Morrissey had figured we'd need forty-three per cent more fuel just for the flight itself and at least seven per cent more for a safety margin.
"Why don't you hold off until morning?" Morrissey asked. "Maybe the weather will lift and you can go straight through."
"No."
"For Christ's sake," he snapped. "You'll never even get her off the ground.
If you're that anxious to get yourself killed, why don't you use a gun!"
I turned and looked over at the pile of junk beside the plane.
"How much does the radio weigh?"
"Five hundred and ten pounds," he answered quickly. Then he stared at me. "You can't dump that!
How the hell will you know where you are or what the weather is like up ahead?"
"Same way I did before they put radios in planes.
Dump it!" He started to walk back to the plane, shaking his head.
I had another idea. "The oxygen-pressure system for the cockpit?"
"Six hundred and seventy pounds, including the tanks."
"Dump that, too," I said. "I’ll fly low."
"You'll need oxygen to get over the Rockies."
"Put a portable tank in the cockpit next to me."
I went into the office and called Buzz Dalton at the Intercontinental office in Los Angeles.
He'd already left so they transferred the call to his home.
"Buzz, this is Jonas."
"I was wondering when I'd hear from you."
"I want you to do me a favor."
"Sure," he said quickly. "What?"
"I'm flying out to the Coast tonight," I said. "And I want you to have weather signals up for me at every ICA hangar across the country."
"What's the matter with your radio?"
"I'm taking the CA-4 out nonstop. And I can't drag the weight."
He whistled.
"You'll never make it, buddy boy."
"I'll make it," I said.
"Use the searchlight blinkers at night, paint the rooftops during the day."
"Will do," he said.
"What's your flight pattern?"
"I haven't decided the pattern yet.
Just have all the fields covered."
"Will do," he said.
"Good luck."
I put down the telephone.
That's what I liked about Buzz. He was dependable.
He didn't waste time with foolish questions like why, when or where.
He did as he was told.
The only thing he cared about was the airline. That was why ICA was rapidly becoming the largest commercial airline in the country.
I took the bottle of bourbon out of the desk and took a long pull off it. Then I went over to the couch and stretched out.
My legs hung over the edge but I didn't care. I could grab a little rest while the mechanics were finishing up.
I closed my eyes.
I sensed Morrissey standing near me and opened my eyes.
"Ready?" I asked, looking up at him.
He nodded.
I swung my feet down from the couch and sat up. I looked out at the hangar.
It was empty.
"Where is she?"
"Outside," he said. "I’m having her warmed up."