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He pursed his mouth, giving her a sidelong glance. “Hmm. Tom teases me a lot about my stone face sometimes. He tells a lot of jokes to get me to loosen up.”
“Always too serious?” she ventured.
“Yes.”
“The New England sense of responsibility?”
“Right again. Sure you aren’t a mind reader?”
Tess shared his smile.
“No. Just putting two and two together. I met a few young men back at Harvard who had that same serious look. Most of them came from poor families. They were used to working their way up through the ranks.” She glanced up at him. “Did you?”
“What?”
Tess sensed his hesitancy to talk about his past. “I’m sorry, I’m prying,” she said.
Shep halted near the large tail and stabilizer section, which rose loftily above them. “No, you’re not prying.” He studied her upturned face. She was the exact opposite of Allyson. In Tess’s eyes there was only curiosity and genuine concern. But in Allyson’s he could always detect signs of an ulterior motive. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I did come from a poor family, Tess. I was the oldest of six. My father was a potato farmer up in central Maine.” His brow wrinkled with memories. “Dad suffered a back injury when I was seven and I ended up doing most of the farm work. On top of that, Mom was never in good health. She was frail.” He smiled fondly. “I never could figure out how she had all six of us.”
“So you ended up not only with extra farm chores but helping to raise your other brothers and sisters?”
Shep nodded. “Yes. When Dad wasn’t around I ended up being like a second father to the younger ones. Mom expected me to keep them in line.”
“No wonder you don’t smile much,” Tess whispered, understanding the responsibility that had fallen on his shoulders as a youngster. “That must have been very tough on you.”
“It was, but it taught me discipline at an early age. I discovered I could do things I never thought I could.”
“Is that why you joined the Air Force?”
He halted, looking up at the hangar ceiling. “Let’s put it this way, Tess. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life fighting poor soil conditions and severe weather trying to plant potatoes. I saw what it did to my parents, I guess I wanted something better.”
In that instant, Tess saw Shep in a new light. He was a proud man. But his pride came from the knowledge that he had survived and gone on to be successful on his own terms. “I admire you, Shep. I really do,” she murmured, awed.
“Don’t be too impressed,” he answered gravely. “I really had no choice. I either worked or everybody starved.”
He slipped his hand beneath her elbow and led her out of the hangar. The Mojave winds were whipping tumbleweeds along the desert surface to their right. Opening the car door, he helped her in. Taking off his flight cap, he shut the door. Several strands of dark hair had dipped to his brow and he pushed them back with his long, tapered fingers. The interior of the car was warm from the sun and Tess leaned back.
“Why the Air Force? Why not industry? You certainly have the drive and motivation to do whatever you want.”
He rested his hands on the steering wheel, considering the question. “In the woods when I was waiting for a deer to come by, I’d sit quietly in a tree and watch the birds. There were several Bald Eagles that nested near my home and I used to watch them. I saw the freedom they had as they rose above everything, Tess.” He was quiet for nearly a minute. His voice grew softer as he continued. “I wanted to feel the wind tearing at me, to experience that sensation of soaring. I wanted their freedom to turn, wheel, dive, or glide thousands of feet on invisible air currents.” His voice became inaudible as he remembered his boyhood dream. Even now the thrill of flying was with him. He wanted to slip the grasp of the earth’s gravity and fling himself skyward, just as those magnificient eagles had done with such effortless grace. He glanced over at Tess, suddenly feeling shy. He had never shared his wishful childhood dream with anyone. Not even Allyson.
Shep turned from Tess to clear his throat and then continued in a more even voice, “I didn’t have the money to take private flying lessons. So, I put myself through college in five years and then joined the Air Force. I did very well in flight school and was assigned to fighters. Later on, I transferred to FB-111’s, a medium-range bomber and then to B-52’s just in time for the war over in Nam. I stayed with the Buffs until test pilot school came through for me. Next month I pin on my major’s leaf.”
She gazed at him admiringly. “And you have nowhere to go but up. You’re an inspiration to everyone, Shep.”
He shrugged, starting the car engine. “I wouldn’t know about that, lady. Don’t be so quick to put me up on a pedestal.”
“Why not? You certainly deserve to be there.”
“Every idol has feet of clay, just remember that, Tess,” he warned. He met her eyes. “And I’ve already shown you just how fallible I am with you. Come on, it’s almost four o’clock. Let’s get you back to the restaurant so you can pick up your car. I’m sure your husband will be wondering where you are.”
