Читать книгу Chasing the Arrow - Charles Reid - Страница 6

The remainder of that summer of 1955 passed all too rapidly. Soon it was September and Robbie was on his way to grade eight and his new school, but not without some unease, even though he knew by now that his best friend, Billy Hrdina, would be there.

His mother had already talked with the principal and Robbie’s new teacher. To Robbie’s relief, she was happy to drop him off at the school entrance with a hug and a last-minute instruction. “Don’t forget to go straight home after school. Mrs. Brady will be there and will get you something to eat.”

Mrs. Brady had become Emily’s housekeeper just before Robbie had come to Toronto. Already she had proven herself a gem. Mrs. Brady was a portly, white-haired Irishwoman in her late fifties, with a blunt way of speaking that did nothing to hide her kind nature.

After dropping her son off at school, Emily hummed along with Frank Sinatra as he sang “I’ve Got the World on a String” on the car radio. Emily was on her way to the Avro plant in Malton, a village just northwest of Toronto and the site of the city’s main airport. As she barrelled down the road, she couldn’t help smiling. With Robbie back and things going so well with the CF-105 jet fighter project, she felt her life was now better than it had ever been.

When she arrived at her destination, she parked her car and headed straight for A. V. Roe president Crawford Gordon’s office where a meeting he had called was due to begin. The rest of the gang—Jim Floyd, vice president of engineering; Bob Lindley, chief engineer; Jim Chamberlin, chief aerodynamicist and technical designer; Guest Hake, project designer; Jack Fowler, an avionics whiz; and Bob Jenson, a jet-engine expert—was already there, plus a dark-haired, wiry man Emily hadn’t seen before.

Jim Floyd, a dapper, slim fellow, prematurely greying, introduced the newcomer. “Emily, this is Joe Wilkie, who’s just joined us from De Havilland in England. Joe’s a wing man, like you, so you’ll be working together.”

Joe stood and shook hands with Emily. She had a twinkle in her green eyes, which he liked a lot. “How do you do?”

Emily smiled, said hello, and sat. She was still appraising her new co-worker when Gordon, a large, balding, fleshy man brandishing a cigar, came storming into the office, looking like a thundercloud, something not unusual for him. “These politicians are at it again. They’re going to give me a heart attack!”

“I think your cigars are more likely to do that, Crawford,” Jack Fowler, a short blond stocky man with a moustache, said. “Anyway, what’s up?”

“They’ve cut the contract back to thirty-seven planes and the budget to $170 million.”

Fowler frowned. “But they only gave it to us in March with a $260 million budget.”

“Yeah, well, since when could anyone trust a politician? They’ve got this bee in their bonnet that the new guided missiles might make fighters obsolete.”

“That’s crazy. No one can have a complete defence system with missiles alone. It won’t work.”

Gordon scowled. “Sure, we know that, Jack, but so what? In the meantime we have to sell this plane abroad if we want more money. Let’s get the Yanks and the Brits interested for a start, especially the Brits, because they just cancelled their thin-wing project.”

“The only problem with that is the British government is beginning to think the same way.” Everyone swung around, and Joe laughed with some embarrassment. “Sorry. I know I’m the new boy here, but I thought I should say something.”

“That’s okay, Joe,” Gordon said, “but we’ve still got to try. The politicians, as usual, will bend with the wind but will eventually realize how stupid their thinking is. In the meantime we still have a go-ahead on the plane and a $170 million budget, so let’s get on with it and keep the feelers out with the Yanks and Brits. By the way, some of the execs and I are going out for drinks tonight at my club, and you’re all invited.”

A few of the people in the office tried to suppress grins. Most knew that Crawford Gordon loved a good time. In fact, he was legendary. None of the engineers and designers took him up on his offer, though.

As they left Gordon’s office, Joe fell into step alongside Emily. “Have we really got some problems, or is he always like that?”

Emily smiled. “He’s always like that, but he’s right about the politicians in Ottawa. I don’t envy Crawford’s job.”

“What do you think of this idea of going straight into production without building a prototype? That’s quite a gamble.”

“Everything about this plane’s risky, but Crawford’s right. We need to get the plane flying quickly, then they’ll shut up.”

Joe nodded slowly, as if weighing her words.

“By the way, where are you staying, Joe—oops, I hope you don’t mind me calling you Joe. We’re a bit informal here.”

He grinned. “I noticed. Of course, it’s all right. Actually, the company found me some great digs with a widowed lady. I’ve got a nice room and evening meals laid on.”

“Must be a bit lonely so far from home.”

“A little, but I am finding my way around and there are the other lads from England to talk to.”

“Well, if you’re interested, Joe, some of us meet once a month on Fridays at my house and talk shop, kick around ideas, and all that. I’m sure the rest of the guys would be more than happy to have you join us.”

“Sounds like a great idea. I’d love to come.”

“Good, we’re getting together this Friday. I’ll give you my address before we leave tonight. We always meet around eight.”

