The Hot Pilots (9 page)

“A bunch of us over at the Company have had our eyes on you since you helped smooth out things,” Horton continued. “We don’t
forget, kid; not our enemies, and
especially
not our friends. My superiors have talked with your superiors, and I’ve gotten the okay.”

“Okay for
what?
” Steve asked sharply. “Jack, nobody’s talked to
me
—”

“I’m talking to you now. I’m offering you a tour of duty with the Company. You know as well as I do that some time working
with us could really advance your career.”

“I
do
know that,” Steve murmured, intrigued. The CIA and the Air Force had done a lot of work together concerning aerial reconnaissance
since the advent of the Cold War. Those Air Force officers who had “sheep-dipped”—taken a temporary tour of duty with the
Agency—had moved quickly up the promotional ladder. “But you haven’t told me what it is I’d be doing …”

“We’ve got a new spy plane,” Horton said. “A plane that will allow us to go anywhere we want over the Soviet Union and take
pictures to our heart’s content.”

“I’ve heard a little about that.” Steve nodded. “This new bird you guys are building is supposed to be state of the art.”

“It is,” Horton said proudly. “It’s code-named Mayfly—”

Steve laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Horton demanded, sounding affronted.

“Well, hell, Jack, you’ve got to admit Mayfly is kind of a pessimistic moniker. I mean, everybody
knows
a mayfly only lives for a day…”

Horton stared at him, his eyes blinking rapidly from behind those black horn-rims. “Anyway, the May—
our spy plane
—is in the prototype stage. We’ve got to start thinking about recruiting and training pilots.”

“Aren’t you going to get them from the Air Force?” Steve asked.

“Yes and no. You see, officially this is strictly a Company operation, but unofficially, the Air Force is working hand in
glove with us, and is willing to
lend
us some pilots. The Air Force is willing to release them for the time they’ll be serving with the Company, and then reinstate
them with no penalties concerning promotion or retirement when we’re done with them.”

“It sounds to me like you’re looking for volunteers,” Steve said. “Is that what you want me to do? Volunteer to fly one of
these babies?” He thought,
If taking snapshots of Red Square is what the future holds, getting out of the Air Force and going to work for Pop is looking
better all the time
.

Horton shook his head, smiling. “You underestimate yourself, kid. You’re far too valuable to be wasted in a cockpit.”

Hearing that made Steve feel wonderful. That was the first time anybody important who wasn’t
related
to him had suggested that he was good for something other than flying airplanes.

“Like you said, the pilots we need are going to have to volunteer,” Horton continued. “We’re willing to pay well to get them
to work for us, but the job we’re going to be asking them to do is going to be pretty dangerous. Nobody in his right mind
would do it just for the money. These pilots are going to need to be
recruited, motivated
, and
trained
—” He paused. “That’s where you come in. You’re just the guy we need to get us those pilots and instill in them the
need
to
succeed
. You’ve got the wartime record and the reputation to make the guys we’re after look up to you.”

“It kind of sounds like public relations stuff all over again,” Steve said doubtfully.

“It’s not public relations, it’s
leadership
,” Horton argued. “This is an important job, and it’s going to take brains to pull it off. A lot of the top brass, in and
out
of uniform will be watching. You pull this off and you’ll be able to write your own ticket: an assignment to the Joint Chiefs
of Staff, the State Department …”

Steve had stopped listening when Horton had said the job required brains. Here was a job that required smarts, not just a
chest full of medals, a handsome mug, and an expense account, and he was being tapped for it. If he could pull it off, and
he knew that he could, a lot of people were going to be very surprised, as well as impressed …

“Well.” Horton smiled. “I guess you’ll want some time to think about it?”

“I don’t need to think about it,” Steve said. “I accept.”

“That’s wonderful!” Horton laughed. “But just like that? Are you sure?”

“I don’t see how I can refuse.” Steve smiled. “You told me yourself that it’s an important job that will boost my career.
Confidentially, I’ve been looking for a way out of my present assignment. I think I’ve about worn out my welcome up on the
Hill, which means I’ve about worn out my welcome at the Office of Public Information.”

