Final Turn: A story of adventure, intrigue and suspense. (5 page)

"Are there going to be any staff reductions because of this system?" If that were at the root of the problem with Craig, it would be best out in the open.

"Not that I've heard for sure." Kevin said with a little surprise at the directness of the question. "They've don't tell us much out here about what's really going on. I think there must have been some justification to cut costs when they got this system. You know about that?"

"No. Not a thing. I've never heard anyone at eStorage mention that." And that was the truth. "If it does effect staff it would likely be in the accounting office." And that might have been the truth as well, although Roger wasn't sure what they were doing in the accounting office.

"Accounting office. This company has twice as many bean counters as when I started five years ago. I don't think they have twice as many beans to count though." Kevin made that universally true observation without indicating any need for Roger to agree. There was nothing more to be done here. He let Kevin know that he would call him when he had some news or an explanation concerning the records of the fourteenth. Kevin seemed satisfied with that and told Roger he could see his own way out.

He opened the door and the unfriendly wind took hold of it, nearly pulling him out of the trailer and down the steps. Damned wind. He pushed the door closed behind him and set out towards the gate crunching the gravel as he went. As he came to the guard's hut Craig stepped from the doorway and stood across the small gate that was Roger's way out.

"So where's your escort, suit?" Craig stood with his arms folded.

"Kevin told me to see my way out. I'm sure he'd be glad to explain it to you." Roger took a step towards the gate beyond Craig. Craig didn't move.

"You would like that, wouldn't you? Have Kevin take care of this problem for you."

"What is the problem?" Roger asked, deciding that would be his last attempt at politeness.

"You think you’re damned computer is so bloody right. I think you better fix it before it gets us all in trouble. Just been hooked up and it's already screwed up." He spoke with some nervousness but seemed determined to say his piece. Roger wondered if eStorage had left him in ignorance and with a feeling of insecurity about his job. He thought he would try once more with this oaf; maybe there was hope beyond reason.

"I can set up a training session for you fellows some time. I could come out here and explain the system to you, get you working with it...."

"That's Kevin's job. We not supposed to spend time on it. You just make sure the damned thing doesn't tell lies. That's what concerns me. If there are screw-ups, we get the flak. Not some suit accountant in the office. Just make sure it don’t make up any more data." Craig seemed to have said his piece and made a slight move to let Roger pass.

"I'll get back to Kevin when we have an explanation for the use of that vehicle last Friday."

"You already got your explanation, suit. That truck didn't go nowhere. You just fix that computer." Craig said with some malice. Roger decided that was enough and went for the gate. He took a hefty jolt from Craig's shoulder as he walked past. This time he would let it pass.

As Roger drove away he could see Craig occupy his rear view mirror. He stood in the small gate, watching the car, arms still crossed and his hair drawn back by the reckless wind. This was not the best way to start with a new client. Roger resolved that he would take the situation in hand and find out what was going on with those records from Friday. Bill would help. Whatever Craig's problem was, it would have to sort itself out. It wasn't Roger's problem.

Roger was eager to get to Sam's. He was hungry. He wanted to lie with Sam in a darkened room, her satiny ebony skin next to his, her thigh hooked around his leg. He thought of her voracious kisses, her strong legs... He was hungry for some supper as well. He turned on the radio and drove towards the freeway. The music program was interrupted by a news bulletin:

"We interrupt our regular broadcasting to bring you this special bulletin. Our news office has just learned that there has been an armored car robbery in the city within the last few days. The police are releasing few details but we have learned that the armored car was in the process of making a pickup in the underground parking area of the Central Bank complex downtown. Although we are not yet able confirm this information, we believe that the robbery took place on the morning to the fourteenth, Friday. Neither the Police nor officials from the Central Bank are disclosing the amount of money that was being carried by the armored car. We will bring you further information during our regular broadcasts and in special bulletins. We now return to...."

For only a few moments of the day the mountains looked just that way. It happened just as the sun came up and it caught Roger as he drove to the west. Coming over a crest in the road, before him the earth fell away gently as if scooped out by a giant shallow dish. Beyond, higher but still not in the light of the sun, the rumpled skin of the earth was pushed against the rocks and lay in dark, layered folds. Against the inky, purple sky, the mountains sat aglow in satiny pink, occasionally cut with lines of fire where late summer snow patches caught the ruby sun. The inside of the car turned a rosy pink as the light streamed in through the window from the sunrise behind him. This was what had kept Roger here for many years. This could not be seen in any other part of the country. A small corner of the province, a patch of high country blessed by warm winter Chinooks and the summer sun, had held his heart for the last thirty years.

The Cu-Nim Gliding Club lay nested in a crook of the Sheep River just seven miles west of the small town of Okotoks. Twenty miles to the west stood the mountains. It was only a thirty-minute drive from the edge of the city to the airfield. Roger had picked up a young fellow who needed to be checked out in the tow planes. That was part of Roger's job as Chief Tow Pilot for the club. They would get there early while the tow planes were still free and fly for an hour or so. Sandy Sedelmann had learned to fly at Mount Royal College and now had his commercial and instrument ratings. What he needed was hours in his logbook to land a job with an airline or an oil company. Towing gliders was a good way to build up time in the air and the College had been a good source of pilots for the club.

