But spiritually, he was a hamster. Which, actually, was one of the things Tucker used to like about him. He tried not to think about it and changed the subject.
"So what do I need to know about flying a Lear 45?"
Jake seemed relieved to be back into the realm of technology. "I haven't seen one yet, but they say it flies just like Mary Jean's old Lear 25, only faster and a longer range. Better avionics. Read the manuals when you get there."
"What about navigation equipment?" Tucker's navigation was weak. Since he'd gotten his jet license, he'd depended completely on automatic systems.
"You'll be fine. You don't buy a four-million-dollar plane and cheap out on the navigation and radios. This doctor's got an e-mail address, which means he's got a computer. You'll be able to access charts and weather, and file flight plans with that. Check the facilities at your destinations, so you'll know what to expect. Some of these Third World airstrips just have a native with a candle for night landings. And check your fuel availability. They'll sell you sewer water instead of jet fuel if you don't check. You ever deal with Third World airport cops?"
Tucker shrugged. Jake knew damn well he hadn't. He'd gotten his hours flying copilot in the Mary Jean jet, and they'd never taken that outside of the continental United States except for one trip to Hawaii.
"Well," Jake continued, "the catchword is 'bribe, bribe, and bribe.' Offer the highest amount you can at the lowest level of authority. Always have a thick roll of American dollars with you, and don't bring it to the table if you're not willing to lose it. Keep something stashed in your shoe if they tap you out."
"You think this doctor is going to have me hauling drugs?"
"Good chance of it, don't you think? Besides, it doesn't matter. These people are brutal. Half the time the government guys have the same last name, so if you move up the ladder, you're just talking to the uncle of the last one that hit you. He has to charge you more out of pride."
Tucker cradled his head in his hands and stared into his gin and tonic. "I'm fucked."
Jake patted him on the arm, then drew back at the intimacy of the act. "They're calling your flight. You'll be fine."
They rose and Jake threw some cash on the table. At the gate Tucker turned to his friend. "Man, I don't know what to say."
Jake extended his hand. "No sweat, man. You'd have done it for me."
"I really hate flying in the back. Check on that kid from the motel, okay."
"I'm on it. Look, everything you need is in the pack. Don't leave it behind."
"Right," Tucker said. "Well…" He turned and walked down the ramp to the plane.
Jake Skye watched him go, then turned, walked to a pay phone, dialed some numbers, and waited. "Yeah, it's Jake. He's on his way. Yeah, gone for good. When can I pick up my check?"
8 – The Humiliation of the Pilot as
a Passenger
Once on the plane, Tucker unfolded the letter from the mysterious doctor and read it again.
Dear Mr. Case:
I have become aware of your recent difficulties and I believe I have a proposition that will be of great benefit to us both. My wife and I are missionaries on Alualu, a rather remote atoll at the northwestern tip of the Micronesian crescent. Since we are out of the normal shipping lanes and we are the sole medical provider for the people of the island, we maintain our own aircraft for the transport of medical supplies. We have recently procured a Lear 45 for this purpose, but our former pilot has been called to the mainland on personal business for an indefinite time.
In short, Mr. Case, given your experience flying small jets and our unique requirements, we feel that this would be a perfect opportunity for us both. We are not concerned with the status of your license, only that you can perform in the pilot's seat and fulfill a need that can only be described as dire.
If you are willing to honor a long-term contract, we will provide you with room and board on the island, pay
"So what do I need to know about flying a Lear 45?"
Jake seemed relieved to be back into the realm of technology. "I haven't seen one yet, but they say it flies just like Mary Jean's old Lear 25, only faster and a longer range. Better avionics. Read the manuals when you get there."
"What about navigation equipment?" Tucker's navigation was weak. Since he'd gotten his jet license, he'd depended completely on automatic systems.
"You'll be fine. You don't buy a four-million-dollar plane and cheap out on the navigation and radios. This doctor's got an e-mail address, which means he's got a computer. You'll be able to access charts and weather, and file flight plans with that. Check the facilities at your destinations, so you'll know what to expect. Some of these Third World airstrips just have a native with a candle for night landings. And check your fuel availability. They'll sell you sewer water instead of jet fuel if you don't check. You ever deal with Third World airport cops?"
Tucker shrugged. Jake knew damn well he hadn't. He'd gotten his hours flying copilot in the Mary Jean jet, and they'd never taken that outside of the continental United States except for one trip to Hawaii.
"Well," Jake continued, "the catchword is 'bribe, bribe, and bribe.' Offer the highest amount you can at the lowest level of authority. Always have a thick roll of American dollars with you, and don't bring it to the table if you're not willing to lose it. Keep something stashed in your shoe if they tap you out."
"You think this doctor is going to have me hauling drugs?"
"Good chance of it, don't you think? Besides, it doesn't matter. These people are brutal. Half the time the government guys have the same last name, so if you move up the ladder, you're just talking to the uncle of the last one that hit you. He has to charge you more out of pride."
Tucker cradled his head in his hands and stared into his gin and tonic. "I'm fucked."
Jake patted him on the arm, then drew back at the intimacy of the act. "They're calling your flight. You'll be fine."
They rose and Jake threw some cash on the table. At the gate Tucker turned to his friend. "Man, I don't know what to say."
Jake extended his hand. "No sweat, man. You'd have done it for me."
"I really hate flying in the back. Check on that kid from the motel, okay."
"I'm on it. Look, everything you need is in the pack. Don't leave it behind."
"Right," Tucker said. "Well…" He turned and walked down the ramp to the plane.
Jake Skye watched him go, then turned, walked to a pay phone, dialed some numbers, and waited. "Yeah, it's Jake. He's on his way. Yeah, gone for good. When can I pick up my check?"
8 – The Humiliation of the Pilot as
a Passenger
Once on the plane, Tucker unfolded the letter from the mysterious doctor and read it again.
Dear Mr. Case:
I have become aware of your recent difficulties and I believe I have a proposition that will be of great benefit to us both. My wife and I are missionaries on Alualu, a rather remote atoll at the northwestern tip of the Micronesian crescent. Since we are out of the normal shipping lanes and we are the sole medical provider for the people of the island, we maintain our own aircraft for the transport of medical supplies. We have recently procured a Lear 45 for this purpose, but our former pilot has been called to the mainland on personal business for an indefinite time.
In short, Mr. Case, given your experience flying small jets and our unique requirements, we feel that this would be a perfect opportunity for us both. We are not concerned with the status of your license, only that you can perform in the pilot's seat and fulfill a need that can only be described as dire.
If you are willing to honor a long-term contract, we will provide you with room and board on the island, pay
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