“Hey.” Horton shrugged. “You know what they say about blaming the messenger for bad news.”

Steve nodded. Last summer he and the other Air Force personnel lobbying on Capitol Hill had found themselves caught in a cross
fire between Congress and the President over who was to blame for the French defeat in Indochina. The shitstorm began when
the French, realizing that they were losing at Dien Bien Phu, formally requested United States air power intervention. Ike,
who had been warning that the rest of Southeast Asia would fall like dominoes to the Commies if the French were defeated,
ordered the Joint Chiefs of Staff to draw a plan of action. The JCS came up with Operation Vulture: Sixty Air Force B-29 bombers
escorted by 150 Navy fighters to hit the Commies dug in around the French, but Vulture was never able to get off the ground.
Dien Bien Phu fell to the Commies toward the end of May 1954, and the French, humiliated and defeated, went to the Far East
Peace Conference in Geneva with their tails between their legs. There they agreed to divide Vietnam into North and South,
just the way the Commies wanted it.

“You’ve got to expect a certain amount of finger pointing over this fiasco,” Horton was saying. “You know there was still
a lot of bad blood on the Hill concerning China.”

“There’s a lot of bullshit up there, you mean,” Steve grumbled, thinking about how the democratic leaders of Congress, anxious
to get revenge on the Republicans for the way the GOP had branded Truman “the man who lost China” back in ‘49, were now claiming
that Vietnam had been lost because Ike had vacillated. The President, through his Secretary of State, John Foster Dulles,
was now laying down a double line of defense: that Indochina wasn’t all that crucial to the security of Southeast Asia, after
all; and that in any case, the responsibility of losing it rested with powerful Democrats like Senator Lyndon Johnson because
they did not back Operation Vulture.

“What gets under my skin is that the one thing the entire Hill agrees on is that the Air Force is at fault,” Steve complained.
“The noninterventionists are blaming us for lowering America’s prestige by getting involved in the first place, and the ‘should’a-used-the-bomb’
crowd is blaming us for not
finishing
the fight.”

“Well, you’ve got to understand how badly everyone felt about this,” Horton replied. “I mean, it was—and still is—just inconceivable
that some ragtag band of barefoot Commie peasants could whip the French Army…”

“Barefoot Commie peasants?” Steve smiled ruefully. “I’ve heard
that
before. You weren’t involved in Korea, were you Jack?”

“No, I sat that one out.”

“You know that I didn’t,” Steve replied. “So let me tell you that until you’ve seen them in action you just can’t imagine
how effective those so-called peasants can be, especially when they’re supplied with the best weapons the Iron Curtain countries
have to offer.”

“But if we’d only committed air power to the battle—” Horton began.

“No way,” Steve cut him off. “I know that’s been the Company’s position all along, Jack, but air power couldn’t have finished
the job in Indochina any more than it could in Korea. You can’t fault the Air Force brass for realizing as much, and what’s
more, realizing that when air power
did
fail, the Air Force would have been placed in an awful disadvantage compared to the other branches of the service when it
came time to lobby for appropriations.”

“So what are you saying?” Horton demanded. “That the United States was right to stand by and watch the French get whipped?”

“I’m saying that if you expected the Air Force to
start
the fight, you had to be prepared to bring in the Army to
finish
it. That’s the way it worked in Korea: Air power could do only so much, and then it was up to the Marines and the Army to
do the dirty job of digging out the enemy. Do you think the American people were ready for that? For another mobilization?”

“No way,” Horton admitted. “This country hasn’t the stomach for another war in Asia so soon after Korea.”

“That’s right,” Steve said, and frowned. “But a simple thing like the truth won’t stop the politicians from making the Air
Force a scapegoat for their own, and the nation’s lack of will. That’s why I don’t need any time to consider your offer. I’m
all through being a whipping boy up on the Hill. I just don’t have what it takes any more to play the diplomat, or to stand
politely with hat in hand, hoping to convince a few powerful senators and congressmen to toss the Air Force a few coins.”
He paused. “As a matter of fact, I’ll let you in on a little secret, Jack. I’d already decided to leave the service—”

“No kidding?”