Sandy was about twenty-two, tall with wavy dark hair and a Mediterranean complexion. He was well tanned, had soft dark eyes and a Hollywood smile. Nothing about him supported a name like Sandy. He had an eager inquisitiveness about him and a sharp eye for what went on around him. Those were good traits for a pilot.

"How long has this club been around?" he asked. They had both been silent since topping the crest and coming upon the splendor of the mountains as if for the first time. Roger reached to turn the radio off so they could talk. It was just into the local news broadcast and he heard something of interest. He turned the volume back up.

The announcer was saying, "earlier this morning the police released a written statement concerning last week’s armored car hold up in the city. They report that the methods used by the hold-up men were unusual. Security guards told police that the entire armored car, with them locked inside, appears to have been lifted or hoisted onto a truck. It was then driven for some miles before the guards were during an intense thunderstorm they forced from the armored car while the robbers took the contents of the car. The guards were then forced back into the armored car and it was driven back to a point near the city. Here the armored car was pulled from the other truck. A passing motorist found the car and opened the doors to free the guards. The security company guards who were abducted stated that the windows of the armored car were blocked off during the entire episode. They were not able to see out at any time. The hold-up men communicated with them by placing signs against the front windshield with messages that could be read from the inside. Police suspect that the truck was an enclosed type that would have allowed the armored car to be transported without attracting attention. They are not releasing any further details at this time. We now return to our regular broadcasting..." Roger turned the radio off.

"Did you hear that....", Roger said almost to himself.

"What's that?" Sandy asked looking across at him.

"Uh? Oh nothing. Sorry, I just wanted to hear that news item. About the Club. Yeah, it’s been around a long time. Over forty years now. Some of the original members were Germans who had learned to fly in Germany after the first war. At that time the Germans were not allowed to operate powered aircraft so gliding became very popular. Some of those guys actually did fly with the Luftwaffe during the second war." Roger looked across the see Sandy's eyes widen a little. " Many of the best sailplanes in the world still come from Germany. They’re truly beautifully crafted machines." 

"It must be a good area, and a good club if it survived that long."

"It is the best area in the country and probably beyond that. Those hills just to the left here, the Porcupine Hills, run all the way down to Fort MacLeod about 120 kilometers to the south. Parallel to them and about ten kilometers west are the mountains, first the Highwood Range and south of that the Livingston Range. That valley between the Porcupines and the mountains is like a cauldron during the summer. The air heats up in there and literally boils out. Many of the thunderstorms which threaten the city in the late afternoons are spawned in there." He could see Sandy giving that some comprehensive thought. An understanding of the local weather was crucial to the sport. Sandy looked the type who would quickly go up the learning curve.

"Do you have to tow the gliders all the way out there every time?"

"No. Towing is pretty much a standard procedure. I'll go over the details when we get there. Generally we tow the gliders up to 2000 feet above the ground and then they release. The trick is to try to reach that altitude in a spot where there is a thermal. On some days you can tell by the cloud patterns. Sometimes you just use the instruments in the tow plane. If the gilder releases in a thermal and starts the flight by climbing instead of looking for lift, there is much better chance of staying aloft."

They came up to a small gravel surfaced road that ran about a mile to the north to the airfield. Roger turned and slowed to keep the dust level from the tires down when passing by a farmhouse along the way. It was a courtesy to which club members had learned to adhere. The alternative was to take precious money from the club treasury to have to road paved or oiled in front of the farm buildings.

"How long do the sailplanes stay up? Can they go anywhere or do they just hang around the airfield?" Sandy asked making sure the window was tightly rolled up to keep the dust outside.

"Usually the thermals start just before noon, sometimes there are weaker ones earlier. The peak time is from two until five in the afternoon. They can last until seven, sometimes longer. It is not unusual to stay up for five or six hours.”

Roger turned into the airfield and parked. A number of people had camped at the field during the night. A few early risers were pulling sailplanes from their long trailers and preparing to rig them.  In front of the hanger was a large grassy area used to assemble the gliders. On the other side of the area stood the row of glider trailers, each with its rear door facing towards the assembly area. Jack was there with the fuselage of his glider pulled out of the trailer. Roger and Sandy walked about the area for a few minutes.

"It’s amazing there is enough energy up there just for the taking. That's a long time to keep an airplane without an engine in the air. I suppose a lot of birds make use of that idea too." Sandy said as they left the car and headed for the tow plane. It was parked in front of the hanger.

"They sure do, except they are a lot better at it. Over here. Let's give Jack a hand rigging his sailplane." Roger diverted their course towards a glider that had been pulled from its trailer. The fuselage rested in a dolly and stood behind the open door of a long, narrow aluminum trailer that had been pulled from the trailer on the wheeled dolly. The fuselage stood wingless, looking a lot like a long slender white fish. The wings still stood in the trailer. They stood on edge, each on a wheeled dolly.

