"El hijo."
The son.
It had been twenty years and most of them hadn't even been there when my father died and still they called me that.
Even the young ones, some of them less than half my age.
The office was the same, too.
The heavy, oversized desk and leather-covered furniture now showed the cracks and wear of time.
There was no secretary in the outer office and I was not surprised. There was no reason for one to be there. They hadn't expected me.
I walked around behind the desk and pressed the switch down on the squawk box that put me right through to McAllister's office in the new building, a quarter of a mile away.
The surprise echoed in his voice as it came through the box.
"Jonas!
Where did you come from?"
"The Air Corps," I said.
"We just delivered the CA-JET X.P."
"Good.
Did they like it?"
"I guess they did," I answered. "They wouldn't trust me to take it up." I leaned over and opened the door of the cabinet below the telephone table, taking out the bottle of bourbon that was there. I put the bottle on the desk in front of me. "How do we stand on war-contract cancellations in case the war ends tomorrow?"
"For the explosive company?" Mac asked.
"For all the companies," I said. I knew he kept copies of every contract we ever made down here because he considered this his home office.
"It'll take a little time. I'll put someone on it right away."
"Like about an hour?"
He hesitated. When he spoke, a curious note came into his voice.
"All right, if it's that important."
"It's that important."
"Do you know something?"
"No," I said truthfully. I really didn't know. I was only guessing. "I just want it."
There was silence for a moment, then he spoke again.
"I just got the blueprints from Engineering on converting the radar and small-parts division of Aircraft to the proposed electronics company.
Shall I bring them over?"
"Do that," I said, flipping up the switch.
Taking a glass from the tray next to the Thermos jug, I filled it half full with bourbon. I looked across the room to the wall where the portrait of my father looked down on me.
I held the glass up to him.
"It's been a long time, Pop," I said and poured the whisky down my throat
I took my hands from the blueprints on the desk and snapped and rolled them up tight, like a coil spring.
I looked at McAllister.
"They look all right to me, Mac."
He nodded.
"I'll mark them approved and shoot them on to Purchasing to have them requisition the materials on standby orders, to be delivered when the war ends." He looked at the bottle of bourbon on the desk. "You're not very hospitable.
How about a drink?"
I looked at him in surprise.
Mac wasn't much for drinking. Especially during working hours.
I pushed the bottle and a glass toward him.
"Help yourself."
He poured a small shot and swallowed it neat. He cleared his throat.
I looked at him. "There's one other postwar plan I wanted to talk to you about," he said awkwardly.
"Go ahead."
"Myself," he said hesitantly. "I’m not a young man any more. I want to retire."
"Retire?" I couldn't believe my ears. "What for?
What in hell would you do?"
Mac flushed embarrassedly.
"I've worked pretty hard all my life," he said. "I’ve got two sons and a daughter and five grandchildren, three of whom I've never seen.