John Nance - Headwind

Lacey looked up at last. “I’m terribly sorry, but we cannot offer you passage on our airline today.”

“And why would that be, Mr. Lacey?” Jay asked, struggling unsuccessfully to keep an acidic edge from his voice. “Has any official agency of the Irish Government given you a directive? Because if they have, I can assure you it’s not legal.”

“Not the government.”

“Who, then?”

Lacey was perspiring and obviously nervous. “Won’t you please sit a minute?”

“No,” Jay snapped. “You’re running an airline here and President Harris is attempting to pay you several thousand dollars for passage as a member of the public, and you possess no legal right to deny that passage. You’re playing with the potential for a massive lawsuit, sir.”

“I’m not making the decisions here, Mr…”

“Reinhart. Jay Reinhart. I’m the President’s lawyer.”

“Yes. Of course, Mr. Reinhart.” He extended his hand but Jay refused to take it, and Lacey lowered it in embarrassment.

“Well, you see, the bottom line is, the chairman of my company has instructed me that regardless of threats or consequences, I may not sell any tickets to President Harris today.”

“Or tomorrow?” Jay asked.

“Until further notice. I do not know why.”

“Very convenient,” Jay snapped.

John Harris gently put a hand on Jay’s arm.

“We understand this is out of your discretion, Mr. Lacey,” the President said. “But you are telling us that you are not authorized to give me an explanation?”

Lacey pulled a piece of note paper from a suit coat pocket and handed it over with a slightly shaking hand. “I was told to ask you to call Mr. O’Day at this number, sir. That’s our chairman, and he will explain.”

“Very well.”

“Wait a minute, John. It’s not all right! I’ll get an injunction against this and…”

“No, Jay. Let’s go. Thank you, Mr. Lacey.”

“You’re welcome to use the phone in here,” Lacey said.

John Harris shook his head. “I fail to see the point, sir, of talking to your chairman or anyone else at this airline. I’m either welcome on your airline or I’m not, and clearly you’ve established the latter, and clearly you’ve accepted all the potential liability that may be attached thereto.”

“I… suppose so,” Lacey stammered. He led them back to the main terminal floor and departed with another mumbled apology. Sherry had waited by the door she’d seen them enter earlier. Jay heatedly explained the situation.

“I’m going to talk to Delta. Wait here,” he said.

He returned fifteen minutes later, red-faced and angry. “Delta’s Dublin manager claims Irish immigration will fine them if they allow you to leave while a criminal matter is pending, but the local manager can’t give me a name or number of any immigration personnel he’s talked to, nor will he give me the number of anyone in Atlanta at their company headquarters. That’s garbage, of course.”

“I rather expected this, Jay,” John Harris said quietly.

“I didn’t, and it’s outrageous!”

John Harris motioned to Jay and Sherry to follow him and they walked to an alcove near the front of the terminal, where the President turned and leaned close to them.

“Yes, it’s outrageous, but we all know this is Stuart’s doing, and we knew we could expect something like this. He’s managed to intimidate them with thinly veiled threats of litigation or potential government sanctions and, of course, they’re going to do what any doubtful company would do, which is: err on the side of caution.”

“Sounds like you’re excusing them, John,” Jay said.

The President shook his head. “As I told you last night, never underestimate Stuart Campbell. He’s a genuine Lamont Cranston, with the ability to cloud men’s minds.”

Jay looked puzzled. “Who?”

John Harris smiled. “Lamont Cranston. You have to be over fifty to remember the name, Jay. An old radio show.”

“Oh.”

John Harris looked over his shoulder at the front drive, then back at them. “Let’s get back to the hotel. We can sort out the next move from there.”

“I’m glad you’re taking this calmly, Mr. President,” Jay said.

Harris met his eyes. “Only on the surface, Jay. Inside is a different matter.”

Alastair Chadwick was sipping a glass of orange juice when he spotted Craig Dayton walking into the hotel restaurant in jeans and a white shirt, looking smug.

“You’re smiling,” he pointed out.

“Yes,” Craig agreed, offering no other explanation.

“Are Jillian, Ursula, and Elle going to join us?”

“Jillian will be down in a few minutes,” Craig said. “I don’t know about the other two.”

“So, do I detect canary feathers around the corners of your mouth?” Alastair asked, as dryly as possible.

Craig sat down and motioned to a nearby waiter, pointing to his coffee cup before looking at Alastair.

“Canary feathers?”

“As in, the cat that ate the canary. In other words, you seem insufferably pleased with yourself.”

“I do? Well, I just had a very strange conversation with our chief pilot.”

“Really? Strange? Craig, any conversation with Herr Wurtschmidt is, by definition, strange. The man’s a raving paranoid with delusions of adequacy.”

“Maybe, but he told me to carry on, and said he’d fax me the charter papers for customs in Iceland, Canada, and the U.S., if our client decides to go.”

Alastair looked stunned. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

The copilot shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Craig, last night we cost the British Government a few quid, to say the least, by sending them on a wild goose chase for a missing aircraft that wasn’t. He doesn’t know?”

“Oh, he knows, but he accepted my explanation,” Craig said, stealing a piece of Alastair’s toast and dumping a small pitcher of cream into his freshly poured coffee.

“Aha!” Alastair said, raising his remaining slice of toast for emphasis. “Now we get to the truth! You flummoxed him once more!”

“I’m sorry, what ? Oh! You’re into Britspeak again, aren’t you?”

“Flummoxed. Bamboozled. Pulled the wool. Messed with his mind.”

“Oh, yeah. Mind messing. That one I got.”

“Craig, what in heaven’s name did you tell him?”

“I simply told him…” Craig began, as he searched the menu and drew out the suspense.

“Yes? What?”

“I told him that we’d cancelled our instrument clearance in order to stay in international airspace to prevent diplomatic problems, and for some reason London Center couldn’t hear our subsequent radio calls.”

“That’s all?”

“Well… I might have told him… or might have somehow suggested… that we were operating on direct orders from the Royal Air Force and the White House.”

“Direct…?”

“Direct orders. I told him it was classified. He said he didn’t want to know.”

“Yes, I imagine. Nor would I.”

“He’s beginning to act like Schultz, in Hogan’s Heroes . Did you ever see that show? Remember old Schultz? Whenever Hogan or his guys would pull something, Schultz would scream: I know nothing !”

“I think I envy Schultz. So… we’re still employed for a few more hours?”

“For a few more hours. Wanna go to Maine?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“So… what’s the determining factor for a ‘go, no-go’ decision?”

“Primarily, whether or not President Harris is able to get out of here on a commercial flight. If he can’t, then the decision depends on the weather, the upper-level winds, careful flight planning, and the possibility that someone will find a way to refuse us departure clearance.”