"Jack. This is Sandy. Here for a tow plane checkout. We can give you a hand putting this thing together before we go."

After some handshaking and polite exchanges welcoming Sandy into the club, Jack took charge of his helpers. Jack was full of energy and enthusiasm. He looked even stouter dressed in shorts and a light shirt than he did in the office. His hair and skin told of many hours under the sun. He wore a white cap visor, without the cap, held about his head with an elastic band. Around his neck was red bandanna with white spots and he wore dark sunglasses, Italian. He had a look as if he were about to drive off in an expensive sports car, presumably also Italian. In way he was; except this one had wings and came from Germany. The bright sunshine, the crystal sky and the unbounded countryside wore well on Jack. Roger saw his friend as a happy man when he saw him out here. He thought briefly of the other Jack bound in a tight shirt and tie beneath a suit and sitting before the overbearing Lindquist. Roger quickly ejected the thought.

"Roger, can you take the wing tip and we'll do the hook-ups?"

"No problem." Roger replied as he took hold of one of the wingtips, lifted and walked away from the trailer along the fuselage pulling the wing with him.  When Roger had pulled the wing nearly from the trailer, Jack took hold of the other end, the heavy end, and lifted it from the trailer leaving the wing dolly behind. Roger then walked around in an arc to place the wing tip in its normal position. Roger held the wing tip at about chest height and waited for Jack, with Sandy's help, to place the root of the wing properly into the fittings on the fuselage. Roger then rested the wing on a stand that Jack had already placed in position. He was glad to be relieved of the burden.

They repeated the procedure with the other wing. Both now rested on the fuselage with one end and the other end supported by wing stands. Jack took out a small bag containing steel pins, one large and four smaller. Roger came over to explain the process to Sandy as Jack continued to put his sailplane together. Roger knew that it was best that the tow pilots had some understanding of the vagaries of sailplanes. They had some flight and strength characteristics quite distinct from conventional powered aircraft. The necessity of rigging and de-rigging each day introduced special safety considerations. Glider pilots had developed habits of being insufferably careful when rigging their machines. Their lives literally hung on the proper placement of pins and safety pins. It was never excusable to rush anyone who was busy with that task. There had already been one fatal accident in the club caused by someone having needlessly rushed through the rigging process.

"This large pin is the main wing pin. Holds the wings together. The smaller ones here hold the wings onto the fuselage." Roger pointed to the four smaller pins each of which connected a fitting on the wing to the fuselage. There was one located on each side where the leading edge of the wing came against the fuselage and one on each side at the trailing edge.

"You can see that each of these pins has a small hole in the end. Jack is putting the safety pins in place." Roger indicated where Jack inserted a small pin not unlike the old safety pins used to fasten baby's diaper. "That keeps these load bearing pins from working their way out. There is a tremendous amount of stress at these points. Turbulence can really rattle everything around, it can shake things loose that you could never imagine. If one of these safety pins comes out it wouldn't be long until the pin itself came out. That would be the end of it." Roger could see Jack grimace at the mere thought of it.

"You're in a diabolical mood today Roger" He said as he finished and put the covers in place.

Roger watched Sandy look around him and take in a deep breath of the fresh morning air that was being carried to them by a light breeze from the mountains to the west. People were stirring around the campers and some were coming out to their trailers to begin rigging their sailplanes. The smell of bacon and coffee told of breakfasts cooking. Everyone moved at a relaxed pace and there seemed to be an air of friendship and cooperation. This was an isolated haven of grass roots flying. There were no control towers, no airways, no procedures or any of the hustle Sandy had come to associate with flying. Roger watched him take it in and could see from Sandy's face that he would be out here often.

Roger took Sandy through the procedures for operating the tow planes. He explained the use of the logbooks, the re-fueling procedures, the towropes and the signals used by the ground crew during the take off. He impressed upon him the importance of checking the fuel quantity in the tow plane frequently, before every tow. There had been a few instances where someone had run of fuel while on a tow. If that were to happen over the rugged terrain to the west the consequences could spell disaster. With all that out of the way, Roger hauled himself into the back seat behind Sandy and they finally strapped themselves into the tow plane and got ready.

Sandy performed a smooth take off and Roger soon felt comfortable with his flying as they climbed out over the hills to the west.

After a couple of well executed landings Roger sent Sandy off on his own to do a few circuits and practice landing on the narrow grass strip which formed the runway. Roger walked over to where Jack had parked his glider in line for a tow. This was the first he had seen of Jack since his return from vacation in Hong Kong. Jack was still fussing with his glider and would likely continue with that until it was time to go.

"How was the traveling?" Roger asked as he came up to Jack.

"Fine. In fact, really fine. And I was even able to sell my farm while I was away." Jack seemed very pleased with that.

"Sold your farm? Already?" Roger recalled how Jack had just set things up with Loretta to list the property before he had left for his vacation.

"Lucky deal. I found a firm in Hong Kong that was interested in the property and they took it. Sight unseen. I did have photos and the other details. They gave me a good price too."