Nancy Warren - Breakaway

“I would have made it,” he said with the simple certainty of a man who had the tenacity to set his sights on a goal and pursue it single-mindedly. He had the smarts and the right temperament. What he didn’t have were the ears. He’d been ridiculously successful at everything he’d set his mind to. Except his dream.

“Life didn’t turn out too bad for you,” Adam said. “I bet most astronauts would trade their jobs for the billions you’re worth.”

Max shrugged. “I’d take the trade.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Money was easy to make in Max’s experience. Even though he couldn’t take part in space missions he’d studied astrophysics and invented a climate-control system that was eventually purchased by NASA. He’d refined his system and licensed it to most of the world’s major airlines. Obscenely rich at thirty-five, he now spent his time working as a venture capitalist. Money wasn’t the problem. If he had a problem, he suspected that it was boredom.

“Bought any companies lately?” Dylan asked.

“As a matter of fact, I am thinking of buying an airline.”

“I hope it’s a big American one because I have to tell you, last time I flew—”

“Nope. It’s called Polar Air.”

“Polar Air? Are you kidding me? Sounds like an air-conditioning system.”

“Well, it’s an airline. A small outfit that operates in Alaska.”

“If I had your money I’d buy yachts. And really big jewelry for bathing-suit models.” Dylan shook his head. “You buy Bush League air.”

“And that’s why he’s rich and you’re not,” Adam said.

“What about you, smart-ass?” Max said to Dylan. “What would you have if you were granted one wish? And no world peace for you, either.”

“Or Max’s billions.”

Dylan grinned, his teeth gleaming white in the firelight. He thought for a moment then grew serious. “I’d choose a superpower, obviously. Superstrength? X-ray vision? I can never decide.”

“Come on, dude. Quit messing around.”

Adam said, “You know, I think he’s being serious.”

“Bet your ass I am.”

Max shook his head and asked Adam, “Why are we friends with this guy?”

“Comic relief?” Adam tipped his head to the side and caught the coffee cup that came flying toward him. Having a serious conversation with Dylan was like talking physics with a golden retriever.

Dylan stood, stretched his arms high. “Well, one thing is for sure, I’m still in the running for Last Bachelor Standing and the odds are getting shorter.”

Max laughed. “It’s down to you and me now, buddy. And I play to win.”

* * *

MAX RETURNED TO his office in Hunter, Washington, after his long weekend of kayaking and found that, as usual, everything was running smoothly. His staff looked happy to see him, but it wasn’t like there was a lineup of people needing his input.

He was smart enough to hire the best people he could find to work for him. He gave them autonomy, paid them well and was generous in praise and bonuses. As a result, his staff members were loyal, hardworking and proactive. His business ran like clockwork, his wealth grew exponentially every day.

Varo Enterprises was so successful it even had an entire division devoted to funding charities and worthy causes.

And Maximilian Varo, CEO of Varo Enterprises, was bored.

After a meeting with his key people at which he mostly agreed with their suggestions and approved decisions and expenditures, he asked Leslie Adamson, the manager he’d put in charge of the Polar Air acquisition, how it was going. Leslie pulled out the relevant file. “It’s going all right. It’s a pretty small deal by our standards. Shouldn’t be any problem buying for the right price and then putting in some good people to turn it around.” She flipped back a few pages in the file. “Polar Air used to be a successful regional airline. Started in the ’50s with a couple of bush pilots, husband and wife. Lynette and Carl Lundstrom.

“They flew supplies to hunting and fishing lodges, carried mail, flew equipment to logging and mining operations. Got bigger, and more successful. They flew hikers, hunters, geologists, kayakers all over Alaska. Then in the last five years things have gone south. The recession had an impact, but they are way behind on payments to suppliers and they aren’t keeping up with the times. We think there’s plenty of business that they aren’t going after. The fleet’s in good shape, there’s a small but loyal customer base. Could be a turnaround candidate to flip or we could keep it, maybe look at further acquisitions, expand as a regional airline.”

He knew all about the financials of Polar Air. Max never bought a business he didn’t understand and believe in. The small airline had some troubles, but the equipment was good, the pilots well trained. “You’re right. The airline should be more successful.”

Leslie nodded. “I don’t like not knowing what the problems really are. What we need is somebody on the ground.”

“Or in the air,” he said.

Leslie agreed. “They’ve got an opening for a pilot. Somebody with a commercial pilot’s license and some smarts could find out what’s going on from inside the operation.”

Some of his boredom began to lift. “You think we could get somebody in there?”

“My contact would definitely put in a good word with the management of Polar Air if we had a pilot. Sure.”

“Then do it. I know just the person.”

Max had learned to fly in high school, working construction in the summers so he could afford lessons. He’d trained for his commercial pilot’s license a decade later. Even though his life had taken a different turn, he kept his license current. He owned a Cessna and an Otter and flew at every opportunity. He didn’t have a ton of hours logged in Alaska but he had plenty logged in Washington and Oregon and he figured that had to count.

He was sure that Leslie would make it happen. She was that good.

She didn’t even question his suitability for the bush-pilot job because she knew that he was also that good.

Max was about to do the thing he loved best. He was going to fly.

* * *

CLAIRE LUNDSTROM FLEW the Beaver floatplane over Spruce Bay, cruising along with the air currents. Her passengers, a father and son from Tennessee, were headed for Takwalnot, a wilderness fishing lodge, for a week. The dad, Don Carpenter, sat in the back, eyes glued to the rattling window. His son, Kyle, sat beside her in the front seat. He was eighteen and trying to be cool, but she could tell it was a thrill for him to be flying beside the pilot, enjoying an aerial view of some of the most spectacular scenery in the world. All three of them were linked by headsets.

“You picked a great day to fly,” she said, enjoying the sunshine as much, or more, than her passengers. “That’s Mount McKinley in the distance,” she said. It was magnificent, snow-capped and majestic. She glanced down. Smiled. “Look to your left,” she said. “See the whales?”

She dropped the plane lower, took a pass over a pod of grays breaching and playing in the water. Sun sparkled off a dorsal fin and one of the whales surfaced, blowing a plume of mist into the air. “Look,” cried Kyle. “You can see the whole body under the water.” Cameras came out and father and son had a moment of bonding. She imagined that was the point of the trip.

She never got tired of this. Of sharing the place she loved with those who came to visit. She turned and took another pass so her clients could enjoy watching the whales at play, banked the plane so Don could get a clearer photo. Then she turned and headed for the lodge.

“You’re a fine pilot, ma’am, thank you,” Don Carpenter said as she unloaded their fishing gear onto the dock.