The Hot Pilots (17 page)

“I see … Do we send him back to the Air Force?”

Horton pondered it. “No, I don’t think so, Turner … I did his father a favor by taking him on, and now I’d like to increase
old Herman Gold’s indebtedness to me, by keeping his prodigal son out of his hair for as long as possible.”

“And as you said, sir,” Layten volunteered, “the lieutenant colonel has important friends, and as long as he’s with us any
friend of his will likely be a friend of ours.”

“That’s very good, Turner.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“We’ll kick him upstairs,” Horton mused. “Give him an important-sounding title: USAF/CIA liaison in charge of something or
other…” He trailed off. “You see to it …”

“Yes, sir…” Layten hesitated.

“Something’s bothering you.” Horton smiled fondly. “I can always tell … Out with it, man …”

“Well, sir … It’s just that the lieutenant colonel is somewhat lacking in finesse …”

“He’s a simple man.” Horton nodded. “But don’t you ever confuse that sort of simplicity with stupidity,” he warned.

“No, sir.”

“I agree that Steven Gold is a bit too true blue for any covert operational purpose,” Horton continued. “But that Boy Scout
image of his plays well around town. We can get some mileage out of that, don’t you think?”

“Leave everything to me, sir,” Layten said, standing up. “I’ll make sure that he’s given all the perks, and kept happy.”

“Just as long as you also make sure that he’s cut completely out of the loop,” Horton warned as his assistant took his leave.
“There’s no place for Boy Scouts in our sort of work.”

Herman Gold was having lunch with his son-in-law Don Harrison to celebrate the birth of his second grandchild. Both mother
and the strapping baby boy the proud parents had named Andrew were doing fine. Gold’s daughter Suzy would be home from the
hospital by Friday, which was when his son Steve would be flying in from Washington for the weekend. Gold’s wife Erica had
planned a celebratory family dinner for Saturday night. Gold was looking forward to having everyone all together at last under
one roof. He had even begun to hope that Don was ready to come around toward Steve.

Don had certainly mellowed these past nine months. It seemed that the process of becoming a father in his own right had helped
him to develop poise and self-confidence in the office. Gold had been relieved to hear that the situation had also improved
in the Harrison household. Suzy had confided to her mother that the stress on her marriage had eased considerably with the
advent of her pregnancy.

The only dark spots on the horizon concerned Don’s continued animosity toward Steve, and the way that Don seemed to want to
blank out his stepson Robbie’s existence. Today, for instance, Gold had tried to steer the conversation around to Robbie,
but Don had been unreceptive. When Gold had flatly come out and cautioned the man not to neglect his stepson, Don had dismissed
the subject with a shrug, saying that he had always tried his utmost with the boy, but that Robbie was now a teenager; old
enough to be held responsible for his own social behavior. Don had intimated that Robbie had never really welcomed him into
the family, and that as far as he was concerned, the relationship between stepfather and stepson was a two-way street …

They were seated in Gold’s usual corner booth at the Top Hat; one of the tables with a better view of the popular Wilshire
Boulevard dining room. The restaurant was a favorite deal-making place for the Hollywood crowd, so you could always count
on spotting some movie stars, who tended to not really resemble their doctored-up, autographed photos that lined the restaurant’s
walls.

Gold and Don had finished their lunch, and were enjoying themselves chatting as they worked on polishing off their second
bottle of champagne. Don was puffing on a foot-long cigar, rambling on about how Andrew was destined for great things. The
dining room was crowded, and Gold was slightly tipsy, so he didn’t notice Tim Campbell and Hull Stiles threading their way
through the closely packed tables until they were standing right near him.

Stout little Tim Campbell was dressed like a used car salesman in a very splashy, tan windowpane plaid three-piece suit, a
burgundy shirt, and a white tie. Hull Stiles stood a little behind Campbell, towering over him like a tree. Hull was in his
early sixties, but he was still a rawboned, rangy old cuss, with big, callused hands, and ropey shoulders straining the meticulous
tailoring of his staid, double-breasted blue flannel. Hull had ivory hair, slicked straight back from his forehead, and a
matching fringe of close-cropped beard ringing his strong jaw. He had wide-set brown eyes, and skin that the sun had long
ago permanently burnished to the color and wrinkled texture of worn cowhide, thanks to his hundreds of hours spent in open
cockpit aircraft.

