| Subject: Storm Clouds Part One |
Author:
Karen
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Date Posted: 18:17:17 11/24/07 Sat
In reply to:
Karen
's message, "Storm Clouds" on 18:16:06 11/24/07 Sat
Storm Clouds
Part One
Somewhere North of Union Station
October 31, 2003
22:20
There’d been more than his fair share of ‘interesting’ days during his career, but this one was just plain bizarre.
Released by the Agency this morning, he wasn’t feeling very pleased with the world in general. Since he’d been forced to move it, his bi-plane was hangared three hundred miles away. Too far away for the comfort of a long lazy flight on the spur of the moment. Instead, he’d spent the day picking at the strings of his guitar and wallowing in his misery. Initially, he’d not allowed the depression to reach deep enough to make him drink, that group of spies wasn’t worth his liver. But later developments put a whole new face on his life. He was having second thoughts about that drink.
Shortly after dinner, Mac had showed up at his door. The information railroad certainly worked fast for an agency that was supposed to keep secrets. She wanted him back at JAG to help her sort out some mess with Carolyn Imes. The idea of working as a civilian contractor in a place where he’d been the alpha dog so long appealed to him about as much as digging worms. However, it was income, something he was sorely in need of at the moment. That trip to Paraguay on his own nickel had left him with a sorry excuse for a bank account. Given no alternative, he’d grudgingly accepted.
As Mac was leaving, Catherine unexpectedly dropped in, and something he was too drained to think about transpired between the women. It didn’t help his mood in the least when a few minutes later he’d offered a genuine proposal of marriage to Catherine, and she’d made it fairly clear she thought he was too much of a mess for her to deal with. Maybe not in those words, but that was essentially her meaning.
And now, this odd phone call. An old flying buddy. No one he was ever really close to, but they were both Navy fliers so that made them buddies of a sort. ‘Chip’ Davis was several years older and had naturally resented Harm’s admittedly hotshot attitude. In his cockiest moments, Harm had relegated Chip’s attitude to jealousy of his natural flying ability. But then, everyone knew where that bit of arrogance had taken him.
They’d certainly never been friends, so why this sudden interest in his welfare? Chip had offered the possibility of a job flying for Trans Union Air, the airline that he’d joined when he left the Navy. It was the largest and most financially solvent airline in the US, perhaps the world.
Now what could conceivably have inspired the older pilot to even think of Harm? Of course, it wasn’t as though his career had ever been low key. He’d been on CNN more times than he cared to remember. Something the Agency couldn’t overlook when it happened on their watch. Maybe that was it. ‘Chip’ had probably seen the news and realized the consequences. Had the broadcast specifically identified him as CIA? Harm didn’t really know. What little he’d heard about it was second hand. It had only played once before the Agency jerked it off the air. But the damage was done. He had been identified to the world.
Harm briefly mulled this coincidence. It couldn’t hurt to talk to the man. He wasn’t feeling curious enough to give it much more thought tonight, but it was enough to make him hop a morning flight to their Dallas hub for an interview. The alternatives were far less attractive. Mac’s contract work at JAG, or go out and try to find a job with a civilian law firm. He taunted himself with the idea that he could always go fly crop dusters.
Thinking about everything that had happened this evening, he reconsidered. He deserved a drink if anyone ever did. After pouring himself a stiff one, he found the first taste immediately soured his stomach. He threw the remainder down the sink and went to bed. He would call Mac in the morning, that way he could just leave a message at her office. There might be a moment of perverse pleasure in turning her down, but he didn’t really want to talk to her.
Reagan National Airport
Parking garage
0712
“Hi, Mac, it’s Harm. Not going to be able to make it this morning. I’ve got a plane to catch in twenty minutes…”
“Harm? What’s going on?” She picked up.
“Oh…uh… Hi,” he was taken off guard. “I got a job offer last night, after I talked to you. A real job offer,” he emphasized. “I’m going out of town for a few days.” That wasn’t exactly true, it was an overnight flight, but he didn’t want to field phone calls the minute he walked back in his door. If this offer turned out to be viable, he wanted some breathing room to think about it. “In any case, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll give you a call, but don’t count on it,” he continued haughtily.
“I ‘was’ counting on you, Harm. You know these files better than anyone in the office. This will be difficult at best, but without your help, it will be nearly impossible. This has really hit the Admiral hard.”
Interesting, she didn’t give the smallest thought to what it might mean to him.
