by T. E. Cruise
“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.”
Peters was looking somewhat appeased, Gold thought. And no wonder. Coming on board GAT as an approved subcontractor, and receiving GAT’s indirect endorsement by GAT’s agreeing to cooperate with Payn-Reese in the Pont’s nacelle modifications were important breakthroughs for the British company. Gold didn’t think Rogers and Simpson would be giving GAT much guff concerning Payn-Reese’s proposed elevation in status. The American engine firm was going to be enjoying a lucrative future for some time to come supplying Stiletto engines and spare parts to the military.
“I say,” Lord Glass was fuming. “Last week I said you had bloody gall, but this… “He trailed off darkly, shaking his head. “The cheek of you bloody Yank chaps! How could you ever imagine Skytrain would accept your proposal?”
Here goes bomb number one, Gold thought, saying, “Because if Skytrain doesn’t accept our proposal, GAT is prepared to withdraw the Pont from the U.S. market as it is within GAT’s rights to do. Furthermore, if Skytrain doesn’t cede to our wishes, GAT is prepared to withdraw from Skytrain Industrie.”
“Voluntarily withdraw from Skytrain, you say?” Lord Glass exploded. “You’re bluffing!”
Gold’s eyes swept the room the way he’d once scanned the sky from inside the cockpit of a fighter plane in order to pin down his enemies’ positions. Good old Don Harrison was looking detatched and alert: the quintessential wingman, watching Gold’s back. Sir Lyndon was sitting slumped behind his desk, looking sick. Quint Peters was chain-smoking, looking sweaty and anxious; Gold figured the sales exec had finally realized what everyone else had known all along: that Payn-Reese Motor Works was just a pawn in a much larger game.
The major wild card in the lineup was Andre Duvalle of Aérosens, but he seemed detatched from the matter at hand. But in a way, that makes sense, Gold thought, remembering that from the beginning this had been a grudge match between GAT and Skytrain’s English faction. Gold guessed that the Frenchman was at present too busy calculating the future profits to be made by supplying the Stiletto fighter to Europe to be much concerned about what happened concerning the Pont.
The only adversary in the room who still looked defiant was Lord Glass. Gold thought. Time to let the air out of his balloon.
“GAT is not bluffing,” Gold said. “Far from it. Thanks to our new military contract, we can endure the financial losses that would stem from our canceling U.S. distribution of the Pont.” He paused. “But can Skytrain withstand the loss of prestige? Last week, you told me Skytrain intended the Pont to symbolize the dawning of a new industrial age in Europe. How will the European aviation industry look to the world after GAT blackens Skytrain’s eye by deeming the consortium’s best ever jetliner too inferior for the U.S. market?”
“We wouldn’t allow you to get away with that!” Lord Glass vowed. “We’d fight you in the courts! If not for breach of contract, on some other grounds. Meanwhile, we’d get some other American aviation firm to sell the Pont in your country.”
“Yes!” Quint Peters piped up hopefully. “Perhaps Amalgamated-Landis ! “
“Precisely!” Lord Glass nodded. “A-L will do quite nicely as Skytrain’s new American partner! There you have it, Mr. Gold. That is Skytrain’s response to your attempted highway robbery.”
Don Harrison said: “Lord Glass, trust me when I suggest to you that you may not be as familiar with American courts as I am. The litigation you’re contemplating would drag on for years. Meanwhile, you’d experience little success trying to market the Pont through some other vendor. Don’t you realize that when GAT refuses to sell the Pont, dark clouds of doubt will gather around the jetliner? The airlines will wonder: Why did GAT withdraw the airplane? Is there something wrong with it? Quality-control problems, perhaps? Maybe we’d better buy another manufacturer’s offering, just to be safe.…”
“My God,” Lord Glass murmured. “You mean you’d go so far as to smear by innuendo the airplane’s reputation?”
Gold shrugged. “We’d make no public judgment on the Pont. But what any particular airline might think of GAT’s refusal to sell the Pont and the ensuing litigation would be that customer’s own business.”
Lord Glass, scowling, looked away. No one else spoke. For a few moments the room positively ticked with silence.
Gold listened to the street traffic occasionally rattling the office windows. He busied himself lighting a cigarette. He glanced at Don, who was pretending to study the papers on his lap. By prior arrangement, both Gold and Don were prepared to sit quietly, all day if necessary; both men knew it was of the utmost importance strategically that they not be the ones to break the deadlock of silence.
Surprisingly, it was Andre Duvalle who spoke up. “Mr. Gold, Mr. Harrison. As you are no doubt aware, your partners in Skytrain are nationally funded. Speaking for Aérosens, I must tell you that I do not have the authority to agree to your proposal without conferring with my government.”
“Yes, it’s quite the same for us,” Sir Lyndon said, looking pained. “Most likely the Prime Minister himself will be directly involved.”
