I looked over at Buzz, sitting next to me in the cockpit. "We're almost home." His pug-nosed face crinkled in a smile. He looked at his watch. "I think we got us a new record, too." "The hell with the record," I said. "All I want is that mail contract." He nodded. "We’ll get it now for sure." He reached over and patted the dashboard. "This baby insured that for us." I swung wide over the city, heading for Burbank. If we got the airmail contract, Chicago to Los Angeles, it wouldn't be long before Inter-Continental would span the country. From Chicago east to New York would be the next step. "I see in the papers that Ford has a tri-motor job on the boards that will carry thirty-two passengers," Buzz said. "When will it be ready?" "Two, maybe three years," he answered. "That's the next step." "Yeah," I said. "But we can't afford to wait for Ford. It could take five years before something practical came from them. We gotta be ready in two years." Buzz stared at me.
