by T. E. Cruise
Of course, Harrison was not about to tell Steve how he had expected the ex-Air Force man to be GAT’s white knight riding to the rescue. This mess the company was in was Harrison’s doing, and he was not about to off-load the responsibility for it on anyone else.
Harrison said, “All I can tell you is that at the time I felt the potential reward to GAT was worth the risk. I still feel that way. If the Pont is an American success, we’ll see the return on our investment, plus enjoy a sustained substantial cash flow to finance other projects. And consider the prestige. GAT will tower over its competitors. The company will have taken a giant step toward being an international aviation concern. If we can get the Pont accepted in America, it will mean—”
“Not ‘if,’ “ Steve suddenly and firmly interrupted. “You keep saying ‘if when you ought to be saying ‘when.’ The existence of our company depends on us succeeding. We can’t afford to voice doubt, even among ourselves. With the economy the way it is, some of our smarter people must already be wondering about their futures at GAT. If our fears concerning this deal should leak, we’d suffer a mass exodus. We can’t afford that kind of talent drain. There’s something Pop told me years ago: A company like GAT is only as good as the brains of the people who work for it.”
Harrison, gratified, stared at Steve in admiration. “Son of a gun, every time I think I have you pegged, you surprise me.”
“No wonder you’ve been prowling around here like a bear all this while.” Steve smiled. “I thought you were mad at me, that maybe you were sorry you had me come into the business….”
“No way,” Harrison said. “You may still have a few Air Force rough edges on you, but I’m very pleased with the job you’ve been doing. Convincing you to join GAT was the soundest damned business decision I ever made.” He shook his head. “I’ve just been pissed at myself, Steve. And at the way our luck has been breaking.”
“Listen up,” Steve demanded. “I’ve got something to say to you, because I think in all your worrying you’ve forgotten it. My father literally bet this company on nothing more substantial than a wing and a prayer any number of times.”
“But Herman always won.”
“So will we,” Steve said. “Next to building airplanes, winning is what Herman Gold’s sons do best.”
Jesus Christ, Harrison thought. He sounded just like his father when he said that.
The telephone rang. Harrison went over to the antique sideboard to pick up the receiver.
(Two)
Steve Gold watched Don answer the phone, thinking ruefully of how comparatively sedate life had been in the Air Force. Don had sure as fuck made some bad mistakes concerning this Skytrain/Pont situation; hell, the whole thing was a fiasco. On the other hand, Gold realized that it was vital that GAT’s position as a member in good standing in the consortium be preserved. That position would be vital in the future just as it had been vital in the past, in ways that GAT’s stockholders and the general public could never imagine.
For example, it had been GAT’s participation in Skytrain Industrie that had allowed Herman Gold to come to the aid of the nation of Israel prior to that country’s 1967 Six-Day War. Back then, Aérosens Aviation, the French company in the Skytrain consortium, was supplying Israel with Tyran II jet fighters. The Tyran II was a good warbird, but it needed aftermarket, sophisticated combat avionics: specifically, the VectorA radarranging weaponsfiring system that GAT was manufacturing in a co-venture with another firm. The United States government had a foreign export restriction in place on the Vector-A when Steve Gold’s old war buddy turned political lobbyist asked Steve to intercede on Israel’s behalf with Herman Gold. The official U.S. government stance on the matter was that it was a nonstarter, but the CIA and the USAF persuaded GAT to do the deal—at the company’s own risk—because in exchange the Israelis had offered the Air Force a peek at a Russian-built MiG-21 the Israelis had managed to purloin from Iraq. In those days, the MiG-21 was the Russians’ top-of-the-line fighter. The U.S. Air Force was drooling over the chance to check one out.
Gold remembered how much his father had wanted to help Israel. Pop, who most of his life had been something of a lapsed Jew, had seen it as a chance to get back to his roots. Pop had risked his company, breaking the law by smuggling the Vector-A’s to Israel by way of France. The combat avionics systems left America hidden in GAT shipments to Skytrain Industrie.