“Gentlemen, let’s not try to hide behind international bureaucracy,” Gold said. “GAT will not accept your feeble excuses concerning ‘my government this’ or ‘my government that.’”
Don Harrison picked up where Gold left off. “You’re suggesting that Skytrain treat GAT’s demands as a financial-appropriations matter, which would allow you to use the excuse that you must take the matter to your respective governments. You are at liberty to do that, of course, but you only further jeopardize the Pont’s fate in America by your procrastinations. The U.S. market is continually in flux. If Skytrain dithers, if it hems and haws, trying to stall, the consortium may find that it has cut its own throat concerning the Pont’s success in the United States because some other American manufacturer of jetliners has moved to fill the void. Meanwhile, we all know that Skytrain Industrie has autonomy concerning airplane design, production, and marketing strategies. It is GAT’s position that what we’re requesting from Skytrain falls within that third category: marketing. The funds necessary to advance GATCC its line of credit should come from the profits already on Skytrain’s books from those European and Third World sales of the Pont, and should simply be chalked up to marketing.”
“I see,” Lord Glass said bitterly. “You expect us to take the money out of our own pockets to line yours.”
“We expect Skytrain to move quickly on our proposal for its own g
ood,” Gold said. “We’ve just provided you with a credible explanation to your governments for making that quick decision.”
“This isn’t only highway robbery,” Lord Glass muttered. “It’s blackmail!”
“Enough bickering,” Andre Duvalle spoke up, staring sternly at Lord Glass. “Mr. Gold, I believe you have made GAT’s position crystal clear. When do you wish our answer?”
“We’re returning to the United States this evening,” Gold said, standing up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Don packing up his briefcase and getting to his feet. “We regret that we can’t stay longer, but we have pressing business to attend to at GAT.”
“Yes, of course,” Duvalle said. “Your military contract for the Stiletto…”
Don said, “We would like your answer to reach us at Claridge’s by five o’clock.”
“That’s less than three hours from now!” Lord Glass grumbled.
Gold shrugged. “Frankly, Lord Glass, I don’t see why you’d need more than three seconds to accede to our terms.”
“To accede to the inevitable,” Don added quietly.
Gold headed for the door with his partner on his heels. They were quiet as they left the Air Ministry building and while they were busy flagging a cab. It was only once they were settled into a taxi and on their way back to Claridge’s that Don said, “I still think we were too hard on them.”
“No.” Gold adamantly shook his head. “They started this, we didn’t.”
“Actually, Tim Campbell started this,” Don corrected gently.
“Okay, so maybe Tim did start it.” Gold admitted. He leaned back tiredly against the cab’s burnished leather upholstry, watching London roll past. “But Skytrain thought we were weak, that they could kick us while we were down. I wanted to prove them wrong.”
“Which you did, in spades,” Don replied wryly. “You really rubbed their noses in it.”
“My father had a reputation for being a bad man to cross,” Gold said. “Since he died, and I joined the company, Skytrain has been constantly gauging our corporate leadership to see how we measure up to Herman Gold.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Don sighed. “If we had shown mercy, I suppose it would have been interpreted as a sign of weakness on our part.”
Gold, nodding grimly, said: “Now Skytrain knows what everyone is going to know sooner or later: that despite my father’s passing, GAT remains a power to be reckoned with.”
“Even Tim Campbell?” Don wondered.
“Even Tim, partner. Even Tim.”
(Three)
TEA Flight #429: Heathrow to JFK
In the night skies over the Atlantic Ocean
Gold considered it fortunate that the Trans-European Airlines GAT-built GC-999 jumbo jetliner was less than one-third filled for this midweek, late-night flight. In his tired, pent-up state, the quiet, roomy, first-class cabin helped to make bearable this first leg of the journey home.
Gold stretched in his seat as best he could without disturbing Linda Forrester, who was dozing with her head leaning against his shoulder. Across the aisle, Don Harrison was stretched across two seats, snoring lightly.
Lucky ducks. Gold thought, enviously eyeing his sleeping companions. He was feeling exhausted, but he knew that there was no way he was going to be able to sleep.
The flight roared on. Dinner had already been served and cleared away. Gold had already disinterestedly leafed through all the magazines to be had on board. He thought about signaling the stewardess for another scotch, but decided against it. They still had a connecting nonstop flight to Los Angeles to go before they’d be home, and Gold knew there was plenty of work piled up on his desk in Burbank. The jet lag was going to be bad enough to deal with without his getting drunk while traversing half the world’s time zones.
Gold lit a cigarette, glanced at Linda, and snapped his lighter closed just a little too loudly. Linda stirred, coming awake.
“Gee, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Hi,” she mumbled sleepily.
“Hi.” Gold smiled, thinking that he’d been with a lot of women in his life, but hadn’t known many who could look good sleeping or just after they’d slept. Linda was one of them.
“Have you slept at all?” Linda asked thickly.
“No…”
“Oh, right.” She yawned. She was still only half awake, and cuddled against him. “You never sleep on airplanes, do you?”
