by Max Hennessy
* * *
Time was important suddenly. The weather over the Atlantic seemed to be improving rapidly, despite the layer of cloud along the coast, and at once everyone began to keep his own counsel, and the rumours of take-off multiplied as they tried to rush the final preparations for the Courtney.
Since they’d entered the competition with the expressed intent of getting to Paris first, it was pointless to consider anything else, and, since a risk had arisen, then the risk had to be taken. The Hughesden pump was hurriedly reinstalled by the Hughesden engineers and fuel leads were ripped out and replaced as they struggled to fit the Hughesden earth inductor and liquid compasses, and one other which Sammy insisted they take for luck, one so small, he called it the Chicks’ Own.
‘Only weighs a few ounces,’ he insisted. ‘And you never know, it might be the best of the lot.’
The last screw was finally tightened, the last adjustment made, and the last reading corrected, but as they began to wait edgily for the weather again, the high layer of cloud began to sprinkle New York with rain again. Despite their continued optimism, the Weather Bureau remained adamant in their refusal to give a clear go-ahead because there were so many things that had to be exactly right – so many conditions that had to be fulfilled to make a take-off worthwhile. There had to be no fog on either side of the Atlantic so that they could check their compasses at the beginning of the flight and find Le Bourget at the end. The wind had to be favourable and there had to be no chance of low-pressure areas across their course for at least thirty-six hours. It was impossible for the Bureau to give them all these conditions at once, of course, and they would have to settle for whatever suitable permutation came up first. And since it was difficult to pick up enough information from the empty areas of the Far North, they knew as well as the Bureau that the high-pressure systems had to be big and with a chance of being prolonged before they dare risk going.
They spent the evening swinging the new compasses and re-examining the wiring while Woolff and Sammy checked the fuel pump. Then Ira took the machine up for a final test, but though they could find nothing wrong, all of them in their hearts were aware of a deep uncertainty. There seemed to be an air of unreality about it all now. The newspapers were still insisting that if they went, Sammy was to be the co-pilot, but they obviously didn’t believe their own stories, and neither did anyone else.
They were all weary and it was dark when Ira and Alix dropped Sammy off in the increasing rain at Mae’s apartment, and as they headed for Long Island and the drab building lots and construction sites slipped behind them, they were both deep in thought. As they let themselves into the little house near the beach, the telephone rang, harsh and abrupt in the darkness, breaking the silence with its peremptory summons. Alix whirled to stare at it.
‘Leave it, Ira,’ she whispered, almost as though her voice might be heard. ‘It’ll be the newspapers.’
He shook his head. ‘It might be the Weather Bureau.’
Her eyes held his as he picked up the instrument.
‘Alix?’
Silently he handed the telephone over and he heard Boyle continue. ‘Say, Alix, who’s that? What’s going on there?’
‘Never mind what’s going on here, Lave,’ she snapped. ‘What do you want?’
‘Alix’ – Boyle sounded in a panic – ‘I guess you’d better come. It’s your father.’
‘What’s wrong with my father?’
‘He collapsed.’ Boyle’s voice sounded high and frightened and a little out of control. ‘He just got back from Pittsburgh, and the elevator man found him. He was scared, and, hell, now that I’ve seen him, so am I! The doctor says it’s his heart. I guess you ought to come over here.’
Alix paused, her eyes on Ira’s, then she nodded. ‘I’ll come, Lave,’ she said quietly.
‘Make it quick, Alix!’
She turned to face Ira as she put the instrument down. Silently, he reached for her coat and held it up.
‘You heard?’
He nodded. ‘Come on, Alix. Let’s go.’
* * *
When they arrived, shaking the rain from their clothes, Boyle was standing by Courtney’s desk going through papers, an ashtray alongside him full of stubbed-out cigarettes. The room was stale with smoke.
‘My God,’ he said as they appeared. ‘This is one hell of a time to have him sick. The whole world’s falling down round our ears. It’s a good job you took over the Dixie. They’re dunning us well and truly now. The airfield and the house’ll have to go.’
