is this a good idea?’ continued Peter, now completely engulfed in a time-bridging Matrix feeling.
The chair of the board glanced approvingly at his nephew. This was actually an Ernst-type question.
Lennart irritatedly noted his older brother’s expression and answered sharply, ‘18,000 dollars per paying customer, and demand exists!’
Peter was pulled out of the odd, unfamiliar mood and he smiled crookedly, ‘Oh, right – why didn’t you say so?’
The meeting broke for coffee. As they were standing beside the trolley with refreshments, Lennart passed his son a cup and whispered, displeased: ‘Nice that you finally show a little interest in Escape, but damn it! You can at least ask sensible questions, can’t you? I have enough trouble with people who don’t get the genius of these trips. Just the messing around about landing rights is…’
Peter sipped the hot coffee.
‘Don’t slurp!’ his father shot immediately, and Peter put down the cup, his lightly burnt tongue mumbling something that was supposed to resemble an apology.
‘We’ve hardly done any marketing, but we already have three fully booked weekends in March. And then suddenly everything comes to a dead stop. I don’t get how the land of opportunity can be such a bureaucratic nightmare all of a sudden. They completely reject the Wall Street landing pad and are hesitant about giving approval for West 30th. Can you believe it?’
‘No, why?’ wondered Peter.
Lennart shrugged his shoulders. ‘The usual, too close to the limit. They drone on about rotor diameter and noise, but, damn it, the latest Dauphin is quieter than those tin cans that are constantly flying tourists around the city!’
Peter’s curiosity grew. ‘Do you mean that we have already sold direct helicopter trips to Alaska?’
‘Yes, the Ultimate Adventure. Expensive. Exclusive. Half-crazy, but still possible.’
‘How is it possible?’
‘If you’re interested, Barbro has all the information,’ said Lennart, and they returned to the meeting.
The question about the investment decision had been tabled, and the meeting moved on to other matters, but Peter continued thinking about Wall Street-Alaska. It would undoubtedly look good alongside the company’s other destinations, and he believed his father: it would be a profitable sales success. He skipped lunch with the Board, choosing instead to eat a chicken salad in Barbro’s room while working on an exciting idea. Was there some way to reconcile ‘the Ultimate Adventure’ with the pile of rejection letters from everybody from the Federal Aviation Administration to the City of New York? Peter had actually negotiated for the family business in some small matters, but this time his social skills and charm were hardly enough. He read the reasons for the negative decisions. He looked things up in files and surfed the internet and determined that it was definitely a crazy idea – it would take 16 hours’ flying time plus five fueling stops to get the grizzly-bear-hungry finance yuppies to Alaska. Was there some other solution?
When the meeting resumed after lunch he said that he had something he wanted to say about the issue that they had tabled, and the Chair said he could have time at the end, during the agenda item ‘other matters’. He had two hours of waiting, and he discreetly prepared before finally getting the opportunity to talk.
‘13 million dollars is a lot of money.’ He felt Lennart’s cautious gaze resting on him. ‘But we have a large demand at a price that is clearly profitable. Wall Street-Alaska is too good an idea not to implement!’ Peter had turned toward the rest of the Board, but he was intensely aware of his father, just beyond his line of sight.
‘But we don’t know if it’s a flash in the pan or if demand will last long enough to pay for the investment,’ objected Ernst from the short side of the table, spinning the Chair’s gavel with his long fingers.
‘Exactly!’ said Peter. He saw his father’s face darken in response to his brother’s boring common sense. ‘So I have the following proposal…’ For that reason, and because we don’t actually have landing rights, he tried to signal to Lennart with his gaze. ‘We take a regular Raven to Manhattan, paint it for “the Ultimate Adventure” and make sure that we get the Wall Street landing pad for it. That way, the target group will see an advertisement for it outside their office windows every Friday. And then it can fly to Newark or…’
Lennart shook his head. ‘No, our customers don’t want that. Time is money.’
‘Exactly. Time is money.’ Assume that we have our own theme-park hangar in Newark where we directly outfit the guys for the trip. After they have the necessary gear they immediately board a comfortable private jet to Alaska! Then we don’t need to settle for Admiralty Island; we can get all the way to Fort Yukon in six hours. No refuelling stop.’
‘Yes, but the Eurocopter has an entirely different mobility and provides a completely different experience,’ said Ernst, suddenly on his little brother’s side.
‘Yeah, of course, but we rent that in Alaska from some search-and-rescue firm. The guests are just going to sleep on the long trip anyway.’ It’s over 5,000 kilometers, gentlemen, Peter thought, but instead he said: ‘It will still be seen as super exclusive and half impossible. And, of course, it’s a helicopter at the beginning and at the end, where it will be seen. Their pals will think they flew the chopper to the wilderness, because those are the only kind of pictures on Facebook.’
Ernst smiled broadly at his nephew. ‘No big investments necessary, we focus on concept and packaging. And the Newark hangar with add-on sales possibilities… The New York office can set this up. What do you say, Lennart?’ He held his pen, ready to cross out the decision to table the matter.
Lennart’s mouth formed a minimal smile, and he gave a little nod. A pleasant warmth spread in Peter’s chest.
When Peter came home late on Thursday he heard confidential voices from the communal kitchen. He went straight there and was surprised to discover Matt and grey Vera curled up on the sofa drinking tea. Could she actually be that social?
‘Don’t let this kind of stuff ruin you,’ she said, critically thumbing through a black book. ‘You are much better than this.’
Peter saw that it was The Game that she was talking about, the pick-up manual that he had loaned to Matt. It looked like it had been read a lot. For some strange reason, Peter felt challenged to defend it. That he had barely read it himself was suddenly unimportant. ‘There are actually things in there that are appreciated and work, at least on real women.’
‘Real men don’t need to lie and play-act.’ The retort came lightning fast.
‘Yeah, right, like your husband, that plastics guy. Is he a real man? Why are you living here, anyway?’ countered Peter.
Vera flinched as if she had been slapped in the face, got up and hobbled away. At the door she stopped, turning around and saying in a strangely trembling voice, ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but I am going to Stockholm on Saturday… to him.’
In the empty
