Chapter 5

Pilanesberg International Airport, North West province.

Georgie had just dropped a bombshell of information on me. Up until now, I hadn’t even suspected that Sloan Thornton was involved in anything underhanded. I could never quite get a read on Thornton as a person; he always came across as elusive and a bit curt. He also didn’t mingle socially with the other crew members, keeping to himself most of the time. The news that he had been dismissed from the South African Air Force was particularly striking. To be fired from an institution like the SAAF, one has to commit some serious misconduct. It wasn’t a place that let people go lightly. This revelation added another layer of complexity to my understanding of Thornton.

“I hope that I didn’t upset you with this information, and maybe I was out of line, but I just couldn’t fathom why Thornton was in any way still connected to the aviation community or industry,” Georgie clarified.

“Maybe he’s good at what he does. Besides, there are only a few technicians around who can still keep those old North American T-6s airworthy,” I offered.

“Could be ... but I have my doubts. A jackal can change its coat, but not its ways...”

“I know you’re a serious journalist, but don’t be so suspicious about everything.”

“I can smell a news story from ten miles away!” Georgie chuckled.

“And you know how to sensationalize it?”

“Why would I sensationalize it?”

“For a bigger media impact and to draw more viewers,” I replied, laughing.

“Alex Meyer! I don’t sensationalize my news items. I stick to the facts and never offer any speculation.”

“You don’t know. That’s one of the reasons I watch the news when you’re featured.”

“One of the reasons? What are the other reasons?”

“No comment, no pictures, and don’t ever quote me on it.”

“Don’t say something and then clam up. Spit it out. What are the other reasons you watch my news items?”

“I have no objection to revealing my other reasons, but at this moment, I have nothing to say. Perhaps later,” I evaded her question, hoping she would let it go.

“Mister Meyer, you are dangerous. Very dangerous. Now, if I were to make my own deductions about it?”

“You won’t. It’s not your style,” I replied, draining my coffee and dropping the empty Styrofoam cup in a nearby trash can.

“And how do you know what my style is? Have you analysed my news items?” She questioned, also tossing her empty cup in the trash.

“No.”

“But you are going to tell me sometime?”

“I will. Only if I get to know you better.”

“Oh,” Georgie spoke a single word and got a thousand-mile stare in her eyes, looking out over the apron and the aircraft parked there, but not really seeing anything. Her mind was clearly elsewhere.

“I better go look what John has found that we could use in a news item. We are here to work, you know.” Georgie said while wiping a stray red lock behind her ear.

“Yeah, I must anyway go and prepare for my display coming up at 11:00.”

“Get into the groove?”

“Yeah ... I need to get into the groove, as you say.”

As the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the tarmac, the jets were finally parked and the ground crews set to work, meticulously preparing them for the next day’s event. It wasn’t until later that afternoon that I caught sight of Miss Harper again. The last display flight had wrapped up at 15:00, and after a quick change, Leon, Dan, Ally, and I were ready to head to the gala dinner organized by the event’s management. It was a special affair, with all the display teams and event personnel invited, including the ground crews who tirelessly kept everything running smoothly.

The dinner was held in an empty hangar, transformed for the evening into a festive space. As we walked in, I couldn’t help but marvel at the turnout—there must have been around a hundred and fifty people, all gathered under the high ceiling. The old twin engine Beech, that was under restoration, stood to the back of the hangar. It was surprising to see such a crowd at a smaller air show, a testament to the camaraderie and shared passion for aviation that brought everyone together.

As we mingled and found our seats, I turned to Ally, a mischievous grin spreading across my face.

“Did you enjoy that last manoeuvre the three of us pulled off?” I asked, leaning in slightly.

Ally’s eyes widened, and she let out a breathy laugh. “Daddy never told me you guys were going to do it! That was new, and it nearly gave me a heart attack,” she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement.

“Yeah, it was a first for the three of us,” I admitted, chuckling at her reaction. “But don’t worry, no one was in danger. We actually came up with the idea during lunch and decided to practice it over Morningside Farm before the show.”

