at Lane
Associates.”
“Who’s that?” Gold asked as Don waited for the call to go through.
“They’re an investigations firm based in L.A., with offices in Chicago and on Wall Street,” Don explained. “They’ve been handling
GAT’s business for years—”
“What sort of business?”
“The Lane group supplies us with corporate intelligence,” Don replied. “They’re private detectives who know how to use a computer
instead of a gun to discover corporate malfeasance. When GAT considers, say, advancing an airline a substantial line of credit,
or is interested in taking over a smaller company, we use Otto Lane and his people
to
make sure we’re not about to bite into a wormy apple—” Don held up his hand to Gold. “Hello, Otto? How are you? I’m fine.
Listen, Otto, I need a favor, and I need it immediately. I need to know who’s behind an L.A.-based outfit called Agatha Holding
Company. Yes, I guess it is spelled like the woman’s name…”
“The woman’s name Agatha,” Gold muttered. Something about that rang a bell…
“No, Otto, I’m sorry,” Don was saying. “I don’t have any Social Security numbers to give you. Realize I’m not asking for an
in-depth report. I just want to know who runs the damn thing. Yes, I need the information immediately. Really? That quickly?
That’s wonderful! I’ll be waiting for your call.” Don hung up the phone. “He said he can get back to us with the information
in just a few minutes.”
“I wonder who they’re going to turn out to be?” Gold mused. “The name Agatha sounds familiar to me.”
“Really?” Don returned to his chair. “Well, whoever they are, they’re the fucking angels of death as far as GAT is concerned.
They’ve obviously made the same offer to the other airlines that they made to TransWest.”
“Do we have any room for financial maneuvering?” Gold asked worriedly.
“Can
we do better on the price/financing deal?”
“We’ve got no choice, but that alone won’t get us out of this jam. You see, the fact that these bastards at Agatha have muddied
the waters concerning the Pont is bound to cost us orders, and some of those orders we do keep will likely require the Payn-Reese
engines.”
“An airline would be crazy not to specify them considering the deal Agatha is offering,” Gold had to agree. “And that will
further delay our break-even point.”
“Delay it!” Don laughed thinly. “Hell, at this stage of the game, GAT’s so far in the hole the break-even point has become
largely theoretical. The break-even point moves into the next
century
if we have to pay out to Payn-Reese that portion of income that was originally going to go to recouping the R and D costs
we sank into Rogers and Simpson.”
“I’m getting a headache.” Gold sighed.
“I’m getting into my car and driving off a cliff,” Don replied. “That way
you’ll
be the one who’ll have to finagle the books, deferring expenses while desperately hoping the Stiletto project comes to fruition.”
He paused, smiling sadly. “So, Steve? How do you like the corporate world so far? Aren’t you glad you let me talk you into
leaving the Air Force for this snake pit?”
Gold winked. “I’ll get you for this, Harrison.”
Don waved him quiet. “You’ll have to stand in line. First dibs on my hide will go to the stockholders, the IRS, the—”
The telephone rang. Gold watched as Don bolted out of his chair and over to the sideboard to snatch up the receiver.
“Yes,” Don said impatiently into the telephone. “Of course put him through! Hello, Otto? Yes? It is?
Who?
I’ll be
damned!
Thanks, Otto. Talk to you soon. Bye.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” Gold implored as Don hung up the telephone.
“It’s Tim Campbell,” Don said fiercely. “What’s with this Agatha bullshit, I’d like to know? Did Campbell think we wouldn’t
be able to see through it?”
He wants us to know,
Gold
Associates.”
“Who’s that?” Gold asked as Don waited for the call to go through.
“They’re an investigations firm based in L.A., with offices in Chicago and on Wall Street,” Don explained. “They’ve been handling
GAT’s business for years—”
“What sort of business?”
“The Lane group supplies us with corporate intelligence,” Don replied. “They’re private detectives who know how to use a computer
instead of a gun to discover corporate malfeasance. When GAT considers, say, advancing an airline a substantial line of credit,
or is interested in taking over a smaller company, we use Otto Lane and his people
to
make sure we’re not about to bite into a wormy apple—” Don held up his hand to Gold. “Hello, Otto? How are you? I’m fine.
Listen, Otto, I need a favor, and I need it immediately. I need to know who’s behind an L.A.-based outfit called Agatha Holding
Company. Yes, I guess it is spelled like the woman’s name…”
“The woman’s name Agatha,” Gold muttered. Something about that rang a bell…
“No, Otto, I’m sorry,” Don was saying. “I don’t have any Social Security numbers to give you. Realize I’m not asking for an
in-depth report. I just want to know who runs the damn thing. Yes, I need the information immediately. Really? That quickly?
That’s wonderful! I’ll be waiting for your call.” Don hung up the phone. “He said he can get back to us with the information
in just a few minutes.”
“I wonder who they’re going to turn out to be?” Gold mused. “The name Agatha sounds familiar to me.”
“Really?” Don returned to his chair. “Well, whoever they are, they’re the fucking angels of death as far as GAT is concerned.
They’ve obviously made the same offer to the other airlines that they made to TransWest.”
“Do we have any room for financial maneuvering?” Gold asked worriedly.
“Can
we do better on the price/financing deal?”
“We’ve got no choice, but that alone won’t get us out of this jam. You see, the fact that these bastards at Agatha have muddied
the waters concerning the Pont is bound to cost us orders, and some of those orders we do keep will likely require the Payn-Reese
engines.”
“An airline would be crazy not to specify them considering the deal Agatha is offering,” Gold had to agree. “And that will
further delay our break-even point.”
“Delay it!” Don laughed thinly. “Hell, at this stage of the game, GAT’s so far in the hole the break-even point has become
largely theoretical. The break-even point moves into the next
century
if we have to pay out to Payn-Reese that portion of income that was originally going to go to recouping the R and D costs
we sank into Rogers and Simpson.”
“I’m getting a headache.” Gold sighed.
“I’m getting into my car and driving off a cliff,” Don replied. “That way
you’ll
be the one who’ll have to finagle the books, deferring expenses while desperately hoping the Stiletto project comes to fruition.”
He paused, smiling sadly. “So, Steve? How do you like the corporate world so far? Aren’t you glad you let me talk you into
leaving the Air Force for this snake pit?”
Gold winked. “I’ll get you for this, Harrison.”
Don waved him quiet. “You’ll have to stand in line. First dibs on my hide will go to the stockholders, the IRS, the—”
The telephone rang. Gold watched as Don bolted out of his chair and over to the sideboard to snatch up the receiver.
“Yes,” Don said impatiently into the telephone. “Of course put him through! Hello, Otto? Yes? It is?
Who?
I’ll be
damned!
Thanks, Otto. Talk to you soon. Bye.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” Gold implored as Don hung up the telephone.
“It’s Tim Campbell,” Don said fiercely. “What’s with this Agatha bullshit, I’d like to know? Did Campbell think we wouldn’t
be able to see through it?”
He wants us to know,
Gold
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