“No.”
“It’s probably because you think you ought to be in the cockpit.…” Her voice faded, as if she were about to drop off again.
“Hey.” Gold gave her a gentle nudge. “Stay awake, keep me company.”
“Yes, sir!” Linda blinked, opened her eyes. “Okay… I’m up!”
She sat up and stretched. Gold watched her breasts rise and fall beneath her thin cotton sweater. He wished they could make love right now. It wasn’t lust as much as it was his desire to stop thinking for a little bit.
“Do you think you could get us some tea?” Linda asked.
Gold pushed the call button to summon the stewardess, and when she came he asked for a cup of tea for Linda and a scotch on the rocks—screw the jet lag—for himself.
“You look sad,” Linda observed, coming fully awake now. “Now that I think about it, you’ve been glum ever since you came back from your meeting today. How come?” She paused, smiling tenatively. “I’d think you’d be elated over your victory.”
“I am,” Gold said, and then shrugged. The message from Skytrain capitulating to all of GAT’s demands had reached them at Claridge’s at four-thirty that afternoon.
“So what’s wrong?” Linda persisted. “What’s going on?”
The stewardess came with Linda’s tea and Gold’s drink. The scotch tasted cool, clean, medicinal, but Gold doubted whether all the whiskey in the world could ever banish the bad taste in his mouth that had been left by Gold’s response to this latest attack on GAT by Tim Campbell.
As the stewardess left. Gold murmured, “I guess that now that the heat of the battle is over, I’m feeling a little depressed by what I had to do to win.”
“Meaning?” Linda watched him closely as she squeezed some lemon into her tea and then took a sip.
“I guess I’m thinking about what you said to me last week about seeing everything in terms of combat.”
“About you being a samurai businessman, you mean?
“Yeah.” Gold nodded. “It ain’t easy ruling with an iron fist.”
“If it was, everybody would do it, big guy.”
“Don’t sound so smug,” Gold said. “After all, I creamed the opposition using your idea.”
“Oh, sure, pin it on me,” Linda scolded, but then paused, thoughtfully musing. “Although I must say it is gratifying to be recognized as the woman who stands behind the throne.”
Gold chuckled. “Your idea to secure GAT a United States government loan guarantee was a good one. Don and I just modified it: instead of the U.S. backing GAT financially, we got the governments of France and England to do it.
“But I thought Skytrain Industrie is writing off the cost as a marketing expense?”
“Ah, that’s just a creative-accounting rationalization we provided to Skytrain, one that they in turn could provide to their home governments.” Gold scowled. “What you have to understand is that from the European perspective there really is no such thing as Skytrain Industrie. It’s just a kind of international steering committee for multinational aviation projects. Skytrain pays no taxes and shows no profits. All monies in and expenditures out go directly to the firms that are partners in the consortium. In the cases of Stoat-Black and Aérosens, which are nationalized companies, that means that all profits and expenses end up with their respective governments.”
“So the treasuries of France and England will ultimately bear the burden of GAT’s financial bailout?”
Gold nodded.
“Son of a bitch,” Linda whispered, licking Gold’s ear. “You’re
one smart cookie for a love stud.”
“Well, I just had the general idea,” Gold demurred. “Don’s the one who was able to supply the financial specifics that turned my concept into a reality.” He paused. “Of course, the love-stud part is all my own.”
“You practice a lot?” Linda asked, her lips still nuzzling his ear.
“Whenever I’m alone.”
Linda laughed, moving away from him to rummage through her purse for her cigarettes. “But what I still don’t understand is why you seem to have such mixed emotions about your victory. It was a tremendous coup on your part, but from the way you’re acting someone would think that you were the one who lost.”
“Maybe I did lose in a way.…”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Linda demanded as Gold lit her cigarette.
“I didn’t play fair, Linda.”
She nodded. “Okay, then. Let’s go through it. Was what you did necessary to win this battle or negotiation or whatever you want to call it?”
“Yes.”
“Can you think of any other way you could have won?”
“No.”
“Then there you go,” Linda said. “At the risk of sounding overly western, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do” She winked. “Capeesh?”
“Capeesh,” Gold echoed, smiling slightly. “What kind of western lingo is that?”
“Spaghetti western,” she said brightly.
“Ah.” Gold took a swallow of scotch.
Linda, watching him, suddenly said, “I know what’s really bothering you.”
“You do, huh?” Gold looked at her.
“Uh-huh.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “You see, I remember what you told me that afternoon we ran into each other at the trade show six months ago; what you told me after we made love at your beach house. You told me about how Tim Campbell had implied that back in the fifties your father had played dirty pool, using his CIA connections to win the competition between his GAT 909 jetliner and Tim Campbell’s perfectly good Amalgamated Landis AL-12 by unjustly tarnishing that airplane’s reputation. You’d checked the story out with Don and had found out it was true.”