‘We expected that.’ Alix shrugged, her voice unemotional. ‘What’s my father say?’
Boyle looked at her, his wrinkled old face grey and tired. ‘Alix, your father’s saying nothing,’ he said in a flat voice. ‘Go take a look.’
Courtney was in his bed, propped up on pillows, his face collapsed and ancient, the eagle nose paper-thin and transparent-looking, the untidy russet-grey hair suddenly wispy.
‘Father!’
There was a nurse standing by the bed. She shook her head. ‘He’s under sedation,’ she said. ‘He can’t hear you, Miss Courtney.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What’s the doctor say?’
The nurse shrugged. ‘He says he ought to pull through eventually, but it’s affected his left side.’
‘A stroke?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Permanent?’
‘Maybe not, but he’ll have to take it easy from now on. It’s going to be a long business. He’s been overdoing things for too long. The doctor’s due back any time. You’ll be able to talk to him.’
After a searching look at her father, Alix turned away. Her eyes fell on Ira’s and she allowed herself to be led from the room. Boyle was still leafing through papers.
‘What happened?’ Alix asked.
‘I guess he pushed himself too hard. The doctor said he’s got to give up everything. He’s got to take a long rest. Maybe he’s got to go on resting for the remainder of his life.’
‘What caused it?’
Boyle gestured. ‘He was still conscious when I arrived. He said Joe Hughesden came. He rang him and asked him over.’
Her eyes glittered. ‘That old bastard!’
‘They had a fight of some sort.’
‘About the contract?’
‘He said so.’
‘Is that what brought this on?’
‘I guess so. Felton hoped to talk him out of it but Joe Hughesden wants his pound of flesh. It happened just after he left.’
Alix looked at the worried old man, her face compassionate. ‘I guess you need a drink, Lave,’ she said, crossing to the table where the decanters stood. ‘Maybe we all do.’
She mixed them all drinks, then she went into her father’s room again, and they talked desultorily until she reappeared.
‘I’m wasting my time in there,’ she said, ‘I’ll be better off out here, making sure everything’s taken care of.’
She seemed a different person suddenly, at that moment surprisingly like Courtney himself had always been, and Ira realised she’d lived so long in her father’s shadow, she’d almost lost her own identity as she’d blundered her way towards a discovery of herself.
‘Lave’ – she was swinging round to the old man at the desk now – ‘what about his affairs? What’s left?’
Boyle hesitated.
‘Come on, Lave. Let’s have it.’
Boyle gave her a twisted smile. ‘Well, Hughesdens saw him all right…’
‘Never mind what Hughesdens did. We’re finished, aren’t we? What Hughesdens gave him’s gone on debts. Come on, Lave, level with me. You know what he always said, “God made the earth in six days. You’ve got six minutes to say all you want.’”
The old man gave her a sick smile. ‘I don’t need that long, Alix,’ he said. ‘Ten seconds’ll do. There’s nothing left.’
Alix crushed out her cigarette. ‘Can you get someone to look a
fter him, Lave?’ she asked.
Boyle nodded. ‘Sure. My daughter’s a widow. She’ll move in. I’ll telephone her right now.’
‘Then I guess if we get a chance, the best thing we can do is go. If we succeed, we might lick Joe Hughesden yet and it’d be the best thing in the world for Pa if we did.’
* * *
It was early morning and the rain had eased a little when they left Courtney’s apartment, and as they turned the car towards Queens the decision to telephone the Weather Bureau was a last-minute suggestion on Alix’s part. She was tired, but strangely the strain had vanished from her face and she was coldly calm.
They stopped at an all-night diner and she vanished to use the telephone. The pavements were still greasy with rain and the tops of the skyscrapers were still out of sight in the clouds. As she returned, Alix looked excited.
‘It’s clearing,’ she announced. ‘They were right. It’s the high they’ve been waiting for but they didn’t expect it to appear tonight.’
Ira’s face lit up. ‘You sure, Alix?’