“Herman, fancy running into you, here.” Campbell smiled. “Hey! Don! I hear you’re a new papa! Congrats, kid—”

“Thanks,” Don said coolly.

Gold smiled, thinking that Don looked like he could hardly bring himself to shake Campbell’s hand. Obviously he was still
fuming over last week’s announcement by the Feds. The proposed merger between GAT and Amalgamated-Landis had been disapproved
under antitrust statutes, and for reasons of national security.

“Hull,” Gold began. “Have you and Don met?”

Hull glanced questioningly at Gold, who remembered that the old pilot was a bit hard of hearing, due to all that time spent
in close proximity to roaring aircraft engines.

“Oh, sure, I know Don.” Hull nodded once Gold had repeated the question a bit louder to carry over the busy restaurant’s bustle
and clatter. “We met back when this young whippersnapper here was working for Amalgamated.” Hull reached across the table,
first to shake hands with Don, and then to clasp Gold’s shoulder. “And you, you old rascal”—Hull flashed an easygoing grin—“You
certainly look every bit the granddaddy, but tell Erica I think she much’s too pretty to be a grandma twice over—”

“That’s true, she is.” Gold laughed. “You fellows have lunch yet?”

“We just finished,” Campbell replied. “But we wouldn’t mind joining you for a congratulatory drink—”

You mean, to congratulate yourself on your stock market killing, you gloating sonofabitch
, Gold thought as he and Don slid over to make room in the curved booth. This past year, while the government had plodded
along in its decision-making process, Campbell had enjoyed watching the value of his Amalgamated-Landis stock soar as the
speculators had hungrily bought in.

Gold snapped his fingers for a waiter and then sent him to fetch two more champagne glasses. The waiter returned with the
glasses, but when he took the champagne from its ice bucket to pour, they saw that the bottle was almost empty.

“Another bottle then,” Campbell said grandly. “And put it on my bill,” he told the waiter.

“You can certainly afford it.” Gold smiled. Tim must have had someone on the inside in Washington to tip him off on which
way the Feds were leaning because he’d been able to take the Street by surprise, unloading a goodly portion of his huge holdings
of A-L stock. By the time the word spread that Campbell was bailing out, Tim had already taken his profits. Through mutual
friends Gold had learned that Campbell had come out of it all smelling like a rose, in large part recouping his losses suffered
during Amalgamated’s failed attempt to market its own jetliner.

“Somebody’s got to win, and somebody’s got to lose,” Campbell said airily.

“And somebody’s got to cheat,” Don Harrison said pointedly.

Campbell eyed him the way a snake sizes up a bird with a broken wing. “Herman, you ought to teach your protégé here how not
to be a sore loser.”

“You think so?” Gold asked. “I would have thought losing was a topic Don would have covered in exhaustive detail during his
time spent working with you—”

Campbell nodded, smiling thinly. “That’s okay, amigo. I can take a little joke. Why not? I
won.
” He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his expression now extremely serious as he stared at Gold. “I finally did it.
I finally put one over on you the way you once hornswaggled me. How does it feel to be outfoxed, Herman? To know that I got
the best of you coming
and
going?”

“What can I say, Tim?” Gold shrugged. “The facts speak for themselves.”

“That’s right! That’s damned right,” Campbell declared fiercely. “The facts don’t lie.”

“Take it easy, Tim,” Hull Stiles urged, putting a cautionary hand on Campbell’s sleeve.

“Take it easy, nothing!” Campbell snapped, shaking off Hull’s touch. “And who are you anyway to tell me what to do?” he snarled.
“I talk and you listen, remember?”

“Sure, sure, Tim—” Hull said, so meekly that Gold felt embarrassed for him. “All I meant was that we’re all friends here,
right?”

“Sure we’re friends.” Campbell abruptly giggled. He looked around. “Where the fuck’s our waiter with the champagne?” he loudly
demanded.