Fortunately, the caper went smoothly, and in response the grateful Israelis made good on their offer to let the U.S. check out their stolen MiG. Not only that, but the Israelis, in appreciation for what GAT had done, required that none other than Herman Gold’s fighter-pilot son be sent to do the checking. Colonel Steve Gold went to Israel, where he spent several wonderful months putting the MiG-21 through her paces.
It all worked out well for everyone. Pop got his chance to do something important for Israel, and in the process revitalized his own spirit. Israel was helped to win the Six-Day War thanks to the Vector-A’s installed in their Tyran II war-birds. And GAT earned itself brownie points with an appreciative USAF that were still paying off. Just the other day, Gold’s contact at the Air Force had confided to him that they were leaning toward buying the Stiletto in some part due to the good feeling toward GAT concerning the Vector A/MiG-21 trade that still existed at the highest levels of that branch of the service. The Air Force had received invaluable information on the state of Russian aviation thanks to the reports Gold had filed on the MiG-21.
And Gold himself had gotten something personally important out of the deal: his name in the Air Force’s history books. It was Colonel Steven Gold’s notes and evaluations on the MiG-21 that comprised one of the textbooks that every fledgling pilot studied in Fighter Training School.
All of those unexpected benefits had accrued thanks to GAT’s membership in Skytrain, Gold now realized. Pop could never have smuggled the Vector-A’s to Israel if he hadn’t had a working relationship with Aérosens, getting that company to serve as a conduit. Who knew what other unknown benefits were waiting in the future for GAT thanks to Skytrain?
Or for the American company that replaced GAT in Skytrain Industrie if this Pont 500 situation was allowed to get out of control?
“It’s my secretary on the phone,” Don said, breaking through Gold’s reveries. “She’s got Jack Rosa on the line. Rosa is the president of TransWest, a smaller airline operating west of the Rockies. The Pont is the perfect airplane for TransWest, and the airline would be the perfect launch customer for the Pont. I’ve been working on Jack for months to get him to put in an order. I told my secretary to cancel our meeting with the department heads, and that I’d take Rosa’s call here. I’ll use the speakerphone so that you can listen in. “
Gold watched Don fiddle with some buttons on the telephone console. There was some crackling as the small rectangular speakers and omnidirectional mikes built into the walls came to life, and then the secretary’s voice was clearly broadcast into the conference room: “Mr. Harrison? Here’s Mr. Rosa.”
“Jack,” Don said in conversational tones, returning to his chair.
“Hello, Don,” Jack Rosa’s hearty voice came booming through the wall speakers.
“Jack, how are you?” Don said.
Gold listened idly as the two men proceeded to exchange pleasantries concerning the weather, current events, and their current golf handicaps. The sound of Rosa’s voice had jogged his memory. Gold remembered that he’d met Jack Rosa at the 1ATC trade show back in November. Rosa was short, fat, and in his late fifties, with white hair and a beard. Gold recalled thinking at the time that Jack Rosa looked like Santa Claus in cowboy boots and three-piece glen plaid.
“Don, I called to talk to you about the Pont deal.”
Gold nervously lit a cigarette. Don looked at him, holding up both hands and crossing his fingers.
“I hope you’ve got good news for me,” Don said jovially. Gold had to give Don credit: he sounded relaxed and on top of the world about the whol
e thing, as if it didn’t really matter one way or the other.
“Well, it’s good news all right, Don, but for us, not for GAT.”
Gold’s heart sank. He heard Don say, “Oh? Tell me about it.” Don’s voice was calm, but he was leaning back in his chair and his eyes were closed, a man in pain.
“It’s like this, Don,” Rosa was saying. “TransWest and the other airlines have received an offer from a new outfit on the block: Agatha Holding Company.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them,” Don said slowly.
“Like I said, they’re new….”
Rosa was sounding evasive, Gold thought. Don must have sensed Rosa’s unease as well, for he smoothly changed his line of questioning.
“You said they made you an offer?” Don began. “I’m not sure I understand. They sure can’t be manufacturing air planes?”
