“Ha! The question is more like where aren’t we going to fly,” he said. “All over the Caribbean, all those islands. Down through Mexico, there’s some wonderful places in Central America you know. And then to Buenos Aires, me boy . . . Argentina. Enchanted place. Buenos Aires is going to be the next Paris, just you watch.”
“It all seems so far,” I offered.
“Far? Oliver, mark my words. In ten years you’ll be able to get on a plane in New York and fly to London, or Paris, or even Rome. You’ll fly in a big, beautiful bird drinking the best wine and eating the best food. You’ll make a trip in a day that now takes almost a week. And from California we’ll send up flights that will go to Hawaii, and from there we can get to the Orient. China, Japan—a world most people have only dreamed of,” Mister Trippe said.
He leaned back in his wicker chair.
“The oceans, sir?” I said. “Taking people all the way across? Lindbergh barely made it, and it was just him.”
Mister Trippe turned to me again.
“Nobody believes it can be done more than Lindbergh,” he said.
Then he turned and looked out his window, sipping his rum and puffing on his cigar.
"Flying Conquistadors" is reality inspired fiction.
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Copyright 2016 by Michael Scott Bertrand.
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