Top Gun (19 page)

On the other hand, Quint Peters, the senior sales director for Payn-Reese Motor Works, looked like a racetrack tout. He was
fortyish, and sleek as an otter in his skimpy, Italian designer sharkskin suit. Peters had thinning, slicked-back dark hair,
and one of those pencil mustaches like David Niven wore.

“Sorry to have kept you,” Lord Glass said after Sir Tobray had made the introductions all around and then retreated behind
his desk. “Peters here wanted me to take a look at something Payn-Reese has in development.” He sighed. “The traffic between
here and the Works was just horrendous.”

Gold nodded. Payn-Reese Motor Works was located in an industrial park twenty miles outside of London. Stoat-Black, on the
other hand, had its administrative offices right here in town. Gold thought it interesting that Lord Glass felt the need to
go all the way out to Payn-Reese today when he knew he had to be back in London for this meeting. What was so important to
see at Payn-Reese?

Gold saw a glimmer of hope. Was Payn-Reese experiencing production difficulties concerning the engine they’d designed for
the Pont and intended to sell to the U.S. airlines in lieu of the Rogers and Simpson turbofan?

“Gentlemen, please sit down,” Sir Lyndon invited, gesturing toward a trio of spindly, uncomfortable-looking Sheraton armchairs
arranged in a semicircle in front of his desk.

Gold instantly understood the symbolism: Sir Lyndon, by sheltering himself behind his desk, was signaling that he intended
merely to play the role of referee during this furball mix-up. Gold had been halfheartedly hoping for an ally in Sir Lyndon;
that the British government had realized how disastrously shortsighted Payn-Reese and S-B were being.

But it looks like this dogfight is going to be two against one after all.
Gold decided,
with Sir Lyndon acting merely as an observer on the ground to keep score.

“I’m rather surprised you felt it necessary to make this trip, Mr. Gold,” Quint Peters began. He took out a cigarette case
and opened it, politely holding it out to Gold, who saw that Peters’s cigarettes were filter-tipped. Gold shook his head,
extracted a pack of Pall Malls from his coat pocket, and lit one.

Peters was smiling. “Unless, of course, you’ve decided to submit to the inevitable concerning the Pont, and you’ve come to
visit Payn-Reese in order to commission us to design an engine for some new project GAT has in mind?”

Gold had no patience for this sort of coy bullshit. He’d been a fighter pilot, trained to hit and run. The tactic had always
served him well in the sky. He saw no reason to abandon the trait in the combat of negotiation.

“I’m here to keep Payn-Reese from making a big mistake,” Gold told Peters. “I’m here to tell you that GAT has a long memory.
You cross us now by muscling in on the Pont, you’ll be looking over your shoulder for some time to come.”

“Looking over our shoulder at you
behind us in success,
perhaps,” Quint Peters snapped, his eyes flashing. “But as for Payn-Reese being afraid of GAT”—his thin mustache wiggled
into a sneer—”I hardly think so, Mr. Gold. Like your country so recently in Indochina, GAT has become something of a paper
tiger—”

“Here, now.” Sir Lyndon dutifully tried to break in, but Peters was on a roll.

“Rattle your saber all you wish, Mr. Gold,” the representative from Payn-Reese continued. “But don’t be surprised if the other
side is armed with machine guns!”

“No need for tempers to flare,” Sir Lyndon interjected.

“That’s all right.” Gold nodded calmly. “I expected a bit of bluster from Payn-Reese. Maybe you’re trying to compensate for
your guilty conscience, Mr. Peters?”

“Guilty conscience over
what?”
Peters demanded. “My company was presented with a business opportunity and moved to take advantage of it. End of the matter.”

“I quite agree with Peters,” Lord Glass announced. He’d puffed alight a short-stemmed black briar pipe and was now sending
aromatic blue clouds of smoke wafting toward Sir Lyndon’s plaster-decorated ceiling. “This is just business, Mr. Gold.”

“Don’t hand me that cop-out!”

Lord Glass rolled his eyes. “I’d hoped that Donald Harrison might have seen fit to attend this meeting.”

“Mr. Harrison is attending to business in New York,” Gold said.

“Regrettable,” Lord Glass mumbled from around his pipe. “Mr. Harrison was involved in the Pont project from its beginning.
He
understands
the situation,” he added pointedly.

