Airport / Аэропорт. Артур Хейли

Getting up from the table, he told Tanya, “Don’t go away. I have to make a call.”

      There was a telephone at the cashier’s counter, and Mel dialed one of the Snow Desk numbers. Danny Farrow’s voice said, “Hold it,” then, a few moments later, returned on the line.

      “I was going to call you,” Danny said. “I just had a report on that stuck 707 of Aéreo-Mexican.”

      “Go ahead.”

      “You knew Mexican had asked TWA for help?”

      “Yes.”

      “Well, they’ve got trucks, cranes, God knows what out there now. The runway and taxiway are blocked off completely, but they still haven’t shifted the damn airplane. Finally TWA has sent for Joe Patroni.”

      Mel said, “I’m glad to hear it.”

      Joe Patroni was airport maintenance chief for TWA, and a born troubleshooter[35]. He was also a down-to-earth, dynamic character and a close friend of Mel’s.

      “If anyone can get that airplane moved tonight,” Mel conceded, “it’ll be Joe.”

      “Oh, a bit of good news,” Danny said, “we found that United food truck.”

      “The driver okay?”

      “He was unconscious under the snow. Motor was still running, and there was carbon monoxide[36]. But they got an inhalator on him, and he’ll be all right.”

      “Good! I’m going out on the field now to do some checking for myself. I’ll radio you from there.”

      Tanya was still at the table when Mel returned, though preparing to go.

      “Hold on,” he said, “I’m coming, too.”

      She motioned to his untouched sandwich. “How about dinner? If that’s what it was.”

      “This will do for now.” He bolted a mouthful[37], washed it down hastily with coffee, and picked up his topcoat. “Anyway, I’m having dinner downtown.”

      As Mel paid their check, two Trans America ticket agents entered the coffee shop. One was the supervising agent whom Mel had spoken to earlier. Observing Tanya, he came across.

      “Excuse me, Mr. Bakersfeld… Mrs. Livingston, the D.T.M.’s looking for you. He has another problem. There is a stowaway – on Flight 80 from Los Angeles.”

      “Is that all?” Tanya appeared surprised. Aerial stowaways – though all airlines had them – were seldom a cause of great concern.

      “This one’s unusual,” the agent said. “There’s been a radio message from the captain, and a security guard has gone to the gate to meet the flight. Anyway, Mrs. Livingston, whatever the trouble is, they’re calling for you.” With a friendly nod, he went off to rejoin his companion.

      Mel walked with Tanya from the coffee shop into the central lobby. They stopped at the elevator which would take Mel to the basement garage where his car was parked.

      “Drive carefully out there,” she cautioned. “Don’t get in the way of any airplanes.”

      “If I do, I’m sure you’ll hear about it.” He shrugged into the heavy topcoat. “Your stowaway sounds interesting. I’ll try to drop by before I leave, to find out what it’s all about.” He hesitated, then added, “It’ll give me a reason to see you again tonight.”

      They were close together. As one, each reached out and their hands touched. Tanya said softly, “Who needs a reason?”

      In the elevator, going down, he could still feel the warm smoothness of her flesh, and hear her voice.

      04

      Joe Patroni was on his way to the airport. The cocky, stocky Italian-American, who was airport maintenance chief for TWA, had left his suburban, ranch-style bungalow by automobile about twenty minutes earlier. The going was very slow.

      At the moment, Joe Patroni’s Buick Wildcat was halted in a trafifc jam. Patroni lit a fresh cigar.

      Legends had grown up around Joe Patroni; some professional, others personal.

      He had begun his working life as a grease monkey[38] in a garage. Then Joe quit the garage and took a job as an airline mechanic. He studied at night school, became a lead mechanic, then a foreman with a reputation as a first-class troubleshooter. His crew could change an engine faster than an airplane manufacturer said it could be done; and with absolute reliability. After a while, whenever there was pressure, or a dificf ult repair job, the word went out: get Joe Patroni.

      Soon Joe was promoted to senior supervisor, and a few years later was given the important post of maintenance chief at Lincoln International.

      On a personal level, another report said that Joe Patroni made love to his wife, Marie, most nights, the way other men enjoyed a pre-dinner drink. This was true. In fact, he had been thus engaged when the telephone message came from the airport about the stuck Aéreo-Mexican jet which TWA had been asked to help get out.

      Another thing about Joe Patroni was that he never panicked in emergencies. Instead, he quickly assessed each situation, deciding what priority the emergency rated, and whether or not he should complete other tasks before coping with it. In the case of the stuck 707, instinct told him there was time to finish what he was doing, or have dinner, but not both. So, he abandoned dinner. Soon after, Marie raced to the kitchen in her robe and made sandwiches for Joe to eat during his twenty-five-mile drive to the airport. He started eating a sandwich now.

      Being recalled to the airport after performing a full day’s work was not a new experience, but tonight the weather was worse than any other occasion he remembered. Accumulated effects of the three-day storm were everywhere, making driving dangerous.

      Patroni checked his watch. Both his own car and the one immediately ahead had been stationary for several minutes. He called the airline’s maintenance department at the airport to report on his delay, and, in return, was informed of Mel Bakersfeld’s message about the urgent need for runway three zero to be cleared and usable.

      Joe Patroni gave some instructions over the telephone, but was aware that the most important thing was to be on the airfield himself as speedily as possible.

      05

      The elevator, which Mel Bakersfeld had taken after leaving Tanya, deposited him in the terminal basement. His ofifcial airport car – mustard yellow, and radio-equipped – was in a privileged parking stall close by.

      Mel drove out, meeting the storm.

      Immediately ahead were airplanes parked at gate positions. Through breaks in the snow, Mel could see into the lighted interiors of several aircraft, which had passengers already seated. Obviously, several flights were ready to leave. Their continued delay was a result of the blockage of runway three zero. Farther out on the airfield and runways, he could make out blurred shapes and navigation lights of other airplanes – recent arrivals, with engines running. These were in a holding area, which pilots called the penalty box, and would move in as gate positions became vacant.

      The two-way radio in Mel’s car, tuned to ground control frequency, got alive.

      “Tower to Eastern seventeen,” a controller said, “you are cleared to runway two five. Change frequency now for your airways clearance.”

      A burst of static. “Eastern seventeen. Roger[39].”

      The talk between tower and aircraft

35

ремонтный мастер

36

угарный газ

37

поспешно откусил большой кусок сэндвича

38

(амер., разг.) автослесарь

39

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