“Sorry. I need something permanent in my life, Mac. I…this may be a good opportunity. I wasn’t the one responsible for checking Imes’ qualifications. Maybe the Admiral can dig up someone else to help out.” He could hardly believe the spiteful feelings welling up inside, but he couldn’t stop himself from what he was saying.
“Harm, that’s not fair. Admiral Chegwidden inherited Imes from Brovo. You know that.”
“Well, then, re-call Brovo out of retirement to help,” he threw out. He was on the defensive when he shouldn’t have been. The conversation was getting away from him and he didn’t like it.
“Look, Harm, could we talk about this? I don’t even know where you’re going or what job you’re applying for,” she sounded more conciliatory now, and somewhat concerned. The concept of private militias had crossed her mind. Her stomach churned at the idea of Harm as a ‘soldier of fortune’. “Could you come by when you get back? We could work something out for you. I know the Admiral would really appreciate your help.”
That did it. She just didn’t get it. “Somehow I can’t really bring myself to care what the Admiral wants, Mac,” the edge in his voice hardened.
“Oh, Harm,” she sighed, “then we really do need to talk about all this, and …”
“I don’t want to talk anymore. We’ve talked about all of this time and again. We never say what the other one wants to hear, and we wind up right back where we started. Then just about the time I think we might be close to something you take off. I doubt you’ve ever even considered what it did to me that night in May, when you walked out my door. I’d only just been released from an accusation of murdering a pregnant woman and there you stood looking just as pregnant and telling me you were off to somewhere you might get yourself killed. Can you even begin to understand the visual I had there, Mac?”
“Harm, I’m sorry,” she stumbled. She was unaccustomed to apologizing, but she’d never experienced Harm in a mood like this before. It put her off balance. “I guess I just didn’t think about it. It never occurred to me you would feel that way. Please call me when you get back.”
“I don’t think so, Mac. Let’s just forget everything. There’s no point in talking anymore.” He was thundering under a full head of steam, as exasperated with himself as with her and the Admiral. You could throw Webb into the lot for good measure. He’d never have guessed he could turn loose of that dark thought, or those emotions to her, but it felt like a weight had lifted. Before he talked himself into a soul baring session, he rushed to finish what he started. “I need to find a new direction, and this opportunity may be just what I’m looking for. I’ll let you know if I need the Admiral’s charity. Take care of yourself, Mac,” he offered, but his tone was too harsh to be sincere. It sounded as though he were silently adding ‘you always do’. Harm savagely pushed the off button on his cell phone, and headed for the Trans Union VIP terminal.
Office of James ‘Chip’ Davis
Trans Union Airlines Corporate Headquarters
Dallas, Texas
1030
“Sit down, Harm. How’s it going?”
“Just great. Nothing like being fired twice in one year to make your ego soar,” he answered acerbically, sitting across from his old squadron mate.
Chip had been a flight leader in the first squadron Harm was assigned to, but he hadn’t made a career of the Navy. He’d served the required years, then took a plum job with Trans Union at a time when they were expanding rapidly. It was one of several leading airlines then, but over the years, the major competition had fallen away for one reason or another. Trans Union had somehow survived and grown. Chip had always positioned himself perfectly to take advantage of the next opportunity offered him. Now he held the title of director in charge of recruiting and training pilots for this premier airline. In other words, an airborne headhunter.
Chip took Harm’s answer for what it was worth. “Hmm, I heard you resigned the first time.”
“Technically, yeah, but that’s water under the bridge. Why’d you ask me here?” Harm’s dismal mood wasn’t softening.
“I want to offer you a job,” his old acquaintance answered without guile.
“As what? A second seat on a route from nowhere?” Harm scoffed. He hated himself for his negative attitude, but he just couldn’t overcome it. It was all too fresh, still too sore.
“Not exactly. I was thinking of a left seat, and although you may not care for where you’re based, it doesn’t have to be forever,” the other man answered with equanimity.
“You can’t do that,” Harm challenged. “You hire me into a left seat with my flight time and experience you’ll have every pilot at Trans Union Air screaming to their union reps.”
“I see you know the drill,” Chip returned, watching him closely.
“I have more than one friend who went to work flying tour busses,” was the sullen response.
Chips smile tightened, these damn cocky fighter jocks. Sometimes they got under his skin. They weren’t all like that, but the ones that were really pissed him off.
“You might change your tune when you see just how much responsibility you have getting people from one place to another safely. Sometimes it can be a real zoo up there.”
“Okay, if you say so,” Harm relented slightly, with a defensive sigh. He didn’t even have the will or energy to argue the point.
