by T. E. Cruise
Harrison’s eyes said that here was the archetype intellectual, a fifty-five-year-old man who even after the years spent in charge of this sprawling aviation company was still more comfortable in his old ivory tower than in the executive suite. His eyes proclaimed that here was a creative thinker, a man more in his element chairing an R & D think-tank brainstorming session than at a board of directors’ meeting.
But that’s what Steve will be all too ready to tell me, Harrison scolded himself. No need for me to patronize myself! Anyway, people can change. A bold step like the one I want to take will tell the world that I’m a man of action just like my partner.
But Harrison’s determination wavered as he further studied his reflection. He brooded, The problem with being a contemplative man was that you saw both sides of the question and thereby crippled yourself with indecision.
The eyes, Harrison thought, sighing. The eyes never lied.
As Harrison stared out the windows, the light changed and his reflection vanished, to be replaced by the outside world. Harrison’s top-floor corner office overlooked the GAT manufacturing complex’s airfields, where the dozens of partially assembled F-66a Stiletto fighters were scattered like children’s forgotten toys. These modified Stilettos were designated for European export. Their final assembly would take place at Skytrain’s factories on the Continent and in England. The completed F-66a jet fighters would then travel to their final destinations: the various NATO European air forces.
Harrison felt supreme satisfaction as he looked down at the grounded armada of fighters. GAT had certainly come a long way since that dark period back in 1974 when it looked as if the company was about to sink under its own financial missteps and Tim Campbell’s machinations to sabotage GAT’s campaign to sell the Pont airliner in America.
Now the company still basked in the astounding success of the Stiletto fighter and the solid domestic sales record scored by the Skytrain-produced Pont. There were the royalties rolling in on the product patents GAT Aerospace had registered during its work on the Viking One spacecraft that had landed on Mars a year ago July, and there were the royalties to come from work GAT Aerospace was doing on the new space shuttle. Meanwhile, GAT had a new commercial jetliner in the works, and exciting improvements were in the cards for the Stiletto, including new controls meant to give the fighter previously unimagined air maneuverability, and a new wing designed to give the Stiletto greater range and increased weapons-load capability.
But of all the fledglings in GAT’s nest, the most exciting and potentially lucrative on the drawing board was a proposed internationally built jet fighter, dubbed the World-Bird Project. World-Bird was conceived as a money machine that would do for GAT’s military aviation division what Skytrain had done for GAT in the international jetliner business. As good as the Stiletto was, and despite the fighter’s constant running improvements, the F-66 and its variants couldn’t stay on top forever as the international warbird of choice. When the sun inevitably did set on the Stiletto, and it came time for the NATO countries to replace their F-66s along with the rest of their current mixed bag of fighters, GAT wanted to be in the position to claim a large slice of that lucrative pie. To that end, Harrison had put together under the GAT/World-Bird banner a delegation of international commerce experts and military strategists to stage an on-slaught against Washington. The GAT/W-B lobbying team had met with the appropriate Cabinet-level administration, and congressional leaders to promote a two-pronged argument: that from a trade deficit viewpoint World-Bird would help to balance the United States’ ledgers, and that should a war be fought on European soil, a standardized World-Bird fighter common to all of NATO’s air forces would ensure against inventory problems concerning parts and weapons availability.
The lobbying effort had been a success. The United States had firmly endorsed the project as a unique international effort that would further the bounds of technology and strengthen NATO. The U.S. government was granting generous trade credits to the participating countries, and generous corporate tax breaks to the American companies involved, all of which were either GAT subsidiaries or independents buying into the deal under a GAT licensing arrangement.
In the international arena, GAT, thanks to its reputation in military aviation having been refurbished by the Stiletto, was leading the World-Bird Project through Skytrain Industrie. Harrison had initially feared that the consortium would give GAT some backtalk about the way the American company was commandeering the driver’s seat for the World-Bird Project, but Steve Gold had said not to worry.
