She wasn't used to push back. Certainly not from the help. Listen to me very carefully. I have a board of directors trying to oust me, a European conglomerate trying to steal my supply chain, and a migraine that is splitting my skull. The last thing I need is a janitor playing aviation expert.
Stick to the windshields. Or what? If you're so smart, why don't you fly my jet? She didn't wait for an answer. She turned on her heel and marched up the stairs into the plush, temperature-controlled cabin.
Harris glared at Arthur. Clean up your gear and get out of here, Hayes. Before I have you fired. Arthur stood perfectly still as the pilot climbed the stairs and pulled the heavy acoustic door shut. The lock engaged with a heavy thud.
Arthur looked down at the red drop of fluid staining the wet concrete. He wiped his hands with his rag, his face entirely unreadable."Have a nice flight. " He muttered to the empty air. An hour later, the world fell apart. Arthur was in the break room, a cinder block box smelling of stale coffee and microwave ramen.
He was rubbing his temples, trying to calculate if he could afford to buy Lily the new winter coat she wanted, or if he'd have to patch the old one again. Through the small window overlooking the FBO lounge, he saw the chaos unfold. The Gulfstream hadn't taken off. It was still sitting on the apron, auxiliary power unit screaming. But the airstair was down again.
Paramedics were rushing through the double doors of the terminal hauling a gurney out into the freezing rain. Arthur stood up, walking to the glass. They were pulling someone out of the jet. It was Captain Harris. He was conscious, but pale as a ghost, clutching his chest, an oxygen mask strapped over his face.
Stress, terrible diet, and the sheer pressure of flying a tyrant had finally cashed their check. Behind the paramedics, Diana Mercer descended the stairs. For the first time that morning, she didn't look entirely in control. She had a phone glued to her ear, pacing wildly on the tarmac, her coat whipping in the rising wind. The weather had turned violent.
The forecast had predicted a standard winter mix, but it had rapidly devolved into a brutal nor'easter. Freezing rain lashed against the break room window, turning the glass into a sheet of ice. Arthur watched for a moment, then grabbed his thermos and walked out into the terminal lobby. The FBO manager, a sweaty, anxious man named Tom, was backed into a corner behind the polished mahogany reception desk. Diana was leaning over the counter, dismantling him verbally."What do you mean there are no reserve pilots?
" Diana demanded, her voice echoing off the high ceilings."I pay for a platinum tier management contract. You are supposed to have crew on standby. " "Ms. Mercer, please. " Tom stammered, frantically typing on his keyboard."Under normal circumstances, yes, but the weather. JFK and Newark just initiated ground stops.
Teterboro is still technically open, but crosswinds are gusting to 40 knots. No charter company is going to authorize a flight in this, and finding a pilot rated for a G650 who is currently sober, legally rested, and willing to fly into a blizzard, it's impossible. " "I don't deal in impossible. " She said, her voice dropping to a dangerous hiss."If I am not in Zurich by tonight, a $2 billion merger collapses. I will buy this entire facility just to bulldoze it with you inside.
Find me a pilot. " I I can't. The FAA regulations, by the fines. I'll pay double their rate, triple. It's not about money, ma'am.
No one is going to risk their license or their life in this weather without proper prep. Diana stepped back. Running a hand through her perfectly styled hair, ruining it. She looked out the massive plate glass windows at her jet. It was fueled.
It was ready. It was useless. She looked like a general watching her army desert her on the eve of battle. I'll fly it. The voice came from behind her.
Calm, deep, entirely devoid of the panic that filled the room. Diana spun around. Standing there, holding a dented metal thermos, was the line technician. Arthur. He had taken off his heavy coveralls, wearing a faded flannel shirt and work jeans.
She stared at him, her brain failing to process the interruption. Excuse me? I said, I'll fly it. Arthur took a sip of his coffee. I know the G650.
I know the avionics suite. And I can get you out of here before the tower officially closes the runway, which, looking at that radar, will happen in about 20 minutes. Diana let out a bitter, exhausted sound. It wasn't quite a laugh. Are you insane or just exceptionally stupid?
I told you to stay out of my way. She turned back to the manager. Tom, get this lunatic out of my sight before I call the police. Tom swallowed hard. Arthur, come on, man.
Go back to the break room. Arthur didn't move. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn leather wallet. He flipped it open and tossed a small, heavy plastic card onto the mahogany counter. It landed with a sharp clack.
Diana ignored it. Tom, however, looked down. The manager's eyes widened. He picked up the card, squinting at the fine print."Airline transport pilot certificate. " Tom read aloud, his voice trembling slightly."Multi-engine land, instrument airplane.
" He flipped it over, reading the type ratings. His jaw actually went slack."Boeing 737, 747, 777, Gulfstream V, G550, G650, and what the hell is this? " Tom looked up at Arthur, completely bewildered."You have experimental ratings and a military jet sign-off. " Diana finally looked at the card, then up at Arthur. The arrogant sneer was gone, replaced by profound confusion."You're a pilot?
" "I was. " Arthur said quietly."A long time ago. If you're a captain rated for heavy metal, why are you scrubbing tires for minimum wage? " Diana demanded, her suspicious nature instantly taking over."Did you lose your medical? Did you drink on the job?
Did you crash? " Arthur's eyes hardened. For a fraction of a second, Diana saw something terrifying in them. A deep, abyssal grief mixed with an iron will. It made her take a half step back."I lost my wife.