On Friday night Robbie was daydreaming in bed about the new bike his mother was going to buy him on Saturday and the fun he and Billy Hrdina were going to have on the weekend. Billy had made Robbie’s first week at the new school easier than he could ever have imagined. His new friend had shown him the ropes and given him the lowdown on everyone in their class. Gradually, though, Robbie became aware of the buzz of conversation rising from the first floor of the house.

He got up and padded over to his bedroom door. Pulling it open quietly, he crept out onto the landing, inching up carefully until he could peer through the railing. Several men were seated around the fireplace in the living room. As he pressed closer to the railing, his mother appeared from the kitchen with two plates of sandwiches. She placed them on a low table, where cups of coffee already sat in front of some of the men.

A short blond man with a moustache was speaking. “I see no reason to doubt we can achieve Mach 2 with the Iroquois engine.”

Robbie almost whistled in surprise. He knew that Mach 1 was the speed of sound, which varied depending on the air temperature and humidity and atmospheric pressure but was about 740 miles per hour at 32 degrees Fahrenheit and sea-level pressure. If his mother was working on a plane capable of flying at Mach 2, twice the speed of sound, then it had to be something pretty special.

“Are you sure, Jack,” a potbellied, balding man asked, “that we can rely on those model tests? I still wonder if we shouldn’t have gone the prototype route.”

“There’s no reason for the data not to be accurate, Bob. With the rockets the models will be able to reach Mach 1.7 and give us all the information we need. Anyway, it would’ve taken too long to develop a prototype, and you heard Crawford today. We have to get this thing up and flying as a production model fast if we want to keep the politicians off our backs.”

Robbie wondered what models they were talking about and how they flew, because he realized they would have to be flying models to supply the information they would need. I’d sure like one of those, he thought excitedly.

The conversation then became very technical and way over Robbie’s head, so he carefully made his way back across the landing and into his room. Climbing into bed, he found he couldn’t sleep and lay staring at the ceiling. All thoughts of his new bike were pushed aside for the moment. What he wouldn’t give to see one of those jet models the men downstairs were talking about.

Emily was surprised on Saturday morning when she entered the kitchen and discovered that Robbie wasn’t up yet. She went back upstairs and into his room to find her son still asleep. “Hey, come on, sleepyhead. I thought today of all days you’d be chasing me out of bed this morning, not the other way around.”

Robbie awoke with a start, then remembered what day it was and shot out of bed. “What time is it, Mom?”

“Late enough. Now get yourself into the bathroom while I make some breakfast.”

Robbie ran to the bathroom as his mother disappeared back downstairs. As the shower water ran over him, Robbie found the excitement about buying his new bike overshadowed by what he had heard the previous night. He had tried to imagine what this super plane might look like, but no clear images came into his head. One thing was certain, though: he felt an overwhelming pride in his mother and his country who were leading the world in aviation development.

After breakfast Robbie and his mother headed for the cycle shop, all thoughts of the super plane gone. He examined every bike with enthusiasm. Eventually he settled on a gleaming red-and-chrome CCM sports model and watched anxiously as the clerk stowed it in the trunk of his mother’s car, carefully packing the old blankets his mother had brought around the bicycle and tying down the trunk lid.

Billy was waiting outside their house when they returned and eagerly helped unload the new bicycle. “Wow, some bike, Robbie! Can you take it out now?”

Robbie looked at his mother. Emily smiled. “Go on, on your way, and be careful. And don’t be late for lunch.”

Leaping onto his brand-new machine, Robbie pedalled off furiously, with Billy in full pursuit. Quickly Billy nosed in front to show Robbie the way to High Park. Ten minutes later they arrived there, gasping for breath. As they rested, the events of the previous night flooded back into Robbie’s head. “If I tell you something really special, will you promise not to tell anyone, Billy?”

His friend looked puzzled but nodded.

“Not anyone ever. Promise?”

Billy scratched his left ear. “Sure. I promise. What’s the big deal?”

“My mom’s company is building a super fighter jet. It could be the fastest in the world.”

“How do you know?”

“Some of the men who are working on it with my mom were at our house last night talking about it.”

Billy frowned doubtfully. “They were talking to you?”

Robbie laughed. “No way. I woke up and heard these voices, so I crept out onto the landing and listened. They claim the plane will fly at Mach 2.”

“Boy, that’s fast...isn’t it?”

“You bet. It’s twice the speed of sound.”

“Gosh, you must be awfully proud of your mom.”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” Robbie was a little embarrassed at voicing his pride.

“Do you think you’ll hear any more?”

“If they meet again, I will. I’m going to stay awake next Friday and see if they do. It seems like a regular thing, because my mom had sandwiches and all that ready.”

Billy kicked at a stone. “Will you tell me?”

“Of course, but remember, it’s got to be our secret, otherwise I’m sure my mom could get into trouble. And I know I would.”

“You can trust me, Robbie. It’s our secret.”