Meaning I don’t?
Gold thought, riled. “The situation as I see it is cut-and-dry,” he calmly replied.

Peters laughed sharply. “Yanks!” He shook his head.

Lord Glass said: “You see the situation wrongly, Mr. Gold, for it is neither cut nor dry. From the start of the Pont project,
there was ambiguity and controversy, protracted and at times heated discussion concerning the jetliner’s engines. Since the
French were doing the lion’s share of the work on the fuselage, and GAT was in charge of preliminary design and building the
wing, the British viewpoint was that an English company be given the opportunity to design and build the engine. It was GAT
that insisted that the job be given to an American firm, specifically Rogers and Simpson. At the time, GAT made several persuasive
arguments to that end that there was real doubt whether Payn-Reese or any other British motor works could produce a sufficiently
powerful engine within the desired time frame. Also, Aérosens was keen on the idea of involving an American engine concern
that our French partner might do business with on their own at some later time. Finally, we British accepted GAT’s argument
that if your firm was to be able to market the Pont in America, the jetliner would have to be perceived as a more American
product. Skytrain wanted the Pont jetliner to symbolize the post war reemergence of the European community as an industrial
power.” He shrugged, sighing. “But at GAT’s behest it was reluctantly decided to blur the Pont’s European origins.” Lord Glass
frowned at his pipe, which had gone out while he was busy talking. “Mr. Harrison would attest to as much
if
he were here.”

“I don’t dispute what you’ve said,” Gold replied. “On the contrary, I would only add that in exchange for getting what it
wanted, GAT allowed its consortium partners an extremely advantageous financial arrangement.”

“Quite so,” Lord Glass sanguinely acquiesced, stoking his pipe.

Gold shrugged. “So as I said, it’s cut and dry. You’re the one who said that this is just business. A deal’s a deal. The question
is, will Skytrain live up to it’s agreement?”

“Skytrain is living up to its agreement,” Lord Glass said. “GAT wanted Rogers and Simpson to build the Pont’s engines. That
company did. The fact that an English firm has since decided to venture into the market by offering an alternative engine
has nothing whatsoever to do with Skytrain.”

What a duplicitous crock of shit!
Gold thought. “Lord Glass, I’m prepared to leave that questionable statement on your part unchallenged for the moment, because
now I’d like to speak to you as the director of Stoat-Black rather than the British representative in Skytrain.”

Gold glimpsed Peters casting a worried look at Glass.
All right,
Gold thought.
It’s about time we got down to the nitty-gritty.

“For years Payn-Reese has been the exclusive supplier of aircraft engines to Stoat-Black,” Gold continued. “It’s perfectly
obvious that if your firm chose to do so, it could influence Payn-Reese to withdraw their proposed Pont engine. Why haven’t
you done that?”

“Stoat-Black has no desire to interfere in this matter,” Lord Glass said. “Why should we? Stoat-Black and Payn-Reese have
everything to gain and nothing to lose. The entire venture is being funded by an American company, Agatha Holding.”

“You know who that is,” Gold accused.

“I do indeed!” Lord Glass vigorously nodded. “What’s more, since I’m aware of the history between Mr. Campbell and your late
father, I know
why
Mr. Campbell has seen fit to wiggle his toes in GAT’s previously pristine pond, but that holds no relevance to us. Meanwhile,
if Payn-Reese should succeed in penetrating the American market, its enhanced cash flow will make it possible for the firm
to develop more advanced engines that will in the future power Stoat-Black’s airplanes. Also, if Payn-Reese’s venture is successful,
the company’s enhanced status as an international engine concern will make Stoat-Black’s current and future airplane offerings
more desirable to the American domestic market.”

“And that’s why you’re willing to stab GAT in the back?” Gold asked fiercely. He gestured to the display cases lining Sir
Lyndon’s office. “Over there are models and drawings of the Supershark World War Two pursuit plane and the GAT-SB Sea Dragon
flying boat, the first two products of the early collaboration between GAT and Stoat-Black. Back then, my father and Stoat-Black’s
own Sir Hugh Luddy created a revolutionary mutually advantageous partnership across the sea that has since flowered into Skytrain.”
Gold paused. “Lord Glass, a few moments ago you spoke of tradition: Are you now prepared to turn your back on the long tradition
between your company and mine?”

Lord Glass had been listening intently. Gold had high hopes that his remarks had hit home.