‘It’s still a risk, but that’s what they think. The low-pressure area over Newfoundland’s moved north and they say this high they’re expecting’ll be colossal. The storms over France are diminishing to local proportions.’
‘What about over the sea?’
‘There’s still some bad weather to the north – maybe even electrical storms – and they’re not prepared to say what it’ll do, but the general outlook’s improving all the time.’
Ira grinned and she went on.
‘There’s one other thing,’ she said.
‘Go on.’
‘The Ryan crowd’s got it, too. They were on their way to the theatre but they think they’ve cancelled and intend to take off in the morning.’
‘How about Chamberlin and Byrd?’
‘They’ve heard nothing from them.’
‘Let’s check with their hotel.’
They went back to the telephone on the counter of the diner and it was obvious that what she’d been told was right. Lindbergh had not gone to the theatre, though it had been his intention originally, and he was now in his room with a guard on the door to make sure he got some sleep.
‘How about Chamberlin?’ Ira asked.
‘We’ve no idea.’ The desk clerk was not very interested. ‘No special arrangements far as I can tell. Didn’t Bertaud take out an injunction? Isn’t he still tied up with that?’
Ira glanced at Alix as he put down the receiver. ‘Lindbergh’s going to have a go,’ he said. ‘He’s trying to get some sleep. He’s got to fly forty hours without a break. What about it?’
She frowned. ‘I hate leaving Pa, in spite of what I said, now it comes to the point,’ she admitted wretchedly. ‘How long would we be away?’
‘Two days for the flying. A week or so back by sea.’
‘Should we go, Ira?’
He stared at her, then he nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘This time we should.’
She gazed at him, begging him to make her mind up for her, then she nodded. ‘OK,’ she agreed. ‘We go.’
He didn’t waste any time arguing her decision. She had been quite right. There was nothing they could do for Courtney, and success might be the best cure of all for him. ‘I think we might be able to leave them all at the post,’ he said. ‘If Lindbergh’s getting sleep now, he can’t be away before full daylight. But we can sleep as we fly because there are two of us. We might get an hour or two’s start on him. Get a cab to Mae’s and get hold of Sammy. Ring Hal from there and get him to the airfield.’
‘How about the Wright men?’
‘They’ll come. Sammy and Hal will organise things. Someone’ll have to arrange for the police to control the crowds if Lindbergh’s outfit hasn’t done it already. I’m going to have a long hard personal look at that weather map.’
* * *
When Ira arrived at the Weather Bureau there was no doubt that the weather was clearing.
The low-pressure area over Newfoundland was edging back and, though it was stubborn, a vast high was thrusting north in its place. The wind was also dropping and the weather was expected to remain fair all the way along the American coast from Massachusetts and New Hampshire to Nova Scotia, with only light north-westerly breezes. Over Nova Scotia the winds were westerly and there was no fog so far, and it was reported clear, too, at St John’s, Newfoundland, where a steady wind from the west was blowing. Out in the Atlantic, the high-pressure area was beginning to shoulder away the days of fog and rain that had prevailed for so long. If it continued, conditions would be good as far as Europe, though local storms still persisted over France.
‘How about wind? Any better higher up?’
‘We’ve got no data, but we think it’ll be from the west.’
* * *
When Ira reached Curtiss Field it was still raining and there were a few scattered groups of onlookers about. But the hangar was empty and Sammy was crouched over the telephone in an office that suddenly looked bare, with the charts and flying equipment gone. Mae Minter was sitting opposite him and she gave Ira a nervous smile as he entered.
‘New York Times,’ Sammy said as he replaced the receiver. ‘They’ve heard from somewhere that we’re off. They keep telephoning weather reports. It seems all right. Chatham reports it clear with no wind and it’s much the same all the way to Maine.’
‘What about Nova Scotia and Newfoundland?’
‘Light winds over Nova Scotia and a twenty-mile-an-hour westerly off the coast of Newfoundland.’
‘Sounds OK. Anything for the rest of the way?’