* * *
Derek Barton entered Cy Hamilton’s spacious, well-appointed office with a look of serious intent on his narrow face. The dark brown corduroy suit he wore seemed to accentuate the planes of his lean face and the darkness of his restless gaze. Hamilton looked up from his drafting table, a scowl already developing on his brow.
“I thought I told my secretary I wasn’t seeing anyone else today,” he growled, returning to the plans and ignoring Barton.
Barton halted at the desk, crossing his arms comfortably. “Everyone is gone for the day, Mr. Hamilton.” He gave Cy a plastic smile. “It’s nearly six o’clock. tow about taking a break and I’ll buy us some dinner over at—”
“No, thanks, Barton. What’s on your mind? Is it that subcontract of yours? I told you before, if you’ve got any problems with it, don’t bring them to me. It’s a performance contract. Your bearings meet our specifications or we don’t accept them. It’s as simple as that.” He glanced up at the contractor. “Now why don’t you leave?”
“Mmm, I don’t think you’ll want me to leave without talking to you first,” Barton hinted, a wolfish smile hovering around his almost lipless mouth. “No, this time it involves something I think you’ll be very interested in.”
Cy ignored him. Barton was one of the few subcontractors who could get under his skin. His bids were always late and incomplete. Then he whined until the Air Force accepted them even after the deadline. He was a wheedler, a conniver, and a weasel and Cy didn’t trust him or his company’s work. How many times had Tess gone to Rockwell’s lab to check the quality of the steel alloy that was used to make the bearings? Cy doubted that Barton’s work met the specs, but what was he going to do when low bid always got the job? He glared up at Barton. “I suggest you say your little spiel and then go.”
Barton shrugged. “Okay, Mr. Hamilton. Your wife has been over at our company offices a great deal lately—”
“I send her over there,” Hamilton growled. “As the specifying agent, Rockwell has the right to inspect your work, Barton. She’s done nothing wrong by going over there and picking up the lab reports on the bearings!”
“No—no, I agree,” Barton said slowly, barely able to hide the excitement he was feeling. “What I’m trying to say is that I recognize your wife when I see her.”
Cy raised his craggy head, staring at the contractor. “Meaning what?”
Barton hesitated, using the interim silence to build Cy’s curiosity. “Your wife’s very young and very attractive, Mr. Hamilton.” He didn’t want to come out and say, half your age. “It’s hard for a man not to take a long, appreciative glance at her. I’ve noticed that when she walks through our company’s various divisions. Every man stops work and looks up when she walks through the area.”
“What the hell are you getting at?”
Barton turned on his heel, ambling a few feet away before turning and facing Hamilton. He was enjoying Cy’s discomfort too much to rush. This was one way to get back at Hamilton for harassing him about the parts his company turned out for the bomber. The Rockwell engineer had interceded once and rejected a shipment of bearings after testing them. Barton remembered that day well. The general from Wright-Patterson Air Force Base had called, informing him that the bearings hadn’t met the specifications and his company would have to supply replacements. It had been a costly rejection. If it hadn’t been for Hamilton’s wife, he could have gotten away with the delivery. He’d almost saved sixty thousand dollars. And in the end, she had cost him half a million. That was what it had cost to replace the order with bearings satisfying Rockwell specifications.
“There’s been plenty of talk about your wife’s position in the industry.”
“She’s qualified in every way,” Cy snapped. “And I don’t give a damn if you good ole boys want to deal with a woman or not. As long as she knows what she’s doing, you’re just going to have to roll with the punches, Barton.”
“Looks like you’ll have to roll with a few punches yourself, Mr. Hamilton. I happen to know for a fact that your pretty little wife is having an affair.”
Hamilton’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He placed his pen on the desk, giving Barton his full, undivided attention. “You lying—”
The contractor’s face hardened. “Use your head, Hamilton. Why should I come in here with that kind of an accusation if it wasn’t true? I would have everything to lose and nothing to gain by such an accusation.”
There was some logic to that, Cy realized. Why would Barton come in stirring up unnecessary trouble when he’d been in hot water already? A pain began throbbing in his chest and he raised his hand, massaging the area absently. “All right. What do you know?”
“She’s seeing an Air Force officer. A test pilot.”
A coldness washed over Cy. Every fiber of his body experienced one sensation: fear. His voice sounded strangled. “Who?”
