Blue Skies (11 page)

“Excuse me,” the older marshal said to Rocky. “Could I impose on you for just one second?” He smiled engagingly, like a favorite uncle or harmless neighbor.

“Huh?”

“We're going to be going over Lake Mead in a second and I've never seen it. Mind if I look out that window there? You could sit here by the aisle while—”

“Someone's sitting there, man.”

“I know. While she's in the lav, can I just look out that window? Just for a sec? Then when she comes back, I'll just get out of your hair and you two can have your seats back, before we land. Thanks, buddy. I'd sure appreciate it.”

Rocky looked perturbed, but nonetheless hoisted himself up and moved into the aisle so the marshal could take the window seat. As the marshal lowered himself into the seat, eyes fixed on the window, he reached into his pocket. As soon as Rocky sat down again, he found his wrists clamped roughly to the armrests on either side of him. The marshals held him pinioned with one hand each, while with the other they produced badges.

“Federal air marshals,” the older man said. “Are you carrying a weapon, sir?”

Rocky was stunned speechless for the first time this trip. He finally said, “No! What the hell!”

“Did you tell your seat partner you were a federal marshal, armed and flying off duty?”

“No!” he insisted, shaking his head. “She's lying! Why would she lie like that?”

Plastic restraints mysteriously appeared, and Rocky was lashed in place, while the marshals carefully patted him down in search of weapons. All the while he protested loudly that this was a mistake. He worked for a hotel chain, he traveled a lot, she must have misunderstood. The marshals repeatedly told him to shut up or there would be duct tape involved in quieting him down.

“I haven't got any gun, you can see that. Just untie me right now—I haven't done anything. What have I done?”

“You're going to see the federal judge, pal. And I bet you'll get some time to cool down and work on some new pickup lines.”

“What makes you think she's telling the truth? She could just be lying!” He stretched his neck to see where Nikki had gone and found her across from the forward galley, sitting next to the flight attendant on the jump seat and talking on the interphone. What he didn't realize was that she was talking to the captain in the cockpit.

“She's telling the truth, pal,” the marshal said. “She works for this airline. She's a 767 captain.”

Rocky's face went dark. His eyes narrowed to slits as he glared in her direction. He'd been betrayed. “She
could have told me,” he said quietly. Angrily. “That was a cheap play.”

“Oh, yeah? It had nothing to do with you, huh?” And then they both laughed at him.

F
or someone raised around airplanes, Nikki was surprised by the impact the newly painted jet had on her. It was more than the jet, it was the image it presented, the symbolism. New Century Air was painted across the fuselage, and NCA up the tail, underscored in black, gold and silver lines. A three-year-old Boeing 757, virtually new by aircraft standards, it was parked all the way across the runway. Behind the plane rose the pyramid-shaped Luxor hotel with its enormous replica of the Sphinx in front. It looked like New Century Air had been cleared for landing in Egypt.

The plane had snap and class. As did the plane's daddy, Joe Riordan.

That was why she was here, of course. Riordan. Pilots didn't follow planes or even airlines, but the men who built them. Joe Riordan was one of a kind. He was a young fifty and had been around airlines for almost thirty years. He had helped set up two, worked in senior management for one more, consulted for a few years, and now here he was—like a glutton for punishment—starting up again.

Riordan was a good-looking guy, tanned and fit, with a definite twinkle in his eyes. He was sexy, and his bad-boy charm caught the attention of the ladies, especially the impressionable young flight attendants who really
went gaga over him. And he was a terrible flirt. Nikki liked getting a good banter going with him. He had a caustic wit and didn't like people who walked on eggshells—he preferred a woman with a spine, and a mouth.

What Nikki sometimes thought she saw in him was a younger version of Buck, polished up and on the make. Riordan was only about five-ten, but he had a real tall voice and a sharp tongue. Divorced three times—one child per marriage and what he called the meanest ex-wives in America—he was now being followed from company to company by a leggy blond named Jewel who worked as his assistant and had a reputation for iciness. The Gatekeeper, she was dubbed.

Riordan had two traits that most CEOs didn't. He was willing to take chances, not just in business, but on the people he chose to work with, and he valued people above money. Also, he had a gift for finding money when he needed it. In fact, you could spend ten minutes with the man and feel like giving him your life savings.

