roberta Ayres. Bobbie, this is John Duncan, whom I told you so much about.”
The Scotsman’s face gave no visible sign that they had met before as he took her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Ayres.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Duncan,” she said politely.
“And you know my daughter, Betsy?” Loren added.
Duncan smiled. “She’s grown a little since I saw her last. How are you, Miss Hardeman?”
“Fine, thank you.” She turned to Angelo. “Now can we see the car? I can’t wait any longer.”
Angelo looked at Duncan. “Can we get the Silver Sprite out here?”
The Scotsman nodded. “I think we might.” He walked back toward one of the stalls.
“The Silver Sprite is a prototype high-performance sports car. We don’t intend to put it on the market until after we establish our production line. We plan to use it for auto shows and maybe in a race or two if we can get it qualified.” Angelo looked up. The doors to one of the stalls were opening.
The car appeared rolling toward them, being pushed by four men, while Duncan sat in the driver’s seat, guiding the wheel. It came to a stop in the center of the hangar, the light from the bright fluorescents overhead shimmering on its silver aluminum body.
“It’s beautiful!” Betsy caught her breath, the surprise echoing in her voice. “Oh, Angelo, it’s just beautiful!”
“What did you expect? A funny car?”
“I don’t know what I expected,” she said. “I thought with all that talk about a popular car, it would turn out something like a Volks.”
“With a name like the Betsy? Do you think either your father or your great-grandfather would let me get away with that?”
She turned to her father. “Did you see it?”
Loren shook his head. “I saw the clays, mockups and drawings. This is the first time I’ve seen the car.” He looked at Angelo. “It’s a great design.”
“Thank you, Loren. I hoped you would like it.”
They walked around the front of the car. The sloping hood led down to a contoured oval air scoop, larger at the top than the bottom, looking very much like the jet engine scoop of the 707. An additional air scoop rose from the engine cover with still another air scoop mounted under the nose. The total over-all effect was that the car seemed to be lunging toward you even when it was standing still.
“The scoops are all functional,” Angelo explained. “The nose scoop directs all the air into the main combustion chamber, the hood scoop directs the air to the afterburner and the under scoop directs cool air between the heat wall and front interior panel, further insuring passenger compartment comfort from the very high combustion heat of the turbine.”
Duncan got out of the car, leaving the door open. “Want to get behind the wheel?” he asked.
Elizabeth didn’t wait for another invitation. She was in the car before the others had even walked around it. “When do I get to drive it?”
“Supposing I take you all out for a drive in it first?” Angelo said. “At the same time I can explain to you the few things you’ll have to know in order to drive this baby. A turbine is a little different than a conventional I.C. engine.”
“I’m ready,” Betsy said.
“You’ll have to wait until dark,” said Angelo. “We don’t take any of these models out during the day.”
A public announcement system blared overhead. “Mr. Perino, telephone. Mr. Perino, telephone.”
Angelo straightened. “You’ll have to excuse me.” He turned to Duncan. “Would you take over for me? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He heard the Scotsman’s voice as he walked away. “The first thing you have to learn, lassie, is that you just don’t put the key in the switch in this car and start it. A turbine doesn’t work like that. There are two igniter switches and a starter generator switch that are activated electronically when you turn the key to position one. You will note that when you do, a red light appears on the dash in front of you. After about ten seconds, the red turns off and a yellow light comes on, then you turn the key to position two. This fires the turbine. In about five seconds, the yellow light should be replaced by a green light. That means your engine has reached idling speed and you can go. Since the turbine heat is so great, sometimes in firing up they overheat. In that case the green won’t come on and the red light will come back, only this time it will be blinking. In that case, switch off and start all over. Just one thing. Nothing will start unless the car is in parking gear and the parking brake is on. Now, for important lesson number two—”
By this time Angelo had gone into the small office and the Scotsman’s voice disappeared as he closed the door. The guard looked up from his desk.
