Chapter 1

CHUCK - DAY ONE - Monday

My personal clock woke me early today. It was only 0515, but I had to be in San Francisco soon after mid-day to referee an inter-agency jurisdictional dispute. John Scott used to do all this himself, but Sam Nightfox tries not to get involved in this sort of thing. Bet I've got to thank the FBI Director for getting me involved!

I slid quietly out from between two warm bodies, and quickly did my morning thing (Shit, Shower, and Shave). No Tai-Chi today, I'm just off down to the patio for a first mug of strong coffee and a quick breakfast sandwich.

It was only 0545 as I walked in, and Steve was just turning the light on to let everyone know the day was beginning. He gripped my shoulder and putting down a steaming coffee mug, handed me a newspaper.

"Thanks, Brother!" I smiled at him.

The headline was a shocker! The Government planned to force early retirement on 'several dozen' aircrew and mechanics from the Armed Forces!

"This is terrible!" I said to Steve, waving the newspaper. He quickly read the first paragraph.

"I wish I could buy another twelve 737s so that we could employ some of these men," I remarked to him. "How are any of them going to get jobs, with the economy in the state that those idiot politicos in DC have let it get into?"

But I had to get on, and quickly finishing my breakfast, I hurried off to the airpark where my Citation X was already on the apron, with the engines warming up. I carefully went through all the checks, got clearance, and soon I was on my way at near my plane's maximum cruising speed and operating ceiling.

When everything had settled down, I sat watching the instruments and started thinking about last night.

Oops! I'm almost there!

My early start, and a really fast aircraft, combined with some surprising tailwinds and no jetstream, mean I'm arriving hours early. I usually land at Oakland, but it's closed today due to the usual San Francisco fog, so I'm being diverted to a small airfield that's in clear air out to the east of the city, up a valley off State Route 24.

The same thing happened to me last time I came here. Why don't they move everything out here? This airpark, it's called Spring Field, is a small general aviation operation that has certainly seen better days. The runways and perimeter tracks are weedy, some hangars and buildings are pretty dilapidated and need repair, but they are welcoming and deal efficiently with visiting aircraft, or so I've found in the past.

I was directed to park in front a couple of prosperous looking hangars with large signs advertising S F Aircraft Sales. After I'd shut down, a modern fuel tanker arrived, and while I was filling the Citation's tanks, an old man with a crooked grin strolled over.

"Good Morning!" He began. "Welcome to Spring Field – we're always happy to see S&S aircraft here! I'm Bill Bates, by the way, the proprietor of that excellent outfit behind me!"

"Hi, I'm Chuck Johnson," I replied.

"Nice aircraft! But I see you are now CS&S – are you the 'C'? I've known Sue and Steve for years. Indeed, I sold Sue her first airplane, and Steve put in the hours to regain his pilot's license from this very field. But I heard Sue lost my 208, then bought a B200 instead.

"I know John Truant too. I've helped him buy a number of your aircraft. Come in and have some coffee!"

We walked into the nearest hangar, and over to an office at the side. It was full of aircraft - business must be slow, I thought.

First, I used my cell to call Glenn Mitchell, the local Marshal's Service Station Chief, and asked for a car to collect me from the airfield.

"Yes, I know I'm early ... But why don't you need me until later this afternoon? Your colleague over at the Bureau has a reputation of being crusty, but why the change ... Oh! His Director phoned, did he ... Well, I suppose even he can reconsider! I'm out at Spring Field on SR 24 – I'll stay here and try not to buy any aircraft from my host here!"

Luckily, Bill had no objections to me staying.

We talked about the state of the economy in general, and the aircraft industry in particular. I commented about the announcement in that day's newspapers about the military aircrew and mechanics who were being discharged early by the Government, and how I really wished I could do something for them.

I remarked on the number of aircraft in the hangar. Bill explained that he got most of them very cheaply – everyone wanted to sell aircraft, but few wanted to buy and what with the high costs of keeping the airfield running, he sometimes dreamed of moving to Hawaii and getting a part-time job selling the odd aircraft there. He commented that he had heard that CS&S Air Charter was one of the few really successful outfits around, then paused looking thoughtful.

"Would you and CS&S be interested in buying a few helicopters?" Bill asked. "I was offered some a couple of days ago, but I don't deal in those things myself. A local consortium that's made up of three engineering companies formed a joint company some time ago to provide air services for executives and engineers travelling between all their sites. However, one of them has lost a large Government contract and they now want to dissolve the partnership.

"There's another possible prospect that might interest you too. A local airfreight and aircraft maintenance outfit has recently gone into bankruptcy. The Judge has already sold all the aircraft except for two crappy old 737s that nobody wants, and he's selling off all the stores and equipment at auction in a couple of day's time. They've tried to keep the profitable maintenance division going, because it's got about 6-7 really fine mechanics and some good longer term contracts. However, the creditors have got impatient and are tired of waiting.

"Interested?"

I thought for a minute and then got out my cell. When Steve answered, I said.

"Hi. This is Chuck! I'm at that airpark outside San Francisco, talking to Bill Bates who I think you know! OK, I'll pass on your best wishes! He's been telling me about two interesting prospects."

Briefly, I told Steve what they were.

"I think you should get on up here this afternoon," I went on. "Bring John and Jimmy with you too.

"No! Better still, you'd better bring Tank – it's more in his field. If you use your new Citation, you should be here soon after four? Good, see you then!"

I turned to Bill smiling.

"Well, thanks for the leads, would you like to have supper with us tonight?

"Yes, thank you. It would be good to meet Steve again,"

Bill again smiled his crooked smile.

"Would you be interested in buying an airfield and a few aircraft, as well?" He joked!

I phoned the hotel where I usually stayed, and after I'd booked rooms for myself and my companions, I also arranged for a good table in the restaurant.

"Are you serious about helping out of work ex-service air mechanics?" Bill asked when I cut the call. When I nodded, he continued. "My old friend Jack's son, young Billy, is a Naval Petty Officer First Class air mechanic (PO1, it's called. I think) who was discharged a couple of months ago. He also has five friends in the same boat – I've got Billy working down in my workshops here. He's not certified on most civilian aircraft, but he's good and really should be a chief mechanic somewhere. I wish I could employ the other five as well, but it's a struggle finding enough work for the men I already have!

"If I could find some planes that needed doing up, would you be interested in employing the boys to do the work?"

I thought about Bill's proposal. Yes! If it was possible, this is just what I'd like to do!

"Why, yes - I think so!" I replied, grinning. "How would we go about doing it?"

The crooked smile appeared again on Bill's face.

He picked up the phone and dialled a number.

"Hi! Willie," he began. "You told me last evening about a man who just sits outside his hangar full of aircraft, but can't pay his bills. Is he there today, and do you think he would listen to an offer? So he's there now? Good, I've got a customer here who'd like to talk to him. We'll come over in about half an hour and come and talk to you afterwards.

Bill explained that Willie ran a small GA airfield a few miles away.

"Now to try the idea out on young Billie," he said, calling the maintenance hangar and asking his chief there to send Billy up to talk to him.

Five minutes later, an overalled man in his late thirties entered. I liked him immediately. Bill explained what we were discussing; that the idea might not work, and asked if Billie thought his out-of-work friends would be interested if it did go ahead.

Billy did not hesitate. "Where do we go?" He asked

The three of us got into Bill's Suburban, and drove over to the field owned by his friend, Will Carstairs.

Willie met us a short distance from where a dejected looking man sat on an old bench outside the closed doors of a hangar.