“Our British and French partners have learned their lesson after the way we came out on top last time,” Steve had said. “Don’t sweat it, Don. Skytrain will follow where GAT leads as long as we remain strong and prosperous.…”
And Steve had been right, Harrison now thought enviously, because Steve had the instinctive knack of reading people. Harrison supposed Steve had honed that gift in the military.
Harrison sighed. Or maybe some lucky individuals were just born with the ability to see into others, and know how to motivate, persuade, lead.
In any event, just as Steve had predicted, Skytrain had come along quietly concerning World-Bird. Since then. West Germany, Italy, and Spain had bought into World-Bird Phase One: a five-year timetable for research and development concerning the new fighter. Currently, negotiations were proceeding to bring in Israel, and in a real coup, Japan, although some of the European parties to the deal were complaining that if the Israelis came aboard, World-Bird could kiss the lucrative Arab arms market good-bye.
The intercom on Harrison’s desk buzzed. Harrison pressed the talk button. “Yes?”
“Mr. Gold is here,” the secretary said.
“Have him come in,” Harrison began, but Steve was already barging in with a magazine clutched in his hand. Harrison batted down the surge of resentment he felt. Steve had always been the proverbial bull in the china shop, and always would be, but today was no day to let petty annoyances get in the way of things.
“Have you seen this?” Steve demanded, waving the magazine like it was a war pennant. It was the new issue of Aviation Weekly just out today.
“Yeah, I’ve seen it,” Harrison replied.
It was fifty paces from the office’s double doors to Harrison’s desk. Harrison watched Steve approach, taking in his partner’s casual style of dress: silk-weave sports jacket, linen trousers, knit polo shirt, and basket-weave leather moccasins. Hardly suitable office wear for a chief executive, but Harrison again reminded himself to ignore the petty annoyances.
He also studied Steve’s face, thinking that the years hadn’t softened the man the way they had Steve’s father, Herman Gold. If anything, time—and baldness—had made Steve look more pugnacious. At fifty, Steve’s hawk nose, strong jaw, and tanned scalp fringed with short, silvery blond hair gave him an accomplished, dangerous air—
Especially around those fighter pilot’s hard brown eyes, Harrison thought. Steve still saw everything; his eyes were still as sharp as ever.
And the eyes don’t lie.
(Two)
Steve Gold slapped the magazine down on Don’s desk. He pulled a package of Pall Malls and his lighter out of his jacket pocket and then slumped into a nearby leather armchair.
“It’s right there, the lead item in the ‘New & Noteworthy’ section,” Gold muttered, lighting a smoke. He watched Don open the magazine and turn to the offending page. “I thought you’d said you’d read it?” he asked sharply.
“I did,” Don replied, sounding weary as he settled into his chair behind his desk. Don read out loud, ‘GAT to debut its new GC-600 jetliner at Paris Air Show.’”
“I think this high-powered office is going to your head,” Gold remarked.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Don looked up from the magazine.
Gold looked around Harrison’s office. His own digs just down the hall weren’t anywhere near as elaborate, but then, he didn’t need such trappings, despite his elev
ated status at GAT. Since the Skytrain/Pont/Tim Campbell furball of several years ago. Gold had expanded his role. Now, in addition to heading up GAT’s military aviation division. Gold was GAT’s commercial aviation marketing and sales honcho, and spent most of his time crisscrossing the country and the world putting out fires on the company’s behalf. The job suited his restless nature. Gold had never been a desk man. He despised being stuck in one place in civilian life just as much as he’d despised it in the military.
“I asked you a question,” Don said quietly. “What did you mean by your remark that this office has gone to my head?”
Gold said, “I meant that maybe you think that because you have my father’s old office you’re running the company all by your lonesome, like Pop did?”
“You know better than that,” Don said, a hint of warning in his tone.
Better lay off. Gold thought. You push Don too hard and he withdraws into his shell like a turtle, and then you can’t touch him.
