“Fuel, oil, spare parts, and personnel, in place for the east-west flight, had to be moved — for example, a mechanic dispatched from London to Karachi had to be assigned to somewhere else, Rangoon maybe, or Singapore. Credentials had to be reacquired, charts replotted, creating hours of work for engineers and mechanics at Lockheed.”
“Well, what do you make of that?”
Dizzy Dean was back on the mound.
“I’m not sure. I never got a straight answer from either Gippy or Amelia on the reason for reversing the direction of the flight. The only way I can figure it is, it’s got to be a directive from the same government quarters that funded the second try.”
“Is that where the money came from? Uncle Sam?”
Dean hurled a fastball (what the papers called his fireball) at Lou Chiozza, or to be more exact, at Chiozza’s head. Narrowly missing a beanball was a disconcerting experience, and Chiozza picked himself up from the dust, chastened.
“Well,” Mantz said, “Gippy and Amelia sure as hell didn’t come up with the dough, at least not all of it, not nearly. And listen, from the start, the military’s been on this like ants at a picnic. You don’t fly across the Pacific — particularly not when part of the plan is to land on a flyspeck like Howland Island — without the cooperation of Navy tenders, seaplanes, and personnel.”
“You said it yourself — Amelia has the President and First Lady in her pocket. She could pull that off.”
Chiozza struck out.
“Heller, U.S. naval policy is that no nonmilitary flights get any assistance, whatsoever, with the exception of emergency aid. Every pilot in America knows that. Listen, Manning was a Navy captain, and Noonan is a lieutenant commander in the naval reserve, for Pete’s sake.”
“That’s not surprising, is it? The military is where pilots get trained, for the most part.”
Dean hurled his fireball at Jimmy Ripple’s head. The crowd roared in delighted approval; another Dizzy Dean beanball show was under way!
“Sure most pilots get their training in the military,” Mantz said, “but does that explain why Amelia was driven around in a naval staff car? Or why we were given carte blanche at Luke Field in Honolulu, an Army/Navy airfield? Heller, Army Air Corps personnel dismantled the Electra in Honolulu and crated it for shipping back to Lockheed in Burbank, and we used a Navy hangar at Oakland Airport.”
“What do you want me to do about it?”
His face was clenched with urgency. “Come back to California with me. I’ll point you in the direction of some other people who, like me, were part of the inner circle and then got closed out, suddenly. You need to do some snooping around both Burbank and Oakland—”
“Whoa. I don’t want this job, Paul.”
Jimmy Ripple struck out.
“Why not?”
“If the government’s in on this, if this is a military matter, if Amy’s agreed to... to, what? Participate in some espionage mission of some kind? Then that’s their business, and hers.”
Mel Ott stepped up to bat, waiting for his fireball.
“But I don’t think she even knows it’s a government effort,” Mantz said. “Or at least she doesn’t realize to what extent.”
Dean hurled the ball at Ott’s head, Ott jumped out of the way, cursing. The umpire said nothing, did nothing.
“I think this is all Gippy’s doing,” Mantz went on bitterly. “I mean, Christ, Heller, you know Amelia! You’ve heard her speak, you were her bodyguard on that lecture series!”
“What’s your point?”
“She’s a goddamn pacifist, for cryin’ out loud! She’s not gonna willingly cooperate with the military.”
Ott struck out.
“People make all kinds of deals with the devil,” I said, “if they want something bad enough. And I know how bad she wanted this flight.”
“I tell ya, if you can come up with proof that Gippy sold her out, I can get word to her, early in the flight.”
Hubbell was back on the mound. No beanballs for him. He just played his game.
“And what,” I said, with a single dry laugh, “she’ll turn around and come home? Do you always fly without a parachute, Mantz? Do you always land on your head?”
His mouth twitched a grimace. “She needs to know she’s being used.”
“Let’s suppose she is. Being used. Do I want to take on the military or the feds or whoever? No. Let Dizzy Dean argue with the umpire. I don’t need that kind of grief.”
“He’s put her in harm’s way, Heller. If she doesn’t make it home, Gippy murdered her. Or the same as.”
“I don’t think much more of that bastard than you do, Paul. I’m sure he’s made all kinds of, yes, deals with the devil... but I still don’t see him working against Amelia, hoping she’ll crash in the ocean. Not with those stamps on board, anyway.”
“...Somebody’s been following me, Heller.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I had a shadow ever since I got to St. Louis.”
“Who?”
“How should I know?”
“You see the guy?”
“No. I can just feel it.”
Dizzy hurled his fireball at Johnny McCarthy, knocking him down, into the dust. The umpire said and did nothing.
“I’m not doubting you,” I said.
“Why do you think I wanted to meet you in some out-of-the-way place?”
“You mean with thirty thousand people around us?”
“It’s one way to hide.”
He was right. And down on the field, the Giants were charging out of their dugout (except Hubbell, ever a gentleman) and a full-scale brawl between the two teams was under way. Fists and spikes flying. The fans loved it.
“If you’re being followed,” I said, “then maybe the government, the military, is in on this.”
“Yes!”
“In which case, I don’t want to be.”
When the brawl on the field was finally quelled, Dean was allowed to stay in the game (with a fine of fifty dollars) and he promptly, brazenly hurled another beanball at Johnny McCarthy. But the brawl did not resume, and McCarthy soon scored a double to left center and the game wound up Giants 4, Cards 1.
I thanked Mantz for inviting me to the game — it was worth the trip to St. Louis — and told him to forget about the fifty bucks for two days’ work. All he owed me was for my train ticket and meals and a few other minor expenses.
And as the days passed, I read about Amelia’s progress on her flight and all seemed to be going well. I was writing Mantz’s suspicions off to his dislike of Putnam, which was something I could easily understand, and his frustration at being shut out of the inner circle.
On June 4, Mantz — back in Burbank — called me, at my office, and asked, “Weren’t you around the hangar, last year, when Amelia and me had that tiff about her radio antenna?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I was — she didn’t want to be bothered with unreeling it by hand or something.”
“It’s two hundred and fifty feet of trailing wire antenna, and yes, it is a pain in the ass to use. That’s partly why I installed a Bendix loop antenna for her. But those Coast Guard boys aren’t up on these latest gadgets, so it was vital she had that antenna along, as a backup, so the Coast Guard cutter near Howland Island can be sure to locate her.”
“From your tone, I take it she left the trailing wire behind.”
“I sent Putnam a telegram, expressing these concerns, before I left St. Louis... His letter of reply arrived in Burbank days after I got home.”
“And?”
“She didn’t leave the wire behind.”
“Good.”
“Right before she left Miami, she had the technicians shorten it and run it along the wings.”
“And that won’t do the trick?”
“Oh, it’ll work out swell — for stringing Christmas tree lights.”