“No, not planes,” Rosa answered. “Engines. Agatha Holding contacted us representing the British engine firm of Payn-Reese in regards to our power plant choice should we go with the Pont—”
“Wait a minute, Jack,” Don interrupted. “What do you mean by choice of engines for the Pont? You know she was designed to hang Rogers and Simpson’s new fan jet?”
“Come on, Don. “ Gold heard Rosa’s laugh hiss forth from the wall speakers. “We’ve both been in this game too long to be jerking each other around. You know as well as I do that most airplanes can be equipped with a choice of engines. Take Boeing’s 747: it comes with a choice of GE, Pratt and Whitney, or Rolls-Royce power plants.”
“But the Pont was designed for the Rogers and Simp son…” Don was repeating icily. Gold frowned. Don was beginning to lose his composure.
“Maybe,” Rosa said noncommittally. “But the engineering representatives from Agatha Holding made quite a convincing presentation to my own engineers about how the Payn-Reese power plant could be fitted to the Pont.”
“But it’s all bullshit!” Don exploded. “Jack, get it through your head that GAT is licensed by Skytrain Industrie to be the exclusive supplier of the Pont in the United States. You buy it from us or you don’t buy it at all, and if you buy it from us, that plane will come with Rogers and Simpson engines.”
“I look at it this way,” Rosa said. “Say we decide to go with the Pont, but with the Payn-Reese engine. You know the competition that exists for you out in the marketplace. Do you mean to tell me that GAT is in a financial position to withhold the airplane from those customers who demand a change in the engine?”
Gold watched as Don opened his mouth to say something but then closed it.
“I thought not.” Rosa chuckled. “Look, Don. The bottom line is that Agatha Holding has offered a superior financing package to any airline that decides to go with the Payn-Reese equipped Ponts. Agatha will attractively seller-finance the initial purchase price of the engine portion of the airplane, and also guarantee and attractively finance the after-sale service and spare-parts inventory for ten years.”
“You’re going to need that guarantee,” Don rallied valiantly, “if you decide to trust a British-based company to keep your planes flying.”
Jack Rosa said, “And we’ve got that guarantee. From Agatha Holding, an American-based company,” he emphasized. “They’re right here in L.A. —” Rosa stopped abruptly, as if he’d belatedly realized he’d said too much.
Who are these Agatha fuckers? Gold wondered, savagely grinding out his cigarette in the ashtray.
“You know how damned arrogant Rogers and Simpson has been getting concerning prepayment on after-sales service and spare parts,” Rosa was continuing. “The consensus among the airlines is that Rogers and Simpson has gotten too big for its britches, and that part of that is GAT’s fault. For too long they’ve been your sole engine supplier. They need to be shaken up a little. It will do Rogers and Simpson—not to mention us airlines—a world of good to have a little competition concerning who supplies the engine for a GAT jetliner. “
And “competition” is the airlines’ word for price- cutting, Gold thought, remembering what Don had just told him about the nature of the business.
“But what about all that flag-waving you and the others were doing?” Don asked weakly. “You said the only way you would buy a foreign airplane was if it came with American engines?”
“Well, now, we did say that, didn’t we?” Rosa clucked. “And that brings me to the real purpose of this call. You offered us a nice enough price on the Rogers and Simpson/ Pont combo, but that price is now yesterday’s news in light of this new offer from Agatha Holding. There’s a lot of good airplanes out there waiting to be bought. If you want us to keep considering the Pont, you’re going to have to come back with a lower unit price and sweeter finance deal on the Rogers and Simpson/Pont combo, and a drastically lower price/financing package to make up for the bad press we’ll receive if we go with the all foreign combinations of the Pont equipped with Payn-Reese engines. If you can’t, or won’t, it’ll mean the Pont is knocked out of the running, and TransWest will have to make its selection from the other available jetliners.”
“I hear you. Jack,” Don said tiredly, getting to his feet and moving toward the telephone console on the sideboard. “I’ll get back to you.”
“Sure, Don.” Rosa must have picked up on the dejection in Don’s voice. The airline executive suddenly sounded oddly different as he added, “Don? It’s just business, you know?”