“I thought I did,” Gold replied earnestly. “I thought we were partners, but then something like this happens.” He paused to gesture contemptuously with his cigarette toward the magazine on Harrison’s desk. “And then I begin to have my doubts about you all over again. I can’t believe you had the gall to go and make an announcement like that without consulting me! By sneaking behind my back to do it!”
“Now, that’s not fair,” Harrison protested. “We did talk about it.”
“Sure we talked about it!” Gold angrily stubbed out his cigarette in the standing ashtray beside his chair. “You wanted to debut the jetliner this June in Paris, and I didn’t. We left it unresolved. I thought we were going to talk about it some more, but you just went and decided things unilaterally, right? Let good old Steve be the last to know!”
“Come on, Steve.”
“How do you think I felt this morning at home when my phone began ringing off the hook? I hadn’t even seen the goddamn announcement yet, but there I was, fielding calls from newspaper business editors about the GC-600! Linda was looking at me like I was crazy!”
“You ought to have an unlisted number.” Don smiled.
“I do have an unlisted number,” Gold snapped. “For all the fucking good it did me today. Believe me, if the news-hounds want you, they find a way…. And then I get to the office and I find a stack of messages on my desk from all the airlines’ purchasing agents. All my contacts are pissed at me for not giving them advance notice on the announcement. So what am I supposed to tell them?” Gold made a moronic face. “Duhhhh—sorry fellas, but my partner neglected to tell me, heh-heh, duhhhh?…”
Don shook his head. “You know, it’s funny that given our personalities and our usual points of view, this time I’m arguing for the bold step, while you’re cautioning to go the safe and conservative way.
“It’s not about personalities!” Gold said fiercely. “And don’t try to change the subject!”
“Yes, sir. Colonel!”
Gold, staring at Don’s faintly mocking expression, said: “For two cents I’d get up and punch you in the nose.”
Don said what he always said at about this point in the argument: “You mean to say a war hero would hit a man wearing glasses?”
As usual. Gold struggled against the impulse to smile and lost. At the same time, he felt his anger melting away. “I’m gonna get me a phony pair of specs, and the next time you say that, boy, are you going to be in for a surprise.”
“You still mad?” Don asked.
Gold shook his head. “Just listen, okay? I want to get this off my chest. We’ve been partners almost five years. I think we work together well, but I have to tell you that in my opinion you were out of line to have made that announcement without getting my okay.”
Don hesitated. “You’re right. I apologize.”
“Apology accepted,” Gold said.
“But what I did I did for the good of the company,” Don quickly added.
“You should have stopped with the apology.”
“Okay, now you listen,” Don said. “The GC-600 is a two-engine fanjet, hundred-seat jetliner utilizing state-of-the- art noise-reduction and fuel-economy technology. It’s destined to be a mainstay commercial aviation product for the future, especially as the hub-and-spoke system of air travel evolves in this country.”
Gold nodded. A lot of people at the airlines were talking about this hub-and-spoke system in which the airlines set up large centers, or hubs, to receive passengers from feeder routes or spokes.
Gold said, “But there are a lot of airplanes that satisfy the needs of the hub-and-spoke system. The Pont, for one.”
“Sure,” Don nodded. “But the Pont and the rest of the liners in its class are all 150-seaters. I think a downsize bird will be just what the doctor ordered over the next few years, as the U.S. sees a rise in the secondary hubs—”
“Secondary hubs?” Gold echoed faintly.
Don vigorously nodded. “Sure! Wake up, partner! We’ve got a southerner in the White House, don’t we? Carter’s the first president from Dixie since old Zach Taylor in 1848.”
“How do you know shit like that?” Gold shook his head.
“I tell you the South is rising again, and besides the burgeoning Sunbelt, you can bank on astounding population growth in the Southwest and the Rocky Mountain states. All that shifting population is going to bring about new urban centers.”