A small, loyal group had followed him wherever he went—a CPA named Paul DeLeon, who took charge of the finance department; LaVerne Peavy, an expert in the magic of fares and yield management; Gary Ray, marketing man and genius scheduler; and Mark Shows, whom Riordan called the Wrench, the VP of Maintenance. There were others, including pilots and flight attendants, who would love to work for Riordan again just because of his reputation. The fact that he'd left two airlines and closed down a third would not discourage his diehard fans, of whom Nikki was one.

There were three things that had brought her to Las Vegas to see him. A drastic need for change. An opportunity to take a position in the management of an airline from its first day of operation—a chance that might
never come again. And the desire to work near someone as edgy and visionary as Riordan.

“In ten years you won't recognize this industry,” Riordan had been quoted as saying in a national newspaper right after the 9/11 tragedy turned the airlines upside down. Since it was very clear the old system wasn't going to work, Nikki wanted to be around the people who were going to shape the new era of aviation.

She took a cab to the offices of New Century Air, just six miles off airport property, and eight or so miles from the Las Vegas strip. The freeway wound up a small hill so that the new office building sat slightly above the sparkling city. The airline occupied the entire second floor. Despite the fact that deliverymen in mint-green, tan and navy blue jumpsuits were everywhere, moving boxes and furniture on dollies into elevators, she was stopped by the security guard. After she produced ID and signed in, she was told to wait for an escort.

It was probably ten minutes before Jewel James appeared. Nikki had not had the pleasure before, but she'd certainly heard enough about this gorgeous but cold woman. There was speculation as to whether Riordan had finally found the perfect administrative assistant or simply given his lover a job.

“You're late,” she said.

“Sorry. I had to have a man arrested,” Nikki replied.

Anyone else would have asked what that was all about, or at least inquired about her flight, but not Jewel. She lifted one finely arched blond brow, looked down at the much shorter and unfortunately thicker Nikki, and allowed the slightest hint of curiosity to drift across her porcelain features. Nikki found herself looking right into the Gatekeeper's breasts. “Follow me,” Jewel said, and instead of walking beside Nikki, led the way.

The elevators opened on the second floor to the chaos of moving. Furniture and boxes were pushed up against hallway walls and into the middle of offices, while techs with toolboxes hooked up computers, phones, printers, copiers and other miscellaneous equipment. It was hard to tell the employees from the movers and handymen—everyone was dressed casually, in jeans, khakis and sweats.

Nikki passed a conference room in which six men were conferring around a table covered with laptops, stacks of papers, manuals and coffee cups. Very likely this was the FAA meeting with employees working on the airline's certification. There would be more than thirty required manuals, ranging from flight operations and safety to weight and balance, fueling and emergency response. By the time this process was complete, four thousand man hours would have been invested to get a flying certificate worth roughly thirty million dollars. That FAA certificate would be New Century Air's greatest asset. In addition, there would be a veritable library of support manuals—all created by its founders and original staff, all approved by the feds.

The hall finally opened into a reception area, the only room completely decorated so far. There was a sofa and several chairs, a coffee table with potted plants, and art on the walls. The double doors to Riordan's office stood open, but outside was an expansive L-shaped desk with computer and printer—the Gatekeeper's post.

Jewel stopped at her desk, and with one long, slender arm, bedecked with gold bracelets, indicated the double doors. “He's waiting” was all she said.

Whew, Nikki thought. If Riordan is boinking her, he must be awful chilly below the belt by now.

She stood for a second in the open doors and looked
into the office, appreciating the sight of him standing before a wall of windows. Hands in his pockets, he was watching a Singapore Airlines 777 on its final approach into McCarran International Airport. The huge plane flew right down the center of town and looked as if it would land on Las Vegas Boulevard, right between the Bellagio and the Paris. In fact, it would land just south of the strip, but so close that the passengers would see the breathtaking panorama of the new casino resorts close up and personal.

From here, the city had a beautiful, freshly scrubbed appearance. Unlike any other city, Las Vegas was a cache of multicolored, sparkling shapes—not office buildings, but enormous, glittering hotels that were more like cities with stores, malls, restaurants, bars, movie theaters and amphitheaters. While it had been the mecca of buffets and three-dollar steak dinners fifteen years ago, Las Vegas now had more famous five-star chefs than Manhattan.

Yes, flying people in and out of the biggest tourist attraction in the United States was probably a good idea.

She let the triple seven pass out of Riordan's view before she spoke. “I saw your new plane.”

He turned around, bright-eyed at the sound of her voice. “What did you think?”

“It's awesome. You know it's gorgeous. Who designed the paint job?”