“Captain Shepherd Ramsey.”
“Where? When?”
Barton remained serious, delighting in the grayness now coming to Hamilton’s suddenly pale-looking features. “Saw ’em just the other night at that fancy party we all attended. They met out on the balcony. I’m surprised more people didn’t see them kissing each other. I just happened to walk out to grab a breath of fresh air when I stumbled on them.”
The dull, heavy feeling was spreading in Cy’s chest and he pressed his fist harder against his body. “Is that all?” he demanded hoarsely.
“I understand she went up to Palmdale today,” Barton continued slowly. He looked at his watch, making the gesture significant. “It’s six-thirty. Where is she? I called earlier today and her secretary said she was having lunch with the captain. Long lunch, ain’t it, Hamilton?”
* * *
It was almost nine-thirty when Cy heard the front door of their home open. He raised his head, remaining on the couch with the newspaper thrown nervously across his lap. He had been too upset to read it. Tess hurried into the living room, her eyes dark with apprehension.
“Oh, Cy! I’m sorry I’m late. I had a flat tire on the way back, and there was no phone nearby so that I could call you.” She shrugged off her coat, allowing it to hang over the back of the couch as she walked over to him. Pushing back several tendrils that had escaped from behind her ear, she sat down. As she looked at him, she realized something was dreadfully wrong. His face was ashen. Reaching out she gripped his hand. “Darling, what’s wrong? You look awful!”
“I haven’t been feeling well since about six tonight,” he admitted heavily. It was true, the heavy pressure in his chest had continued after Barton told him about the affair. He looked up into her beautiful flushed features. She appeared so damned innocent looking. So untouched…
Tess leaned over, caressing his cheek. “My poor darling. Have you eaten yet? Probably not. You get so busy you forget. I’m starved, Cy.” She started to rise but he gripped her hand.
“Stay a moment, Tess. There’s something we have to talk about.”
Her brows knitted worriedly. He sounded like a man who was lost, without hope. Chewing on her lower lip, she sat back down. “What’s wrong, Cy? Has something happened at work? You aren’t well.”
He took a deep, unsteady breath, gripping her hand tightly. “Derek Barton came in today with some very disturbing news.”
“Him!” Her voice took on a scathing tone. “Why doesn’t he leave you alone? The man is unbearable.”
“He didn’t come today with any problems concerning the contract.”
Tess tilted her head, puzzlement written in her face. “What then?”
Cy swallowed hard, finding it hard to breathe. He took two half breaths, forcing the words out. “You were seen in the arms of Captain Ramsey at the party, Tess. And I can’t help but wonder if you were late this evening because of him…”
Horror coursed through her, and Tess pulled her hand free, covering her lips. Her mouth went dry, her heart plummeting. Cy gasped, falling back against the couch, clutching at his chest. A small cry escaped her and she leaned forward, gripping his shoulder. “Cy! What’s wrong? Oh, my God. No!”
Chapter 4
MAY 24, 1974
CHAD STOCKWELL LOOKED UP AT HIS STAFFER, GARY Owens, who was following the B-1 program. The Senator tapped his short, square finger on the top of a pile of papers in front of him. “According to this, Rockwell is behind schedule in getting that bomber assembled and ready for flight, Gary. What’s the economic impact of such a lag?”
Owens, a Yale graduate, adjusted his conservatively colored tie. “Senator, I think I’d better give you a bit of background before answering that. The Air Force targeted the first engine test of the B-1 in March. It didn’t go down. They’re still hoping to make the first flight in June. Apparently more time is being spent on piecing the air frame together than had been anticipated. There’s a great deal of pressure being put on Rockwell by the Air Force to get the entire project back on schedule. If they keep going like this, it will probably be the end of 1974 before they test fly that monstrosity.”
Stockwell frowned, moving quickly through the figures. “What I’m really concerned about is if they’re going over the fiscal year budget allotted to them by Congress.”
Owens allowed himself a brief, pleased smile. He had done a great deal of digging, involving phone calls to the Pentagon, Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, and Rockwell to piece that answer together. “Yes, sir, they are. And any delay in the program tends to add to the price. What it comes down to, Senator, is this: one B-1 used to cost the American public forty-four million dollars. Now, with Rockwell lagging behind, the unit program cost has risen to fifty-four million.”
