At noon, Wonderboom Airport in Pretoria was sweltering under the glaring heat. After finishing his lunch at the San Giovanni restaurant near the airport entrance, Keith took out his phone and made a call.
About half an hour later, Alan Baker arrived at the restaurant. In his early forties, lean and of medium build, Baker had an exceptionally ordinary appearance, the type that leaves no impression after a glance. Keith found he could barely remember what he looked like just two days later.
"Mr. Shannon," called the broker with a sharp eye, spotting Keith seated in the corner as soon as he walked in and raising his hand in greeting from afar.
Keith scanned the room, noting the irritated expressions of other patrons, and motioned toward the door.
Baker nearly jogged to Keith’s table, sitting down before he had even wiped the sweat from his brow, apologizing between breaths, "I’m really sorry for asking you to come so urgently, and I appreciate you making time today."
"It’s fine," Keith replied calmly, "I want this to proceed smoothly as well."
"You’re absolutely right," Baker agreed, nodding vigorously as beads of sweat fell onto the tablecloth, leaving small wet spots.
He pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his forehead and continued, "I contacted SkyLink the day before yesterday, and they called me back yesterday…" Mid-sentence, he fell silent as a waiter approached, placing a menu and a glass of ice water with lemon on the table.
Baker grabbed the water glass, gulping down most of it, then resumed as soon as the waiter had walked away, "SkyLink reached out to me yesterday and asked me to arrange a meeting with you, so I called you right away..."
"You mentioned this on the phone last night," Keith interrupted, waving a hand. "Where is the meeting?"
"Very close by. The company is just next to the airport."
"What time?"
"Two o''clock."
Keith glanced at his watch on his left wrist; it was only ten minutes to one.
"Well done," he said with satisfaction, then asked, "Have you had lunch?"
They stayed in the restaurant for another half hour and finally left around 1:30. In the midday sun, they walked northwest along Lintevert Avenue near the airport entrance for about ten minutes until they reached a hangar enclosed by black wrought-iron fencing.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
The hangar, covering about a quarter of an acre and standing three stories high, had red brick walls lined with rectangular steel-framed windows. If not for the fiberglass roofing in a gray-blue shade and the air conditioning units on the exterior walls lending a more modern appearance, most would assume it was a factory built in the 1960s or 70s.
Keith curiously glanced around, noting the sign next to the door that read “Precision Aviation Services” (PAS), and cast an inquiring look at Baker.
"PAS is a wholly-owned subsidiary of SkyLink," Baker explained, seemingly reading his thoughts. "However, their operations differ slightly. PAS not only provides aviation transport and aerial support but also offers aircraft maintenance and personnel training. PAS Flight Training School is the largest private training institution in Gauteng Province and has been a logistics and training contractor for the South African Police Air Wing."
"No wonder," Keith murmured, mentally noting this information.
The two entered the hangar from the back, climbed to the second floor, and walked down a straight corridor until they reached a white door with a “General Manager” nameplate.
Baker knocked on the door, and a voice from within called, “Come in.” He pushed open the door and led Keith inside.
As they entered, the general manager stood by the door to greet them. After Baker introduced them, he extended his hand with a smile. Keith noticed that on his right ring finger, he wore a dark gold ring with a beaver engraved on the face.
The general manager of Precision Aviation Services was named William Crawford. He looked to be in his thirties, tall and athletic, with a tan complexion and a physique resembling that of an American football player, giving him the appearance of an Ivy League alum who enjoyed outdoor sports.
After a brief handshake, Crawford gestured toward the sofa, then went to the water cooler and poured two glasses of ice water for them.
He placed the glasses on the coffee table in front of the sofa, took a seat in an adjacent armchair, and asked, "Mr. Shannon, Mr. Baker mentioned you’re interested in our aviation equipment. Is that correct?"
Keith pulled at his collar to unstick his sweat-soaked shirt from his chest and replied, "Yes, I’m co-investing in an aviation transport company with a few business partners. We specialize in delivering supplies to offshore oil platforms, and your two Mi-17 helicopters fit our needs perfectly."
“We happen to be looking to sell those two helicopters,” Crawford nodded, saying, “The price is $1.98 million each.”
"I’ll need to discuss this price with the others," Keith calculated the total in his mind and then added, "Additionally, I have one extra request."
"Go ahead."
"If the deal goes through, you’ll need to perform a full inspection on those two helicopters. I want them to be ready for immediate operation after payment."
"Of course," the other replied readily, “This is about our company’s reputation; we wouldn’t sell defective equipment to a client.”
"Very well. I’ll be in touch within the next couple of days." Keith stood up, signaling the end of the meeting.
They shook hands again, and Keith requested a business card from Crawford before leaving with Baker.
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Note:
Ivy League: An athletic conference composed of eight elite universities in the northeastern United States, commonly associated with the American upper class.