“I was expecting the Piercing Heart manoeuvre, but not the head-on evading flight. That was awesome!” Ally’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she relived the moment.

“Well, we started out in line abreast, coming in from the north,” I began, describing the manoeuvre. “Then we split, with Dan breaking left and me going right, smoke on. Your dad kept straight and pulled up into a loop over the runway, while Dan and I each did a half loop. Dan finished first, went smoke off, and headed west. I followed suit, but to the east, while your dad completed his loop, went smoke on, and pierced the heart shape Dan and I had drawn in the sky.”

Ally nodded eagerly, clearly familiar with the routine. “Yeah, that part I know, but then you came out of the east and Uncle Dan from the west, low level and fast! I thought you were going to crash into each other!” She mimicked the flight with her hands, a habit she’d undoubtedly picked up from being around pilots her whole young life. “At the last moment, you both flipped your wings one-eighty degrees, just opposite to each other. It looked like you were going to hit!” I couldn’t help but laugh at her animated retelling.

“To you and the crowd, it probably seemed like we were inches apart, but in reality, we were a good hundred meters apart,” I revealed, grinning at the trick we’d pulled off. “It’s called an optical illusion.”

Ally let out a sigh of relief, her eyes still wide. “My heart stopped for a moment there!”

“Well, then Dan and I did our job right,” I said with a wink. “Our goal was to give everyone a bit of a thrill.”

She playfully swatted my arm. “Beast!” she exclaimed, her tone affectionate despite the word.

“Ouch! Now I won’t be able to fly tomorrow with my broken arm,” I teased.

“It wasn’t that hard!”

“But now it’s damaged, and I have to go to the medical tent.”

“Do not! Come, I see daddy and Dan chatting to Don, Dave and those nice back seater girls of theirs.”

“Okay, let’s go and be social.”

“I also found a new friend.”

“Who?”

“That girl that was helping in the tower today. Tracy Lambert. I did not know that Uncle Don, Tracy and Mai-Loan were family?”

“Really? I did not know either.”

“Well, they all have the same surname! Maybe they are brother and sisters...”

“I thought Tracy was married to Don?”

“But why does Tracy speak of Uncle Don’s wife that are tending to the farm while they are here?”

“Huh?”

“AND, Mai-Loan seems very lovey-dovey with Uncle Don.”

“You don’t say...”

“Come, let’s go and see if we could unravel the mystery.”

“Ally...”

“Don’t worry! I’ll be tactful.”

“Oh brother!” I sighed.

The room buzzed with conversation and laughter, the excitement of the day’s events lingering in the air. We settled into the festive atmosphere, ready to enjoy a night of good food, great company, and shared stories from the skies.

As Ally and I strolled towards Leon and Dan, we unexpectedly crossed paths with Georginia Harper.

“Hello, Miss Harper, are you enjoying yourself?” I greeted her with a polite smile.

“Miss Harper? What happened to just Georgie?” she responded with a teasing grin.

I chuckled, slightly embarrassed. “Oh, sorry, Georgie, I was just trying to be polite.”

“All good, Alex,” she said, waving off the formality. “Yes, John found someone to chat with, and they’re over by the bar, probably swapping tall tales.”

“And he left you all alone? What a shame, but lucky for me,” I joked. “Can I get you something to drink?” As I said that I saw the smile on Ally’s face and the mischievous light in her eyes.

“I’ll catch you two later. Let me go see what’s cooking with that bunch with daddy,” Ally said and skipped off.

Georgie giggled. “Why sure, Alex.”

“Great, let’s grab something to quench our thirst. You can choose anything you like, but I’ll stick to a soda or coffee.”

“Yeah, I’ll join you for a soda...” She agreed, and I found myself wondering why she didn’t opt for something like a piña colada, or something more typically ‘girly’. “By the way, I haven’t seen that Sloan guy around tonight.”

I glanced around, confirming her observation. “Now that you mention it, I haven’t either. But he’s not exactly known for mingling with us regular folk.”

Georgie laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s debatable who the ‘regular folk’ are in this crowd!” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But seriously, I’d like to keep an eye on him. I have a hunch there’s a story there — something with that ‘sensation’ you mentioned.”