Stockwell pursed his fleshy lips, feeling anger and indignation over the entire situation. “Damn them. They were planning to order 241 B-1’s. Do you realize what the price tag on that will be?” He hit his intercom button, signaling his secretary.
“Yes, sir?”
“Betty, get me the engineer who’s running the show from Rockwell on the B-1.”
“That would be Mr. Daniel Williams, sir. I’ll ring his office right away.”
“Thank you.” Stockwell looked pleased. “Nothing like getting the full story from the source, Gary. Sit down. I want you in on this conversation with Williams.” He frowned, searching his memory. “I thought Cy Hamilton was the top dog at Rockwell?”
“Cy Hamilton was, sir, until he died of a sudden heart attack a few days after the B-1 party, Senator. Dan Williams was pushed into the slot to keep things on an even keel.”
“Didn’t work, did it?” he murmured, grinning.
“No, sir, I don’t think so.”
“Mrs. Hamilton?” Her secretary Ruth Caldwell poked her head around the opened office door.
Tess sat with her hand propped up against her wrinkled forehead. She looked up. “Yes, Ruth?”
“It’s Senator Stockwell’s secretary on the phone.” Ruth gave a grimace. “I told her Dan was out on business for the day. So he wants to talk to you.”
Tiredly Tess rubbed her face. Would she ever sleep soundly? She doubted it. Depression seemed to color her whole world black. “All right,” she answered softly, the exhaustion evident in her tone. “I’ll take the call.”
This was all she needed. Since Cy’s unexpected death, Tess had been asked to help Dan Williams take over the job as chief engineer. In a way, she was grateful for the twelve-to-fourteen-hour days. At least when she was working, she didn’t have to think. She didn’t have to feel that knife-twisting pain in her heart. Cy had died in her arms thinking that she had had an affair with Shep Ramsey. Her lips pursed into a familiar line of pain and guilt. Thank God for Dan Williams. He drove her mercilessly, not realizing he was doing her a favor. If her mind was occupied, she could ignore the anguish she carried in her heart. Expelling a long sigh, Tess picked up the white phone.
“Good morning, Senator Stockwell. This is Tess Hamilton. May I help you?”
“Mrs. Hamilton, I’m sorry to hear about your husband. Cy Hamilton and I go way back.”
A little warning signal went off immediately in Tess’s head. In the last seven months she had found out about the games politicians played. They would use anything they could to throw one off guard, so they could get some straight answers. Well, with Stockwell, she was going to be very cautious.”
“Thank you for your condolences, Senator.”
“A terrible loss, Tess. You don’t mind if I call you Tess, do you?”
Tess groaned inwardly. She didn’t want him to use her first name. She did not want to be familiar with Stockwell in any way. She hadn’t liked what she’d seen of him at the party, and his damaging press releases about Rockwell and the Air Force reinforced that dislike. “Yes, well, what can I do for you?”
“Just a few small, unimportant questions, Tess.”
I’ll bet, she thought, keeping her pen poised over a pad of paper to jot down his questions and then her answers. Her palms grew damp; she sensed Stockwell was after a great deal more than his lighthearted conversation indicated. “Go on,” she urged.
“I was just curious as to why the engine test of the first B-1 didn’t take place in March as originally scheduled.”
“We’ve been installing several systems, Senator. Delivery of some of the subassemblies such as valves, pumps and wiring has taken longer than originally anticipated. The engineers have tried to estimate the completion date of each task. Each of these individual activities, no matter how large or small, are then run through our scheduling computer. Some of the plumbing must be put in first before the wiring can be placed. Everything has to go in a prearranged order.”
“But Rockwell has people there who have scheduled large projects on complex aircraft before. They know the time involved on something of this size and complexity.”
Tess’s mouth thinned. “Senator, if you recall, the B-1 was originally designed in 1967, which means the plans are seven years old. As you well know, technology has rapidly advanced in those years. To be able to accurately project cash flows and time schedules on something that’s going to be built seven years in the future is nearly impossible. Extra time has been needed for design changes to continually update and modernize the B-1 changes that were not anticipated seven years ago. We’ve done the best we can under the circumstances.”
“And the cost estimate?” Stockwell asked.
“The rates are higher than anticipated. No one seven years ago could have predicted today’s skyrocketing costs.”
“Indeed. Each B-1 unit was supposed to cost forty-four million. Now, according to what my staff can figure out, it will be something like fifty-four million. That is extremely distressing, Mrs. Hamilton.”