‘They’re a bit worried about that low to the north and the storms off Europe.’
‘We’ll chance it. Where’s the Dixie?’
‘On the way to Roosevelt Field. Hal dug out that mechanic with the truck. You can take off the minute it’s light.’ Sammy grinned. ‘That bloke’ll make a bit of money tonight. He’s offered a tow to Lindbergh, too.’
‘How about the Bellanca and Byrd?’
Sammy chuckled. ‘Ira, we’re ahead of everybody. We’ve got our machine over at Roosevelt already and Lindbergh’s still not arrived. There’s no sign of anyone at the Bellanca hangars and they say Byrd’s still got more tests to fly.’
While they were talking, Alix appeared. She looked pale and tense.
‘This is it, Alix,’ Ira said as they went out to the car together. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Damned scared.’ She nodded and repeated the phrase, almost as though she were saying it to herself like a litany. ‘Yes. Damned scared, Ira.’
He touched her hand and looked at Sammy. ‘Everything else fixed, Sammy?’
‘Everything. Police are already there. Lindbergh’s people phoned them. Same goes for the press. Petrol and oil will be going in already. Hal Woolff’s taking care of it.’
‘Fine. Jump in, Sammy. Let’s go.’
Chapter 6
The rain slid down through the beams of the headlights, straight and silvery and shining, dissolving in the puddles on the sidewalks and along the gutters. Mist hung in the air and the sound of falling water and the hiss of tyres were surprisingly loud over the hired car’s engine. Suddenly, Ira realised he’d never noticed rain before, but now, with his thoughts on the coming take-off from an over-wet field, he found he was dwelling uncomfortably on Cluff’s crash. Nothing could have brought home so clearly to him just what could happen to them in an overloaded plane, if their calculations were wrong or his judgements were not accurate, because it had happened also to Davis and to Fonck. He glanced at Alix but she was concentrating on driving and her face was pale and tense.
The word that someone was leaving had already spread and cars and taxis were heading for Roosevelt Field in a solid stream. A gate loomed up, then a group of people, dripping with rain and shivering under umbrellas. They moved forward to get a clear look at them through the streaming side screens, their faces white in the mist, then a Nassau County policeman started
to force them back and the inevitable camera flashes went off.
‘Lot of people here,’ Ira observed as a thin cheer went up, and one of the reporters grinned.
‘I guess you’re not the star, Captain,’ he said. ‘Nobody thought you’d go. They’re waiting for the Ryan. He’s got solo billing. You still taking Sam Shapiro?’
Ira evaded the question. ‘We go as soon as the tank’s full,’ he said. ‘We’re all ready.’
‘What about the weather?’
‘It’s clearing. Have you heard anything of the other crews?’
The reporter shook the rain off his hat and glanced upwards at the streaming sky. ‘I guess they don’t feel they’ll be leaving in this stuff.’
Ira could see water dripping from the hoods of cars and the hats of people waiting in the darkness, and red flares were blazing near the hangar and torches flashed in the hands of officials through the mist.
Hal Woolff appeared. ‘She’s almost ready, Ira,’ he said. He indicated the sealed drums of petrol and the red five-gallon cans which were being passed up to the Wright engineer, Ortese, kneeling on the wing to pour them into the tanks through a big funnel lined with a chamois leather cloth.
‘I’ve fixed coffee and rolls and cold sausage,’ he went on. ‘It should keep you going for two days. All the maps and charts are aboard.’
‘How much longer, Hal?’ Alix asked.
‘Minutes, Alix. We’re almost finished.’
Sammy was standing on one side in the roped-off square, watching, a lost expression on his face. Mae Minter was with him, pale and tense and a little out of place among the overalls in her fashionable clothes. Every now and then she moved closer to him and clutched his arm nervously, as though the fact that two people – neither of them much older than herself – were about to risk their lives in the darkness over the Atlantic was worrying her, so that she had to keep moving restlessly, like a child watching high-wire performers at a circus.