“I’ll get back to you.” Don pushed the button on the console that broke the connection, and then shut off the speakerphone. “Jack’s sounding guilty,” Harrison said to Gold. “He knows something he’s not telling us.”
“You have any idea at all who Agatha Holding might be?” Gold asked.
Don shook his head. “But I’m going to find out.” He picked up the’telephone and rang his secretary: “Get me Otto Lane at Lane Associates.”
“Who’s that?” Gold asked as Don waited for the call to go through.
“They’re an investigations firm based in L.A., with offices in Chicago and on Wall Street,” Don explained. “They’ve been handling GAT’s business for years—”
“What sort of business?”
“The Lane group supplies us with corporate intelligence,” Don replied. “They’re private detectives who know how to use a computer instead of a gun to discover corporate malfeasance. When GAT considers, say, advancing an airline a substantial line of credit, or is interested in taking over a smaller company, we use Otto Lane and his people to make sure we’re not about to bite into a wormy apple—” Don held up his hand to Gold. “Hello, Otto? How are you? I’m fine. Listen, Otto, I need a favor, and I need it immediately. I need to know who’s behind an L.A.-based outfit called Agatha Holding Company. Yes, I guess it is spelled like the woman’s name…”
“The woman’s name Agatha,” Gold muttered. Something about that rang a bell…
“No, Otto, I’m sorry,” Don was saying. “I don’t have any Social Security numbers to give you. Realize I’m not asking for an in-depth report. I just want to know who runs the damn thing. Yes, I need the information immediately. Really? That quickly? That’s wonderful! I’ll be waiting for your call.” Don hung up the phone. “He said he can get back to us with the information in just a few minutes.”
“I wonder who they’re going to turn out to be?” Gold mused. “The name Agatha sounds familiar to me.”
“Really?” Don returned to his chair. “Well, whoever they are, they’re the fucking angels of death as far as GAT is concerned. They’ve obviously made the same offer to the other airlines that they made to TransWest.”
“Do we have any room for financial maneuvering?” Gold asked worriedly. “Can we do better on the price/financing deal?”
“We’ve got no choice, but that alone won’t get us out of this jam. You see, the fact that these bastards at Agatha have muddied the waters concerning the Pont is bound to cost us orders, and some of those orders we do keep will likely require the Payn-Reese engines.�
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“An airline would be crazy not to specify them considering the deal Agatha is offering,” Gold had to agree. “And that will further delay our break-even point.”
“Delay it!” Don laughed thinly. “Hell, at this stage of the game, GAT’s so far in the hole the break-even point has become largely theoretical. The break-even point moves into the next century if we have to pay out to Payn-Reese that portion of income that was originally going to go to recouping the R and D costs we sank into Rogers and Simpson.”
“I’m getting a headache.” Gold sighed.
“I’m getting into my car and driving off a cliff,” Don replied. “That way you’ll be the one who’ll have to finagle the books, deferring expenses while desperately hoping the Stiletto project comes to fruition.” He paused, smiling sadly. “So, Steve? How do you like the corporate world so far? Aren’t you glad you let me talk you into leaving the Air Force for this snake pit?”
Gold winked. “I’ll get you for this, Harrison.”
Don waved him quiet. “You’ll have to stand in line. First dibs on my hide will go to the stockholders, the IRS, the—”
The telephone rang. Gold watched as Don bolted out of his chair and over to the sideboard to snatch up the receiver.
“Yes,” Don said impatiently into the telephone. “Of course put him through! Hello, Otto? Yes? It is? Who? I’ll be damned! Thanks, Otto. Talk to you soon. Bye.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” Gold implored as Don hung up the telephone.
“It’s Tim Campbell,” Don said fiercely. “What’s with this Agatha bullshit, I’d like to know? Did Campbell think we wouldn’t be able to see through it?”
He wants us to know, Gold thought. “He wants us to know. Agatha was Tim’s wife’s name. That’s why the name sounded so familiar to me. This was just Tim’s little joke on us. Like a child’s riddle, you know? He’d probably laugh his head off if he found out we had to call your high-powered private eye to figure it out.”