Steve nodded. “Of course, now I’m staying in, so that I can do this job for you.”

“Nobody in the Air Force I talked to seemed to know that you were planning on leaving,” Horton said.

“That’s because I’d been keeping my decision to myself,” Steve explained. “I wanted to let this Indochina flap blow over before
I went public with the news. I didn’t want anyone to misunderstand my resignation. I didn’t want the Air Force’s enemies on
the Hill to use my resignation as propaganda; to claim that my leaving the service was some sort of vote of misconfidence
on my part against the Air Force.”

“I see,” Horton murmured. “What were you going to do once you were back in civilian life?”

“Work for my father.”

Horton smiled. “That’s kind of ironic, because, in a way, you still will be working for Herman. You see, our state-of-the-art
spy plane is being built by your father’s company.”

“No kidding?” Steve said, feeling proud.

“But here’s the thing,” Horton cautioned. “We believe in compartmentalization; in other words, ‘the need to know.’ You can’t
tell anyone,
including your father
, about your tour with us.”

“I understand.” Steve nodded. “I suppose I’ll have some kind of cover?”

“Your present Air Force assignment will work fine as your cover,” Horton said. “I’ve already gotten an all-clear with your
superiors for you to maintain your office at the Pentagon, but your present OPI duties will be reassigned. You can expect
to do a lot of traveling.”

Steve laughed. “I can’t believe you already cleared this with the Air Force. I guess you were pretty confident that I was
going to accept your offer…?”

Horton grew solemn. “I was confident that when your country needed you, you’d
be
there.”

Herman Gold was in his office going over some figures with Don Harrison when his secretary interrupted to tell him that his
son was on the line. Gold put his finger to his lips to caution Harrison to remain quiet as he picked up the telephone.

“Steve!” Gold said, leaning back in his desk chair. “How are you, son?”

“Fine, Pop.”

“You know, Stevie, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about our idea concerning you getting involved with sales. I think the
sales department is going to be the best place for you to start—”

“Pop, slow down a minute,” Steve said.

“Yes, what is it?” Gold asked nervously, his son’s tone of voice warning him that something was up.

“Pop, I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to tell you this for the past week, but I guess there
is
no best way, so I might as well just spit it out: I’ve reconsidered my decision to leave the Air Force. I’m staying in.”

“But Stevie, I thought we’d worked it all out,” Gold protested. “I thought that you’d come to the conclusion that the Air
Force was a dead end for you—?”

“I thought it
was
, Pop, but something new has happened …”

“What do you mean, ‘new’?” Gold demanded. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me—”

“I know you don’t, Pop,” Steve said, sounding wistful. “But unfortunately I’m not allowed to tell you anymore about it. I
wish I could …” he added earnestly. “Someday I will be able to tell you, and when I do, I’m confident that you’ll think I
did the right thing …”

“This new assignment—or whatever it is—must be pretty important for you to change your mind like this,” Gold murmured.

“Pop, like I said, someday you’ll understand, and when you do, you’ll be proud …”

“I’ve
always
been proud of you,” Gold fondly chided him. You should know that by now.”

“Yeah, sure I do, Pop,” Steve said softly. “But just wait till I can tell you about
this
,” he added excitedly. “I
swear
it, Pop, you’re going to be proud of me in a whole
new
way. After this, nobody will be able to say I’m not fit for the executive suite …”

“Well, I waited this long for my son to join me,” Gold said philosophically. “I guess I can wait a little longer.”

“Thanks for understanding, Pop,” Steve said, sounding relieved. “Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a lot to do. Give my love
to Mom and Suzy. I’ll call home in a couple of days.”

“All right, son.”

“Bye, Pop.”

“Good-bye,” Gold said, and hung up the telephone.

“Well?” Don asked. “Did it work?”

“Like a charm.” Gold nodded. He pressed down on his intercom button, and told his secretary, “Get me Jack Horton.”