He’s drunk
, Gold realized, surprised, and a bit shocked. In all the years he’d known Tim, Gold didn’t think that he’d ever seen him
drunk …

“Why shouldn’t we all be friends?” Campbell was rambling. “I got no beef. I’m happy. For a paltry leasing fee—for nothing,
for fucking pocket change
—my airline got the jump on all of its competitors.” He stared gloatingly toward Gold. “Thanks to you, amigo, Skyworld enjoyed
the use of those GC-909 jetliners you diverted to us, and
then
, thanks to the way I hornswaggled you into bumping us to the top of GAT’s delivery list, we took possession of our own jet
fleet.”

“That’s right, you did,” Gold soothed, wanting Tim to calm down. The guy was unpredictable enough when he was sober.

“Don’t you patronize me, you sonofabitch,” Campbell snarled, his mood once again doing a 180. “I came out on top. I
did!
”

“You sure did whip his ass, Timmy,” Hull urgently agreed.

Campbell pounded the table. “I got
everything
I wanted out of Herman Gold, and for once in his life Herman Gold got
nothing
!”

“Well, that’s not exactly true,” Gold said sheepishly. He gestured toward the waiter who had appeared with a fresh bottle
of champagne. “I’m getting a drink out of the deal…”

“Yeah, that’s right!” Campbell laughed, calming down as though somebody had thrown a switch. “You’re getting a drink …” Sighing
contentedly, he nodded to the waiter who was showing him the label on the champagne bottle. The waiter popped the cork and
poured a little into Campbell’s glass. He tasted it, pronounced it satisfactory, and the waiter proceeded to fill their glasses.

“A toast then,” Campbell said, raising his glass. “To the winners, and to the losers.” He paused melodramatically. “I trust
we all now
know
who we are …”

“To old times,” Gold murmured, sipping at his champagne as he locked eyes with Hull.

Campbell tossed back his champagne in one gulp. “Come on, Hull. Let’s get going …”

“Yeah, sure, Tim.” Hull hurried to tag along behind Campbell as he stood up and strode away.

“What an asshole,” Harrison murmured, watching Tim Campbell and Hull Stiles go.

“Well, like I said before,” Herman said, chuckling, “the facts do speak for themselves.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t
slug
the little bastard.” Harrison shook his head. “
I
would have …”

“Well, now,” Herman responded goodnaturedly. “You’ve got to take circumstances into account. For instance, he was drunk …”

“Yeah, I realize.” Harrison nodded. “I mean, it was obvious he was tipsy, but still—”

“And there’s a time and place for retaliation,” Herman added, sounding somewhat mysterious, Harrison thought.

“What I still don’t understand is how you allowed yourself to be duped,” he said. “And I can’t believe how well you’re taking
it.”

“Thank you.” Herman smiled. “I’m going to have a little more of Tim Campbell’s champagne … Would you care for some?”

Harrison shook his head. “However, if you’ll pardon me for saying it, Herman, I
do
feel you were naive to go into this deal,” he scolded.

“Oh, really,” Herman replied, sounding amused. He cocked one eyebrow. “How so, Don?”

“Well …” Harrison was a bit taken aback by Herman’s continued genial manner concerning all this. “Well, for instance, I don’t
understand why you didn’t use your connections in Washington to check out the deal before committing yourself …”

“I did,” Herman said.

“You—you did?” Harrison was flabbergasted.

“Sure. I put a call in right away to somebody I know who has access to the right people to get the information.”

“So you
knew
that the Feds would kill the merger?”

Herman laughed. “I knew the proposal didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell within
hours
of making my deal with Tim. That’s why I bought Amalgamated-Landis through a third party
early on
, before the announcement of the proposed merger drove the price up—”

“You bought Amalgamated …?” Harrison echoed weakly, feeling very confused. “Through a third party…?”

“So as to avoid any charges of insider trading,” Herman said, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand, as if it were
a pesky fly. “And like Campbell, I sold my A-L holdings during the height of the hoopla on the Street concerning the proposed
merger to make a tidy profit. Not as much as Tim made, but enough …” He paused, smiling. “By the way, since the origins of
this deal, and your
son
’s origins seemed to coincide, I thought it appropriate that I put those profits into a trust for little Andrew…”

“Well, thank you, of course, but—”

“No, thank
you.
” Herman laughed. “Money I can still make, no problem … New
babies
, however…” He trailed off whimsically.