“Our pleasure,” Clete said. “I don’t suppose you know who the naval officer was?”
Martín hesitated before answering. “His name is Boltitz. He’s to be an assistant naval attaché.”
“I owe you one.”
“Are we still keeping score?”
“I’m sure you are,” Clete said.
They shook hands, and Martín left.
“Enrico!” Clete called, and when he appeared in the cockpit, “Get the extinguisher, please.”
“Sí, Señor.”
“What you do, honey,” Clete said to his student, “is turn on the MASTER BUSS. It’s already on, because I wanted to use the radios. Then you put the mixture to FULL RICH, the throttle to LOW IDLE, punch the ENGINE PRIME button, then the LEFT ENGINE START.”
“OK.”
He glanced out the window. Enrico was standing by a large fire extinguisher on wheels.”
Clete gave him the “winding it up” sign, and Enrico nodded.
“Do it, baby,” Clete said.
“Really?” she asked, and set the controls as he had explained. The left engine ground, coughed, and came to life.
“Let it warm a second, until it smoothes out, then get off FULL RICH, and when you see Enrico is ready with the extinguisher, start the right engine.”
A minute later, she looked at him happily.
“El Palomar, Lockheed Zebra Eight Four Three,” Clete said, “on the tarmac in front of the terminal. Request taxi and takeoff, visual fli
ght rules to Pila.”
Dorotéa looked at him curiously.
He pointed to her microphone.
She smiled and picked it up. “El Palomar, Lockheed Zebra Eight Four Three,” Dorotéa said into it, “on the tarmac in front of the terminal. Request taxi and takeoff, visual flight rules to Pila.”
A long moment later, the tower replied, disbelief evident in the man’s voice.
“Say again, Señor?”
“That’s Señora, Señor,” Dorotéa said. “I say again, Lockheed Zebra Eight Four Three on the tarmac in front of the terminal. Request taxi and takeoff, visual flight rules to Pila.”
There was an even longer wait for El Palomar’s reply. “Zebra Eight Four Three, make a left turn from your parking position. Take Taxiway Left Four to Runway Two Eight. Report when you are on threshold of the runway.”
“That’s enough instruction for one day,” Clete said, and took Dorotéa’s microphone from her hand to reply to the tower. There was a look of disappointment on her face.
Enrico put his head in the cockpit. “Ready, Señor Clete.”
“I’ll tell you what, baby, when we’re ready to go, put your feet on the pedals and your hands on the wheel, and follow me through.”
“Really?”
“Really.”