almost invariably sat in the jump seat during takeoff and landing. He had more than once told Jack that “it makes the passengers nervous if they see some guy in a sports coat coming out of the cockpit.”
But Jack had been surprised when they got to Schipol and his father had taken him into the briefing room for the weather and the weight and balance procedures, and had motioned for him to follow when they had walked around the huge aircraft while Ratisse and Defarre and the flight engineer, Paul Dupose, another Belgian, had done the preflight examination.
But Captain Portet rarely took over from the pilot, and this was the first time he had ever ordered Jack into the right seat of a passenger-carrying 707, although he had often flown as his father’s copilot in cargo versions of the aircraft.
But Jack knew his father didn’t like questions, and he strapped himself in, looked at the flight documents for a moment, and then reached for the checklist.
Jack got the 707 off the ground without any trouble, although it took a little longer than he expected it would, and to cruising altitude and across the Netherlands, Belgium, and half of France before his father indicated to the captain, who was riding the jump seat, that he should resume command of the airplane and unstrapped himself. The captain had just about finished adjusting his seat when Jack became aware that the first officer was standing behind him, waiting for him to get out of the copilot’s seat.
“Thank you, Captain,” Jack said.
“My pleasure, Jack. Anytime,” the captain replied.
He did not sound very sincere.
The first-class compartment had six rows of seats, four to a row, twenty-four in all. They were all full. Except for Felter— who was asleep—and Finton—who was reading a book—all the faces were black.
Captain Portet led Jack past their empty seats, to the galley that separated the first-class section from the tourist section, and helped himself to two cans of Coca-Cola from the refrigerator. He handed one to Jack, then tapped his can against Jack’s.
“I hope you enjoyed that, Jacques,” he said.
“What was that all about?” Jack asked.
“I’m going to land it,” his father said. “Which, with a little bit of luck, will bring to a suitable conclusion my career as chief pilot of Air Congo, and yours as one of Air Congo’s loyal legion of reserve pilots.”
“You’re quitting?” Jack asked.
Captain Portet nodded.
“ ‘With a little bit of luck’?” Jack quoted.
“Kasavubu’s not going to like it,” Captain Portet said.
He motioned for Jack to follow him, stepped into the aisle, and pushed aside the curtain to the tourist section.
There were seats for 130 passengers. Only a quarter of them were occupied. Half were white, and half black.
“Those are the paying passengers,” Captain Portet said. “You can’t fly a 707 from Schipol to Léopoldville on what you get paid for thirty-five, forty tourist-class tickets.”
“The cargo bay is full,” Jack said. “It took me a long time to get off; it felt like we were pretty close to max gross weight.”
“You didn’t know we were pretty close to max gross weight?” Captain Portet challenged. “Why did you think I took you with me to flight planning?”
“I didn’t think I would be taking it off,” Jack said, a little lamely. “And you and Henri didn’t seem concerned.”
“Jesus Christ, Jacques,” his father said. “I’ve taught you better than that. If you’re flying, you get the necessary information yourself.”
The trouble with this ass-chewing, Jack thought, is that the old man is absolutely right.
There followed a long pause.
“We were close to max gross weight, and the cargo bay is full,” Captain Portet said finally. “The problem is that the cargo is being paid for with government vouchers. And so are the tickets of the passengers in first class, with the exception of Felter and Finton. The other first-class passengers are all Congolese bureaucrats of one kind or another who go to Brussels or Paris or London for consultation every other month, sometimes more often. One day of consultation, and three days to recuperate from that exhausting labor.”
“I don’t think I follow you,” Jack said.
“Right after you got drafted, we got a notice from the Secretary of State for Finance: ‘Temporarily, until the end of the current emergency, payment of government passenger and cargo vouchers will be delayed.’ ”
“Air Simba, too?” Jack asked.
“Air Simba first,” his father said. “When that happened, I thought either Kasavubu or Mobutu was putting pressure on me to sell part of it. Now I’m convinced