I shot her a cautious look. “Don’t dive too deep, Georgie. That guy is bad news.”

She winked at me, her expression undeterred. “But bad news sells!” she said, her tone full of excitement and a hint of defiance. Was she mocking me about my earlier remark about her going for sensation in her stories, or was this the real Georginia Harper, News Hawk?

At the refreshment stand, I grabbed a couple of cold Cokes, handing one to Georgie. The sun was under the far off mountains to the west, and dusk still lingered in the afterglow of the setting sun, casting a warm glow over the airfield. The faint hum of the remaining aircraft engines mixed with the chatter of the crowd winding down from the day’s excitement. I took a sip of my Coke, enjoying the coolness against the lingering summer heat.

“Did you pick up any ‘sensational’ stories while out on the prowl today?” I asked, watching as Georgie took a long drink from her glass, the ice clinking softly.

She smiled, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “I think I got some good material for a report on the air show. John got some great quality footage to go with it. The guy from Cap Sounds gave us a transcript of the commentary during the Missing Man formation, and also some transcripts of the communications between him and the aircraft in the air at that time.”

“That sounds like it’ll add a lot to your report,” I said, genuinely impressed. “Are you going to include it in your doccie?”

“Yes,” she nodded, her excitement palpable. “The audio will lend a good balance to the documentary and make it a more live experience for the audience. It is surprising what a smile and the fluttering of eyelashes can do.”

“You’re good, Georgie. You know your stuff,” I complimented, appreciating her knack for creating a vivid story through her work.

“It’s my job,” she replied modestly, but the glint in her eyes betrayed her pride.

“For you, it’s not only a job that pays the bills ... it’s a passion for excellence and the truth,” I added, knowing she deserved the praise.

Georgie looked at me with a playful glint, half hiding her face behind her glass of Coke. “Will you stop complimenting me, you silver-tongued devil. You’ve got me thinking that you’re making a pass at me.”

I grinned and, with a theatrical flourish, recited, “I said hey, little girl don’t you know, he’s the devil. He’s everything that I ain’t. Hiding intentions of evil, under the smile of a saint. All he’s good for is gettin’ in trouble, and shifting his share of the blame. And some people swear he’s my double, and some even say we’re the same! But the silver-tongued devil’s got nothing to lose. And I’ll only live ‘till I die. We take our own chances, and pay our own dues ... The silver-tongued devil and I.”

Georgie chuckled, shaking her head. “Hmm ... You like Country music? Country Rock?”

“I like everything that falls good on my ear. From Pop to Country, from Opera to classic instrumentals. Hard Rock and everything in between,” I replied, leaning back against the counter, savouring the laid-back moment.

“There’s a girl named ‘Mockingbird’ that plays Saturday at the Sun City Super Bowl,” Georgie mentioned casually, her tone suggesting she knew something interesting.

“Ah ... the mysterious masked redhead with the voice of a nightingale!” I exclaimed, recalling the buzz around the girl with the mask. “I like her voice and the songs she sings,” I added, genuinely intrigued by the artist’s allure.

“I can get you tickets...” Georgie offered, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

“You can?” I asked, surprised and pleased.

“Consider it done. Take Ally; I think she will like it too.”

“And you? Why not join us? You go to all the trouble to get the tickets,” I proposed, hoping she’d come along.

“Oh ... I ... On Friday, John and I must fly to Durban ... to cover a mountain bike race there ... I’ll only be back on Sunday,” Georgie stammered, a rare uncertainty creeping into her voice. It caught me off guard, and I wondered why she suddenly seemed at a loss for words.

I gave her a reassuring smile, sensing there was more to what she wasn’t saying.

“Well, if you change your mind, there’s always a spot open for you,” I said, not pushing the matter further but leaving the invitation open. The conversation lingered in the warm evening air, an unspoken connection between us as the sounds of the air show dinner faded into the background.

“Hey, you two, let’s grab some food before it’s all gone!” Ally called out from behind us, her voice bright with excitement.

“Yeah, let’s get something to eat,” I suggested, feeling my own hunger kick in.