After all, what else was he going to do with himself? In the end, at least he’d still be flying. If he could only let go of his animosity. He wasn’t angry with Chip, he was just angry with the whole world right now. He’d get over it, eventually, but maybe this wasn’t the best time for a job interview. Especially, not for a job he might actually enjoy if he allowed himself. He was being too argumentative, too resentful.
“Say you might have a way to make it work, and I accept, I still don’t see how you can do it. In the first place, I don’t have enough recent flight hours on the books to operate the airplane rides at the state fair,” his tone remained pouty, but at least his words left the opportunity for further conversation.
Chip chuckled wryly. “A bit of an exaggeration, but I’m not thinking about the ‘open’ books, Harm. Do you really think I believe the Navy let you keep your flight status all those years just because you love to fly?”
That hit Harm below the belt. He hadn’t expected anyone to know about that. He didn’t think anyone ever suspected. He’d even kept it hidden from Mac. The Admiral was naturally briefed, his personal disapproval remained evident in his attitude, but no one else knew. “What do you mean?” he bluffed.
“Don’t ask me what I know, Harm, because I won’t tell you how I know. Some of it is just suspicion and deduction, but it adds up. They used you for years to fly missions they couldn’t put on the books. Things that had to be done, but that they couldn’t take the chance anyone would notice. How often did you get called to take a ‘check ride’ or ‘ferry a Tomcat’? How many times did your ‘quals’ last twice as long and happen twice as often as anyone else’s, then take you places a qualifying flight wouldn’t go near? And on the same subject, where have you been the last five months? If you can land a C-130 on an aircraft carrier, I think we can count on your ability to fly our planes.”
A cold chill ran through Harm, but he quickly hardened himself again. “You saw that? You’re guessing,” he accused, sticking his chin out stubbornly. “You don’t know anything.”
“Don’t I?” Davis half chuckled. “You’re not denying it.”
“Maybe,” Harm shrugged. “But even if it were true you can’t use that stuff to qualify me for the job. Trans Union wouldn’t accept it.”
“No, you’re right about that, but you won’t be flying for Trans Union. At least not right away.”
“Now don’t tell me you’re in the business of covert missions, too.” Harm raised a mocking eyebrow. “Kinda hard to sneak around in a jumbo full of tourists,” he ventured derisively, glancing quickly at the other man’s face from the corner of his eye.
Chip laughed out loud at that picture. This face of Harm was so out of character, and the visual he’d created was so ludicrous, it deserved a laugh. He was gratified when a smile finally cracked Harm’s façade, and hearty laughter followed.
Harm just couldn’t hang on to the negative mood, no matter how hard he tried. At least, not with someone who was trying to offer him a solid future. Maybe, when he left here it would return, but right now, his frame of mind had nearly re-centered itself.
“You ready to listen now?” Chip asked when they finally stopped chuckling.
“Yeah, go ahead, my calendars empty for today. I might as well hear you out,” was the only faintly cynical reply.
Harm wondered if Chip knew the details of his job with the CIA, too. Doubtless he did, he seemed to have sources a little more reliable than a ‘good guess’. In the five months he’d flown for them he’d logged close to 1500 hours. An unheard of amount in the private sector, it had been dirty, dangerous, and exhausting, and a dismissal was the thanks he’d received. Adding that to his time as a fighter pilot, and the ‘missions’ that ‘never happened’, he knew he had not only enough flight hours, but experience in enough different planes to do the job being offered. Hell, he’d probably have to fight to stay awake it would be so tame. No, that was wrong. He knew it was his depression talking. He’d never take his position in the cockpit of an aircraft as anything less than deadly serious.
“Okay,” Chip leaned forward. “Here’s the deal. We’re buying out Platinum Commuter Flights and we need a few more good pilots.”
“Really?” Harm was surprised by the entire statement. “Platinum is that hotshot upcoming commuter airline. They’re small, but aggressive,” he commented thoughtfully, but for no particular reason. Frank had advised him to buy stock in the small airline, but instead Harm had invested in a trip to Paraguay.
“Too aggressive, that’s the problem. They’ve been operating in the red trying to expand too quickly. They’ve had a few mishaps.” He held up a hand to forestall interruption, then continued, “No…nothing that involved the planes in flight…so far…, but a lot of bungled scheduling, and messed up ground ops. Passengers have missed numerous connections; recent weather issues caused multiple canceled flights, and some serious screw-ups. Their operation is destabilizing. They’re stretched too thin. The stockholders are getting panicky, and the bank has lost patience. They won’t finance the airline any longer. They’re looking for someone to bail them out.”