“Secondary hubs.” Gold nodded.
“Right,” Don enthused. “And secondary hubs will require slenderized spokes to feed passengers into them. And that’s when a quiet, fuel-efficient jetliner like the 600 will come into its own. I see the 600 as a small commuter airline’s biggest plane, and the smallest plane a major airline will want in its fleet. The 600 is going to be a real winner, clearly overshadowing the competition.”
“You don’t have to sell me on our own airplane,” Gold said. “You’re the technical type, not me. I believe that the airplane is everything you say it is.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Don shrugged.
“The problem is that the GC-600 is everything you say it is, plus one thing more: it’s not ready. Your own R and D people have told me that they feel uncomfortable about being pushed to have a prototype ready for the Paris Air Show this June.”
Don looked away. “Hey, like you said, the technical stuff is my department.”
Gold picked up on Don’s unease. “Are you saying your best people are wrong?” he challenged.
“I’m saying that I used to wear a white lab coat, and that I remember how it is when you hang out in the design studio as opposed to the executive suite. When you’re indulging your creativity at a drafting board, forever isn’t enough time to let go of your baby. You want to work and work on a project, constantly improving it, because there’s always that final little tweak of fine tuning to be done.”
“I’m not saying the 600 has to be perfect before we unveil her,” Gold argued. “I’m just saying she has to be a safe, solid, airworthy machine. Your engineers tell me that—”
“My engineers talk too much!” Don snapped. “They ought to spend less time flapping their jaws and more time working!”
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Gold backed off, realizing that he’d unintentionally hit a sore spot with Don. “I didn’t mean anything by that remark.”
Don leaned back in his chair. “I know.” He shook his head. “It just burns me up that somebody in engineering— one of my own—would betray the company.”
Gold nodded. In the business world as well as the military, there was nothing worse than a traitorous spy, but that was exactly what GAT had infecting its engineering department.
The first embarrassing leaks concerning the glitches and gremlins cropping up in the GC-600’s development appeared in the trades about twenty months ago. Since then, the squibs airing GAT’s dirty laundry concerning the GC-600 had regularly appeared in Aviation Weekly and the other industry publications, attributed to an anonymous source whom the vari
ous trades had in-house nicknamed “Icarus,” much to GAT’s displeasure. GAT did not favor having its new jetliner linked within the industry to that first great failure in manned flight: Icarus, who lost his wax wings when he flew too close to the sun.
From the start of the offending leaks, the trades had rigorously stonewalled GAT’s attempts to find out the source of their information. Since Watergate, every publication liked to think of itself as heir to the tradition of protecting a “Deep Throat” source. The aviation trades were no exception concerning Icarus. It was Gold’s wife, Linda Forrester, who was able to use her old journalism connections to find out from an industry reporter who owed her a favor that Icarus was one of GAT’s engineers.
Trouble was, that didn’t much narrow things down. GAT employed thousands of engineers. Sure, only several hundred were working on the GC-600, but it was the nature of R & D that all the engineers had computer access to the 600 project so that they could cross-reference the technical data to supplement their own ongoing work.
“I remember when your father was alive and I was his chief engineer,” Don said, breaking into Gold’s reveries. “Your father was a genius at inspiring the Engineering Department to meet deadlines. For one thing, Herman led by example. If he asked us to work eighteen hours a day, he made sure we saw him work twenty. But if inspiration didn’t work, he didn’t hesitate to use a judicious dollop of fear to drive his people to meet his goals.” Don smiled. “We may have complained—we maybe even hated him now and again—but we never would have dreamed of betraying Herman the way one of our engineers is betraying us.”
Gold asked, “Is Lane Associates getting anywhere discovering Icarus’s identity?”
Don shook his head. “Otto Lane has his best security and anti-industrial espionage operatives on the case, but he says they’ve got to take it slow, and I agree with him.” Don nodded seriously. You know, Steve, engineers can be a temperamental lot.”
