by T. E. Cruise
“No, ma’am.” Gold smiled. “But what I was getting at was that the relationship between my father and Tim Campbell was like a marriage that went sour. Tim loved my father, then he hated him.” He shook his head. “Maybe we ought to amend that saying to ‘Hell hath no fury like a business partner scorned.…”
Linda started to say something, but she was drowned out by raucous laughter washing over the room. The tumult was coming from the bar, near where a cutthroat game of darts was being played.
“It’s getting late,” Linda said. “And this place is getting rowdier by the second. What do you say we leave?”
“I don’t know.” Gold looked at his empty glass. “I’m sure they probably have a couple of barrels of Guinness left. Nobody likes a quitter.”
“What a pity. You see, while you were busy jousting with Skytrain today, I took the opportunity to do some shopping. I came across some rather unique lingerie.…”
“On the other hand, if my pencil gets any sharper, the point’s going to break off.”
Gold got the check and paid it, and then helped Linda on with her coat. He grabbed his own trench coat and they left the pub.
They walked slowly arm in arm through the soft spring night. The West End theaters were letting out, and the square was crowded with traffic and pedestrians. A mist was falling, shrouding the streetlights and the statue of winged Eros in the center of the square. The theaters’ neon marquees reflected against the glistening streets, turning Piccadilly into an Impressionist’s whirl of color.
“When we get back to the hotel, I’ll see about booking us on a flight home,” Gold said as they turned up Regent Street.
Linda sighed. “You don’t think there’s any point to you recontacting Lord Glass?”
“None that I can think of.” Gold shrugged. “I feel I’ve done the best I could with what amounted to a very weak hand of cards.”
“Nevertheless, maybe if you spoke to him again the two of you could come to some arrangement,” Linda coaxed. “After all, it’s in everybody’s best interest that this mess be settled peacefully.”
“Not really,” Gold told her. “I would have agreed with you on that before today’s meeting at the Air Ministry, but no longer. You see, Lord Glass said something very interesting to me: That Skytrain had wanted the Pont to symbolize Europe’s postwar reemergence as an industrial power.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that Skytrain probably welcomes this opportunity to rid itself of GAT. Back when my father pitched the idea of an international consortium to S-B and Aérosens, the English and the French needed American aviation know-how, but they don’t need it any longer, and now probably resent the fact that GAT still insists upon trying to run the show.”
“You’re saying that the Europeans would prefer a new American partner,” Linda mused. “One that wasn’t around when they were weak. An American company that’s willing to be their equal as opposed to their leader.”
“Or to be their weak sister,” Gold added. He sighed. “In other words, a company like Amalgamated-Landis. “I’ve gotta hand it to Tim Campbell. That old son of a bitch has really stuck it to us this time.” He paused. “And now that I think about it, you’re probably right that I made a mistake to go stomping out of Sir Lyndon’s office.”
“All you accomplished was to give Lord Glass an excuse for feeling righteous about stabbing GAT in the back,” Linda agreed.
“Where were you when I needed you?” Gold asked.
“You’ve always needed me.” She hugged him more tightly. “You were just too dense to realize it until now.” They strolled on silently for a few moments, and then Linda said, “Look, you know that I’ve been doing a lot of research on the aviation business for my book?”
“Yep.”
“Well, something I came across in my reading has given me an idea concerning GAT’s predicament: Have you considered approaching the federal government for a bailout loan?”
Gold said, “You must have come across the inside story concerning the loan guarantee Uncle Sam gave Lockheed back in 1971….”
“Yeah,” Linda said. “Maybe that’s an avenue GAT ought to explore. In many ways, Lockheed’s situation back then parallels GAT’s currently. Lockheed has a large military program just like GAT does, and back in the early seventies Lockheed was also financially overextended due to production problems with its L-1011 airliner—”
Gold stopped her. “We’re way ahead of you. Don moved to explore the likelihood of getting a federal loan guarantee to keep AVG happy directly after his meeting with Tolliver. Don pointed out to California’s congressional delegation that the employee cutbacks GAT might be forced to make would prove devastating for the California economy, and Don suggested to our on-staff lobbyist in Washington that GAT’s forced shut down of its military research-and-design operation would be detrimental to national security.”
“And?” Linda asked as they turned left on Brook Street, approaching the hotel.
Gold shook his head. “We got shot down.” He sighed. “Nobody questioned the validity of our arguments, but the current political situation in Washington is a lot different than what it was back in ‘seventy-one.”
“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, watch
ing 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 abid
e 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.
