The Other Side of Midnight

"There's an opening," Eastman said, "only a thousand stick jockeys have applied for it." He shook his head ruefully. "It's incredible. The Air Corps trains thousands of bright young men to fly the most complicated pieces of machinery ever made. Then when they do their job and do it damn well, the Air Corps tells 'em to get lost. They have nothing for them." He sighed. "You wouldn't believe the people who come in here all day long. Top pilots, aces like yourself. There's only one job open for every thousand applicants--and all the other airlines are in exactly the same position."

A feeling of disappointment swept over Larry. "Why did you see me?" he asked stiffly.

"Two reasons. Number One, because the man upstairs told me to."

Larry felt an anger rising in him.

"I don't need--"

Eastman leaned forward. "Number Two, you have a damn good flying record."

"Thanks," Larry said, tightly.

Eastman studied him. "You'd have to go through a training program here, you know. It would be like going back to school."

Larry hesitated, not certain where the conversation was leading.

"That sounds all right," he said, cautiously.

"You'll have to take your training in New York out of LaGuardia."

Larry nodded, waiting.

"There are four weeks of ground school and then a month of flight training."

"You flying DC-Fours?" asked Larry.

"Right. When you finish your training, we'll put you on as a navigator. Your training base pay will be three fifty a month."

He had the job! The son-of-a-bitch had needled him about all the thousands of pilots who were after it. But he had the job! What had he been worried about? No one in the whole damned Air Corps had a better record than he did.

Larry grinned. "I don't mind starting as a navigator, Eastman, but I'm a pilot. When does that happen?"

Eastman sighed. "The airlines are unionized. The only way anyone moves up is through seniority. There are a lot of men ahead of you. Do you want to give it a try?"

Larry nodded. "What have I got to lose?"

"Right," Eastman said. "I'll arrange all the formalities. You'll have to take a physical, of course. Any problems there?"

Larry grinned. "The Japanese didn't find anything wrong with me."

"How soon can you

go to work?"

"Is this afternoon too early?"

"Let's make it Monday." Eastman scribbled a name on a card and handed it to Larry. "Here. They'll be expecting you at nine o'clock Monday morning."

When Larry phoned Catherine to tell her the news, there was an excitement in his voice that Catherine had not heard for a long time. She knew then that everything was going to be all right.

NOELLE

Athens: 1946

12

Constantin Demiris owned a fleet of airplanes for his personal use, but his pride was a converted Hawker Siddeley that transported sixteen passengers in luxurious comfort, had a speed of three hundred miles per hour and carried a crew of four. It was a flying palace. The interior had been decorated by Frederick Sawrin and Chagall had done the murals on the walls. Instead of airplane seats, easy chairs and comfortable couches were sprinkled throughout the cabin. The aft compartment had been converted into a luxurious bedroom. Forward behind the cockpit was a modern kitchen. Whenever Demiris or Noelle flew on the plane, there was a chef aboard.