“I just realized I’m starving,” Georgie agreed, rubbing her stomach.

I turned to Ally with a curious expression. “How’s your dad doing?”

She chuckled, “He’s doing great! He’s over there chatting with that blonde booth babe from Airbus. Why do you ask?”

I shrugged nonchalantly. “Just something I need to talk to him about.”

Georgie gave me a knowing look and teased, “I think Alex wants to ask your dad if he can take you on a date.”

Ally laughed and shook her head. “He doesn’t need to ask. We’re just friends and go out a lot.” Then she turned to me, narrowing her eyes playfully. “What’s up, Alex?”

I quickly changed the subject. “Georgie managed to get us tickets to see Mockingbird perform at the Super Bowl on Saturday.”

Ally’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s amazing! I love her! The girl with the velvet voice! Yippee!”

“Do you like her singing, Ally? I mean she does everything from Rock to Country to Pop, and she even Rap!” Georgie asked with a soft smile.

“I just love her,” Ally gushed. “I’ve got a poster of her in my room!” She looked genuinely excited, and I noticed Georgie smiling warmly.

“But Georgie won’t be joining us,” I added, putting on a mock pout. “She has to go to Durban for work.”

Ally’s face fell. “Oh no! Georgie, that’s such bad timing! I think Mockingbird’s performance is a one-night-only thing at the Super Bowl.”

Georgie smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Ally. There will be other chances for us to go see her together. Work just calls this time.”

Ally nodded, still a bit disappointed, but then her enthusiasm returned. “Well, we’ll just have to make the most of it for you, Georgie! I will give you a FULL report.”

The next morning, I arrived early at the hangar to make sure everything was in order before our scheduled display at 11:00. It was the final day of the air show, and we planned to leave for Wonderboom at 16:00. The flight back would be short, less than twenty minutes at cruise speed. As I meticulously checked the calibration of the altimeter to ensure it was spot-on, the sound of footsteps drew my attention. A man in a suit strolled into the hangar, exuding an air of authority that immediately put me on alert.

I climbed out of the cockpit, carefully closing the canopy, and walked over to greet him. His crisp attire and confident demeanour made it clear he wasn’t just another enthusiast wandering in. I made a mental note of his presence, ready to recall this moment if the situation required.

“Good morning, I’m Alex Meyer. Can I help you?” I introduced myself, maintaining a professional tone.

“Good morning, I’m Tshepo Masemola, representing the SACAA,” (South African Civil Aviation Authority.) he replied flatly. There was a slight edge in his voice as he cocked his head to one side. “I’m looking for a Mister Little, Mister Leon Little.”

“Leon’s the boss. He’s not here currently. If you care for some coffee while we wait, he won’t be long,” I offered, trying to keep the interaction pleasant despite the hint of tension in the air.

“Are you working here, on the aircraft, I mean...” he shot back, ignoring my coffee invitation. The SACAA officials could be a tough bunch, and this guy was no exception. His abruptness didn’t surprise me, but it still irked me.

“Yes! I work here, but not ON the aircraft,” I responded, letting a bit of sarcasm slip into my voice. I could feel the heat rising in my chest; dealing with bureaucracy always rubbed me the wrong way.

“Then what were you doing in the cockpit of that aircraft?” he demanded, his tone accusatory.

“What is it to you, Mister ... ah ... Masemole?” I retorted, deliberately mispronouncing his name. I can be an asshole if you rub me up the wrong way.

“You know that fiddling with aircraft systems...” he began, but I cut him off sharply:

“ ... is a capital offence, and one can, if found guilty, be incarcerated for up to twenty-four months without the option of a fine.”

“Don’t quote the LAW to me, mister! What were you doing in that cockpit of that aircraft?” he snapped, his eyes narrowing.

I stepped closer, nearly nose-to-nose with him, my voice low but firm. “I was checking the calibration of the altimeter BEFORE I FLY it later today. And unless you produce some sort of identification and a change of attitude, I will remove you physically from this hangar and the airport where you are currently trespassing and impersonating a SACAA official! THAT is also a capital offence. Do I make myself clear?”