Lord Glass studied his pipe as he answered: “What has gone before does mean a great deal to me, Mr. Gold. Your father was
a great man.” His eyes flicked up to pinion Gold. “But your father is dead. Sir Hugh is dead. It is one thing to honor the
past, quite another to wallow in it. I count myself among the many in my country who believe that for too long the European
community has done just that: mourn past glory. If you’ll forgive me for saying this, Mr. Gold, I think that these days GAT
is also guilty of wallowing in the past.”

“You’re tragically mistaken,” Gold said fiercely. “You’re as wrong as Peters here was a minute ago: GAT is no paper tiger.”

Lord Glass looked embarrassed. “My information has it that your chief creditor, AVG, has become concerned about GAT’s ability
to repay its outstanding loan. That GAT has requested AVG to issue the company an extensive line of credit intended to counter
Tim Campbell’s offer to the air-lines. That AVG is unlikely to do so.”

“That’s not true!” Gold lied bravely. “AVG and GAT are in negotiations concerning the matter, and GAT is in negotiations with
another investment syndicate,” he added forcefully, remembering what Don had said during their last telephone conversation:
If Gold could bluff the English into backing down by making them
believe
that GAT had the financial resources to do battle with Tim Campbell, GAT would no longer
need
AVG to advance the line of credit. The first rule of threat management was that the bigger your gun, the less likely it was
that your adversary would force you to fire a shot.

“I think you’re mistaken on that, Mr. Gold,” Lord Glass said diplomatically. “You see, Mr. Gold, I also know that AVG is pressuring
you to pursue a cost-saving corporate restructuring that would drastically reduce—perhaps even eliminate—GAT’s presence in
the military market.”

More lies were rising up on Gold’s tongue, but he swallowed them down. Lord Glass clearly had his act together concerning
GAT’s financial situation. Bluffing was one thing; trying to convince a sane man that night was day was something else entirely.

“GAT has no intention of accepting AVG’s recommendations,” Gold said, and left it at that.

Lord Glass shrugged. “GAT is a company on the rocks, but Skytrain desires to extend a helping hand.”

“Meaning what?” Gold tried hard not to sound eager.

“I have spoken to my counterpart at Aérosens,” Lord Glass began. “In exchange for GAT withdrawing its opposition to Payn-Reese
in the American market, Skytrain will renegotiate the original profit-sharing agreement. GAT will be allowed to participate
in the Pont’s European and Third World markets’ payback in order to give GAT some interim relief from its financial woes.”

“You see the beauty of it, Mr. Gold,” Quint Peters spoke up. “Skytrain is prepared to help shoulder GAT’s financial burden
by allowing you a slice of the
whole
pie, not just that portion baked in America.”

Lord Glass said, “My advice to you, and to Mr. Harrison, is that you accept our offer, and live to fight another day.”

Skytrain’s offering a bribe to get GAT to back off.
Gold thought.
Why? It’s painfully obvious they’re holding all the cards, so what are they afraid of?

Gold glanced at Quint Peters. The Payn-Reese sales exec was watching him closely. Their eyes met, and Peters smiled, nodding
encouragement.

Gold thought: The cash flow to GAT from the Pont’s existing European and Third World sales would only serve to temporarily
balance the company’s books. GAT would gain only a little breathing room in which to figure out what to do next, or until
the DOD did or didn’t pull GAT’s bacon out of the fire. GAT was dying of thirst, but all Skytrain was willing to give was
a swallow of water to keep GAT alive a bit longer, while it hoped for rain.

The sad part was how much Gold wanted to accept the crummy little offer. How much he wanted to be able to telephone Don Harrison
and relay even this meager scrap of positive news that a backlog of funds from the Pont’s existing sales was forthcoming,
and that the wolf at GAT’s door might be temporarily appeased.

Lord Glass said, “Before you reply, Mr. Gold, you’d best realize that you’ve heard Stoat-Black’s final opinion on the matter,
and Skytrain’s best offer.”

Gold said, “Your offer is not acceptable, Lord Glass. GAT will abide by its original agreement with Skytrain, and GAT expects
Stoat-Black to abide by its moral responsibility to bring Payn-Reese to heel concerning this matter.”

“Why, of all the bloody gall,” Lord Glass murmured in astonished consternation as Gold stood up and strode out of the office.