“Trans Union Airways to the rescue, huh?” Harm smirked. The airline industry was a cutthroat business. Too bad, he’d heard good things about the small startup. Six months ago, he’d considered applying with them, just before he got the call from Langley. His hand cradled the side of his head, a finger rubbed over his lips. His mind darted about assimilating all he’d heard, trying to figure where he fit.
“Okay, it sounds interesting, but, I still don’t see how this will get me a left seat job, even if you could use all those phantom flight hours you seem to think I have.”
“We don’t want to give up any of Platinum’s gates, and we don’t want to cut back the flights, in fact we want to expand them. That means increasing jobs. With care, some reorganizing, and a fresh infusion of capital, we can stabilize the company, but it also means replacing 25% to 40% of the flight and ground staff. We anticipate approximately 15% will bail, looking for immediate stability elsewhere. A few are set to take early retirement, and a small cross-section of their employees are substandard. They have too many mistakes on their records and won’t meet our criteria.”
“And I will?”
“Regardless of what’s on paper, Harm, I happen to know you’re one of the best who ever took control of an airplane. Your record meets the minimum requirements for the job and whatever I can’t prove with that, you’ll more than make up for on your flight test. We’ve made a few deals with the union over the open jobs. They want to protect existing jobs, but they can see the consequences of having the entire airline fold. We won’t dismiss anyone without a thorough review, but some of them have to go…already have in some cases. We can hire who we want, or shuffle people the way we see fit, as long as we’re fair, but only during the merger. Without these concessions, we couldn’t make it work either.”
“There’s bound to be first officers with Platinum who want those jobs,” Harm objected.
“Sure, some will get them, some don’t qualify,” Chip shrugged.
“What about your own crews? The chance to change seats should certainly appeal to the pilots who’ve waited years to be Captain,” Harm continued to argue.
“Maybe, a few, but less than you think in this case. First, it would mean only a small increase in pay. In addition, the benefits are good, but not up to TU standards. Most aren’t seeing it as worth the risk. The routes aren’t as interesting. Right seat on a 777 to London or Paris still looks a lot better than left seat on a three hundred mile route to Raleigh-Durham. For them, it would mean changing bases and moving their families. In addition, Platinum basically flies the smaller planes. Mostly regional jets and a couple dozen MD-80’s. No jumbos to work up to,” he added with a smile. “Finally, they don’t want to lose their seniority by changing companies.”
“I thought this was a merger,” Harm challenged.
“Mmmm, well not exactly. It may work out that way in time, and those who didn’t take the chance will miss out. We’re maintaining it as a separate company for now, but it could wind up just being a reorganization. We might decide to sell it off as an individual entity once it’s solvent. Our people don’t want to suddenly find themselves working for a stranger. The other alternative is we might keep it under the corporate umbrella, but continue to operate it as a totally separate company. Initially, we have a takeover date of three months. At the moment we officially take the reins, everyone who was an employee of the old Platinum Commuter Flights becomes a new hire of Trans-Platinum Air.
“With the exception of their most senior and select pilots whose names will go on the roster first, anyone hiring in or moving to that airline after that date starts over with new seniority status. And before you ask, yes, it might be a higher status, but if we sell and they want to move back later they’d go to the bottom of the roster. The only way we can easily get rid of the bad apples is to re-establish the airline as a new company and make them all re-qualify for their jobs. The ones that fail…” Chip shrugged eloquently.
“Whewww,” Harm whistled. “Big business makes flying into combat look like child’s play. Makes sense that no one wants to move. So, what’s the upside? Other than the obvious which is I desperately need a job. What’s in it for me?”
“First and foremost a very comfortable paycheck,” Chip smiled agreement. “Second I can hire you now, begin your training, and immediately place your name on a transfer request. Your ‘physical’ transfer in three months will put you on the list right behind the pilots we retain from the former company. But you’ll be ahead of anyone we hire after you, or anyone who chooses to transfer later. There are about 35% of the existing Platinum pilots who are excellent; the rehire process will be just a formality for them. There are others who may make it through the re-qualification process, but they may only qualify for the right seat. That will put some noses out of joint, but Trans Union will only allow pilots who are absolutely solid. You’ll take your place behind those current pilots who are rehired, of course.”
“Of course.”
“After that, it depends on what happens with the business end,” he waved a casual hand. “If we absorb Platinum, you become a Trans Union left-seater with low seniority. If we sell it, or retain it as a separate corporate entity, you have a choice later. Stay with them and keep your position or move over to Trans Union and go to the bottom of the roster of pilots, probably in a right seat position. Either way you have a good job, something you don’t have now,” he pointed out without rancor.
End part one
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