“May I use the phone?” Angelo asked, picking it up. The guard nodded as the operator came on. “Mr. Perino here.”
“Just a moment, Mr. Perino,” the operator said quickly. “I have Mr. Rourke on your office line. I’ll transfer him over.”
“Is it worth a thousand dollars to find out the name of the man who put the county prosecutor up to getting an injunction against us? I have a friend in Olympia. He says he can get it for us.”
“Pay it,” Angelo said.
“Where will you be tonight?” Rourke asked. “I’ll call you.”
“I’ll be at the Starlight.” He put down the telephone and walked over to the observation window looking into the hangar.
Loren was behind the wheel now, Duncan was still talking and Bobbie and Elizabeth were standing next to him. From the window it almost seemed as if they were sisters.
The door opened. Cindy came in and stood at the window beside him. After a moment she reached over and took the cigarette from him and dragged on it, then passed it back.
“He’s younger than I thought,” she said. “His pictures make him look much older.”
“Yeah.”
“Which one is his daughter?”
“The one on the right.”
She took the cigarette from him again and pulled on it, watching him. “She likes cars. More than her father.”
He looked at her curiously. “What makes you say that?”
“I saw her reaction while they were rolling the car out. She was the only one of them who was really excited.”
Angelo gave up on the return of his cigarette and lit another. He turned back to the window without speaking. Duncan had raised the hood and was now explaining the engine to them.
“Going to marry the girl?” Cindy’s question was unexpected.
“They’re getting married next week, I understand,” he answered before he realized she wasn’t asking about Loren and Bobbie. “You mean me?”
Cindy smiled. “There’s been some talk.”
“You ought to know better than that,” he said. “I’m not the marrying kind.”
“But she is,” Cindy said. “And I can see enough of Number One in her to know that she generally gets what she wants.”
“She’s still a kid.”
“She’s as old as I was when I first went down to the track,” Cindy said. “She’s not as much of a kid as she plays at being.”
Angelo didn’t answer.
“What about the other one?” Cindy asked.
“What about her?”
“She’s got eyes for you too. And I don’t mean like a future mother-in-law.”
“Forget it,” Angelo said shortly. “She’s a money player and she just took the big one.”
“It won’t keep her from trying to pick up a side bet here and there. She never looked at the car even once. All
she kept watching was you.”
Angelo turned and looked out the window. Bobbie was standing almost alone now as Loren and Betsy bent over the open hood of the car. She seemed to be waiting patiently for them to finish.
A note of surprise came into Cindy’s voice. “You fucked her, didn’t you?” Without waiting for him to answer. “That’s what it’s all about. I should have guessed.”
Angelo didn’t look at her. “Now you’ve really topped off.”
“I’m not crazy,” she said. She looked at him. “Don’t forget, I’ve been there too. And it takes one to know one.”
Chapter Five
The white tensor lamp splashed down on the blueprint on the desk. Angelo stared at it. Space, the problem always was space. This time it was the trunk. Due to the oversize exhaust ducting necessary for the turbine, the trunk had less than half the space considered normal in the average American car and, with the spare tire inside, there was practically no room for luggage.
He moved the template idly across the blueprint. If there were only some way he could take the space from the engine compartment and move it to the trunk he could solve the problem. Even with all the power equipment there was room to spare under the hood because of the smaller size of the turbine engine.
He picked up the wheel and tire template and looked at it. Too bad they couldn’t mount it on the side of the car as they did many years ago. That would solve the problem. He remembered the ’29 Olds Viking his father had when he was still a child and the ’31 Duesenberg of his grandfather. There was something to be said about the side-mounted wheels and tires. They did give the automobile a sporting flair. It was economics as much as design that probably finished it off. One spare wheel and tire cost less than two.
He placed the template on the drawing and moved it along the side drawing until it came to a stop alongside the front right fender under the hood. He stared at it. It could fit here with room to spare. But there were other problems.
The Betsy (1971) Page 21
