LITMIR.BIZ

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Backpackers’ Pantry, had been eaten. Now they sat around holding metal mugs of campfire coffee, their tents pitched behind them, kayaks pulled up for the night. Max and Adam stared into the fire, each lost in his own thoughts, while Dylan, always the restless one, built an inuksuk out of nearby stones. Then, bored with that, he suddenly said, “So, Adam, any regrets about getting hitched?”

      Adam turned from the fire to glance over at his old friend. “No,” he said simply. “In fact, if I could be granted one wish, it would be to have met Serena earlier.”

      Recalling some of the women Adam had dated in his very full bachelor life, Max was inclined to wish the same thing. He’d been forced to spend time with some of Adam’s women and they tended to be—well, flaky would be putting it kindly. But Serena Long had been right for Adam from the first day they’d met. Not that either of them had known that, of course.

      Max took some pride in the fact that he’d been the one to introduce his old friend, a performance coach, to his buddy, a cop who was having some performance issues in the hockey arena. When Serena started getting threatening emails, Adam had done everything he could to keep her safe, even as the crazy psycho who was stalking her stepped up the threats. But some good had come out of it. A notorious killer was behind bars, and Adam and Serena were getting married.

      “One wish. Wow,” Dylan said. “Hey, Max, if you could have one wish what would it be?”

      As he opened his mouth Dylan held up a hand. “And no ‘world peace’ or ‘cure cancer’ allowed. Let’s hope we’d all man up and choose something noble if we actually stumbled across some genie who could give us anything. But, you know, what would you want for yourself?”

      Max hoped he’d be big enough to ask for world peace if this magic genie appeared, but he suspected he was too weak. There was one thing that all the money and hard work in the world couldn’t buy. “I’d ask for infection-proof ears. Retroactive to childhood.”

      There weren’t many people in the world who knew his secret regret, but these two guys were the closest friends he had. They knew that he’d always dreamed of being an astronaut. And that a couple of stupid childhood ear infections had weakened his ears to the point that he was out of the running before he even started. By the time he finished high school he knew he’d never be an astronaut.

      “Yeah, that really sucked. But, you know, how many people get to be astronauts? For real?”

      “I would have made it,” he said with the simple certainty of a man who had the tenacity to set his sights on a goal and pursue it single-mindedly. He had the smarts and the right temperament. What he didn’t have were the ears. He’d been ridiculously successful at everything he’d set his mind to. Except his dream.

      “Life didn’t turn out too bad for you,” Adam said. “I bet most astronauts would trade their jobs for the billions you’re worth.”

      Max shrugged. “I’d take the trade.”

      “Yeah, I know.”

      Money was easy to make in Max’s experience. Even though he couldn’t take part in space missions he’d studied astrophysics and invented a climate-control system that was eventually purchased by NASA. He’d refined his system and licensed it to most of the world’s major airlines. Obscenely rich at thirty-five, he now spent his time working as a venture capitalist. Money wasn’t the problem. If he had a problem, he suspected that it was boredom.

      “Bought any companies lately?” Dylan asked.

      “As a matter of fact, I am thinking of buying an airline.”

      “I hope it’s a big American one because I have to tell you, last time I flew—”

      “Nope. It’s called Polar Air.”

      “Polar Air? Are you kidding me? Sounds like an air-conditioning system.”

      “Well, it’s an airline. A small outfit that operates in Alaska.”

      “If I had your money I’d buy yachts. And really big jewelry for bathing-suit models.” Dylan shook his head. “You buy Bush League air.”

      “And that’s why he’s rich and you’re not,” Adam said.

      “What about you, smart-ass?” Max said to Dylan. “What would you have if you were granted one wish? And no world peace for you, either.”

      “Or Max’s billions.”

      Dylan grinned, his teeth gleaming white in the firelight. He thought for a moment then grew serious. “I’d choose a superpower, obviously. Superstrength? X-ray vision? I can never decide.”

      “Come on, dude. Quit messing around.”

      Adam said, “You know, I think he’s being serious.”

      “Bet your ass I am.”

      Max shook his head and asked Adam, “Why are we friends with this guy?”

      “Comic relief?” Adam tipped his head to the side and caught the coffee cup that came flying toward him. Having a serious conversation with Dylan was like talking physics with a golden retriever.

      Dylan stood, stretched his arms high. “Well, one thing is for sure, I’m still in the running for Last Bachelor Standing and the odds are getting shorter.”

      Max laughed. “It’s down to you and me now, buddy. And I play to win.”

      * * *

      MAX RETURNED TO his office in Hunter, Washington, after his long weekend of kayaking and found that, as usual, everything was running smoothly. His staff looked happy to see him, but it wasn’t like there was a lineup of people needing his input.

      He was smart enough to hire the best people he could find to work for him. He gave them autonomy, paid them well and was generous in praise and bonuses. As a result, his staff members were loyal, hardworking and proactive. His business ran like clockwork, his wealth grew exponentially every day.

      Varo Enterprises was so successful it even had an entire division devoted to funding charities and worthy causes.

      And Maximilian Varo, CEO of Varo Enterprises, was bored.

      After a meeting with his key people at which he mostly agreed with their suggestions and approved decisions and expenditures, he asked Leslie Adamson, the manager he’d put in charge of the Polar Air acquisition, how it was going. Leslie pulled out the relevant file. “It’s going all right. It’s a pretty small deal by our standards. Shouldn’t be any problem buying for the right price and then putting in some good people to turn it around.” She flipped back a few pages in the file. “Polar Air used to be a successful regional airline. Started in the ’50s with a couple of bush pilots, husband and wife. Lynette and Carl Lundstrom.

      “They flew supplies to hunting and fishing lodges, carried mail, flew equipment to logging and mining operations. Got bigger, and more successful. They flew hikers, hunters, geologists, kayakers all over Alaska. Then in the last five years things have gone south. The recession had an impact, but they are way behind on payments to suppliers and they aren’t keeping up with the times. We think there’s plenty of business that they aren’t going after. The fleet’s in good shape, there’s a small but loyal customer base. Could be a turnaround candidate to flip or we could keep it, maybe look at further acquisitions, expand as a regional airline.”

      He knew all about the financials of Polar Air. Max never bought a business he didn’t understand and believe in. The small airline had some troubles, but the equipment was good, the pilots well trained. “You’re right. The airline should be more successful.”

      Leslie nodded. “I don’t like not knowing what the problems really are. What we need is somebody on the ground.”

      “Or in the air,” he said.

      Leslie agreed. “They’ve got an opening for a pilot. Somebody with a commercial pilot’s license and some smarts could find out what’s going on from inside the operation.”

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