“It was a group effort. A few rounds, pizza and genius, the usual combination. I'm trying to figure out how I can be here when the first flight comes in so I can see it on final approach…. But I'll have to be on the first flight. Tradition.”

“You can stand right there for the FAA-proving flights. You can see your plane landing in the city while
your senior check airmen are passing the final check rides required for your certificate.”

A smile began to spread across his lips. He hadn't thought of that, she could tell.

“Damn good to see you, Nick. You look great, despite the shit we've all been through.”

“You, too, Joe.”

“I heard about the ex. Kids okay?”

“It was tough on them, of course, but they're very okay now. My dad is with them when I fly. And while I'm up here.”

“Good. Kids shouldn't have to suffer like that.”

“How close are you to certification?” she asked.

“Closer than it looks. Some of us have been up here working for almost a year, even though we just got into this office space. We hired a consulting firm out of L.A. to help with the manuals, and the FAA has been real flexible with us regarding substituting our principals on the certificate for the consultants. Mark Shows is our maintenance principal, and we just made an offer to a VP of Operations and he's going through the motions of getting approval from the feds. By the time everyone is approved, we'll be ready to hire our first classes of pilots and flight attendants to start training, mini-evacuation and proving flights.”

His reference to the final exams in the birth of an airline gave her a little rush; the enthusiasm and optimism of the entire employee group during these trials were always at fever pitch. The mini-evac was held at night on the edge of the airport when the FAA timed a random selection of flight attendants in emergency evacuation procedures. The proving flights had FAA-check airmen riding with a pilot and copilot, grading every second of their flight from preflight checklist to land
ing—the final test before the airline could load up the passengers. When that plane returned to the airport to land with a thumbs-up, every employee of New Century Air would be on hand to cheer the crew into the gate.

“You going to join us, Nick?” he asked her as he walked around his desk to sit down.

“It's tempting, but I have a lot of seniority at Aries.”

He made a face. “They're in trouble.”

“Everyone's in trouble,” she said, so sadly accurate. “How are you going to make this work?”

“We have some innovative ideas. I'll have Paul take you through the business plan item by item if you're interested, but the quick and dirty is that it's a damn good time to start an airline. The equipment is cheap and available, we're going to get really good people, and we've got some of the best marketing analysis and yield-management experts in the industry on our team. Plus, you got me. I'm still right more than I'm wrong.”

“Who did you ask to be VP of Ops?” She wanted to know, because anyone in pilot management would ultimately be working for him.

“I'd rather not say—he hasn't signed the contract yet, but I think we've got him. Our executive search company highly recommends him. You might even know him, but—” He stopped himself. “Let me ask you this—is there anyone you'd refuse to work for?”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I just wanted to talk to you about—”

“Can you think of anyone you'd run away from?”

She shrugged. “Not offhand.”

“And you wanted to talk about…?”

“I'm just curious about your operation. What are you looking for?”

His lips curved slightly. He reached behind him to the
desk and lifted a piece of paper, handing it to her. “These are the positions in operations that haven't been filled.”

She looked down the list—chief pilot, director of training, director of flight control, crew scheduling and a host of management positions in Maintenance. Once the first batch of pilots were hired, there would be lots of check-airman positions.

“Have you been interviewing for these?” she asked.

“We've had some calls. Some interest.” He nodded toward the page. “Anything on that list spark your interest?”

Something came over her, and it was so spontaneous that she almost flushed in surprise. “Chief pilot,” she said, handing him back the list.

He gave a short laugh. “A woman chief pilot, imagine that. What makes you think you're qualified?”

“I've either worked in or directed every department on your list, and I have a lot of experience. I'm current in your choice of aircraft, I have a degree in aerospace engineering and mechanics, and I have a very good relationship with the FAA—I've been a check airman and training captain for years.”

“But you're a woman,” he said.

“Yet another advantage.”

“You think the boys will work for you?”

“Let's see. Are we going to hire boys who are looking for work? There's thousands of them out there, right?”

“They're usually a little, you know, indelicate….”

A laugh burst out of her. She'd been raised in an airport. She'd gotten a degree from a college dominated by men. She'd worked with the louts for years. Hah!

“What about Training?” he asked.

A year ago she might have settled for that. Even a
few months ago. But damn it all, those deals she hadn't screwed herself out of, she'd been screwed out of by some guy who had the balls she lacked. She couldn't believe what she was doing. It was a leap from where she was, but she wasn't sure if it was a leap into a great opportunity or off a cliff. What would Buck say? Would the kids go along with this?