F-4 Phantoms. Turika was immediately interested. “Did you know a Colonel Anthony Waters?” Turika asked.
A rueful look crossed Shanker’s face. “Yeah. I knew Muddy. They don’t get any better. I was with him at Ras Assanya. I was evacuated out just before the base was overrun.”
“Muddy was a good friend,” Turika said. “And Jack Locke.”
“I knew Jack,” Shanker said. The two men shook hands, bound by a common tie to two legends of the U.S. Air Force.
“Well,” Turika said, “Chalky here tells me you can help with our dilemma.”
“I belong to a group in the states called the Gray Eagles. We restore warbirds and keep ’em flying for air shows and demonstrations. We’re long on volunteers and short on money, but we can take care of the Lightning, providing it was a donation and transported to the States.”
“And provided,” Turika said, “the CAA doesn’t turn it into scrap.” He studied the Lightning for a moment. “This was the first Lightning I ever flew. Chalky was my instructor. Do you remember that?”
Seagrave nodded. “Like yesterday. Technically it still belongs to your government and is on loan to us.”
Turika exhaled loudly. “The ownership is a confused issue. My government wants nothing to do with it.”
“But the CAA doesn’t know that,” Seagrave said. Turika fell silent, considering his options.
“Gramps,” Eric said, “if the Gray Eagles get it, I can wash it and keep it clean. I got lots of friends who’ll help me.” A thought came to him. “You know what would be real neat?” He was so excited he couldn’t contain his twelve-year-old enthusiasm. “We can paint it with Saudi markings, just like when Prince Turika and Commander Seagrave flew it.”
“I doubt if the Saudis would allow that,” Seagrave said. He looked at Turika. “But there would be a certain poetic justice, since your country has kept it alive.”
Turika smiled at the boy, recalling when his sons had been the same age. But they had all grown up, and not one had followed in his footsteps. “Do you want to be a fighter pilot?” Eric nodded vigorously, a big grin on his face. Turika turned to Shanker. “You’re a very lucky man to have such a grandson. Let’s make something happen, for his sake.” He paused, remembering the past. “And for Muddy Waters and Jack Locke.” He looked at Seagrave. “Chalky, do you know anyone in your government who might be sympathetic?”
“Miss Liz will help,” Eric blurted out. Just as quickly he added, “Excuse me, I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Seagrave murmured.
“Sorry, Chalky,” Liz said, “but I don’t have the authority to do anything.” She gazed at the Lightning and recalled her short flight from the day before. “What a shame. It is a magnificent machine.”
“What if we submitted a letter returning the Lightning to its rightful owner?” Seagrave asked.
“I thought the RAF Cranthorpe Memorial Display owned it,” she replied.
“It is my understanding,” Turika said, “that it is on loan from my government, along with all the equipment, tools, spare parts, and extra engines.”
Liz understood exactly what the men were suggesting. “Well, if you submitted the letter through my office…”
“And if you didn’t forward it for a week or so,” Seagrave added.
“I had planned on taking leave starting tomorrow,” Liz said. “I’d be gone a week. It would be on my desk waiting for my return.”
“And if I happened to take possession of the Lightning during that time,” Turika said.
“Yes, I see,” Liz said. “You could move it at your discretion.” She warmed to the idea. “Actually, if it was out of the country, the problem goes away, for which I personally would be most grateful—in my official capacity, of course.”
“What about an export license to clear customs?” Seagrave asked.
“No license is required for exporting salvage,” Liz replied. “Just a
A rueful look crossed Shanker’s face. “Yeah. I knew Muddy. They don’t get any better. I was with him at Ras Assanya. I was evacuated out just before the base was overrun.”
“Muddy was a good friend,” Turika said. “And Jack Locke.”
“I knew Jack,” Shanker said. The two men shook hands, bound by a common tie to two legends of the U.S. Air Force.
“Well,” Turika said, “Chalky here tells me you can help with our dilemma.”
“I belong to a group in the states called the Gray Eagles. We restore warbirds and keep ’em flying for air shows and demonstrations. We’re long on volunteers and short on money, but we can take care of the Lightning, providing it was a donation and transported to the States.”
“And provided,” Turika said, “the CAA doesn’t turn it into scrap.” He studied the Lightning for a moment. “This was the first Lightning I ever flew. Chalky was my instructor. Do you remember that?”
Seagrave nodded. “Like yesterday. Technically it still belongs to your government and is on loan to us.”
Turika exhaled loudly. “The ownership is a confused issue. My government wants nothing to do with it.”
“But the CAA doesn’t know that,” Seagrave said. Turika fell silent, considering his options.
“Gramps,” Eric said, “if the Gray Eagles get it, I can wash it and keep it clean. I got lots of friends who’ll help me.” A thought came to him. “You know what would be real neat?” He was so excited he couldn’t contain his twelve-year-old enthusiasm. “We can paint it with Saudi markings, just like when Prince Turika and Commander Seagrave flew it.”
“I doubt if the Saudis would allow that,” Seagrave said. He looked at Turika. “But there would be a certain poetic justice, since your country has kept it alive.”
Turika smiled at the boy, recalling when his sons had been the same age. But they had all grown up, and not one had followed in his footsteps. “Do you want to be a fighter pilot?” Eric nodded vigorously, a big grin on his face. Turika turned to Shanker. “You’re a very lucky man to have such a grandson. Let’s make something happen, for his sake.” He paused, remembering the past. “And for Muddy Waters and Jack Locke.” He looked at Seagrave. “Chalky, do you know anyone in your government who might be sympathetic?”
“Miss Liz will help,” Eric blurted out. Just as quickly he added, “Excuse me, I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Seagrave murmured.
“Sorry, Chalky,” Liz said, “but I don’t have the authority to do anything.” She gazed at the Lightning and recalled her short flight from the day before. “What a shame. It is a magnificent machine.”
“What if we submitted a letter returning the Lightning to its rightful owner?” Seagrave asked.
“I thought the RAF Cranthorpe Memorial Display owned it,” she replied.
“It is my understanding,” Turika said, “that it is on loan from my government, along with all the equipment, tools, spare parts, and extra engines.”
Liz understood exactly what the men were suggesting. “Well, if you submitted the letter through my office…”
“And if you didn’t forward it for a week or so,” Seagrave added.
“I had planned on taking leave starting tomorrow,” Liz said. “I’d be gone a week. It would be on my desk waiting for my return.”
“And if I happened to take possession of the Lightning during that time,” Turika said.
“Yes, I see,” Liz said. “You could move it at your discretion.” She warmed to the idea. “Actually, if it was out of the country, the problem goes away, for which I personally would be most grateful—in my official capacity, of course.”
“What about an export license to clear customs?” Seagrave asked.
“No license is required for exporting salvage,” Liz replied. “Just a
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