Castle decisively put his foot down after hearing the Lockheed Martin executive's second request. No matter how much money India's Hindustan Aeronautics Limited (HAL) threw around, there was no way he was going to touch their ill-fated "Tejas" Light Combat Aircraft program.
"Listen, I understand that they're desperate," Castle began, trying to suppress his exasperation. "But let me ask you something—do they really think slapping a shiny new flight control system onto an obsolete airframe is going to make their flying coffin any better? It's like putting a bow tie on a corpse—it doesn't stop it from being dead."
The executive laughed nervously on the other end of the line. "Look, Castle, I get it. But they're serious about this. The Indian government's been breathing down their necks, and they see you as the guy who can save their bacon. They've got the money, and they're willing to pay—"
"Let me stop you right there," Castle interrupted, his tone firm. "This isn't about money. This is about reputation. HAL has a track record that would make any sane person run in the opposite direction. If I get involved with them and they screw it up—and trust me, they will screw it up—guess whose name is going to get dragged through the mud?"
The executive sighed. "Yours."
"Exactly," Castle said. "And let's be honest here: even if I handed them the most advanced flight control system in the world, it wouldn't make a difference. Their engineers wouldn't know what to do with it, their pilots wouldn't be able to handle it, and their planes would still crash. They're cursed, man. There's no fixing that."
The executive paused, clearly torn. "But what if—"
"Nope," Castle cut him off again. "Let me put it this way: HAL has spent nearly thirty years on a fighter jet that's already outdated. Thirty. Years. Do you know what other countries have accomplished in that time? China developed and deployed the J-10. The US moved from the F-22 to the F-35. Even Russia, with all its inefficiencies, has managed to churn out the Su-57. And HAL? They're still tinkering with their glorified paperweight."
"I see your point," the executive admitted, his tone deflated.
"Good," Castle said, his voice softening slightly. "Look, I know they're your clients, and I know they're desperate. But I'm not the guy who's going to fix their mess. They've made their bed—they can lie in it. And if they want a miracle, they can go pray to Vishnu or Shiva, because that's the only way they're going to turn that disaster of a plane into something halfway decent."
The executive chuckled despite himself. "Alright, Castle. I'll let them know you're not interested."
After hanging up, Castle leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Three decades," he muttered to himself. "Three decades for a third-generation fighter. Unbelievable."
Just then, Beckett walked into the study, holding a cup of coffee. She raised an eyebrow at her husband's exasperated expression.
"What's got you so worked up?" she asked, handing him the coffee.
Castle sighed, taking a sip before explaining. "You're not going to believe this. India's Hindustan Aeronautics Limited—they're the ones who've been trying to get me to work with them. Apparently, they think I can help them fix their Tejas fighter program."
Beckett frowned. "Isn't that the company you were joking about the other day? The one that crashes more planes than bad weather?"
"The very same," Castle confirmed, smirking. "And now they want me to swoop in and save their failing fighter jet. Can you believe that?"
Beckett chuckled, sitting down across from him. "So, what did you tell them?"
"I told them no, obviously," Castle replied. "I don't care how much money they throw at me—I'm not going to ruin my reputation by associating with the world's deadliest airplane manufacturer."
"Good call," Beckett said, sipping her coffee. "But I'm curious—what would it take to actually fix their planes?"
Castle laughed. "Honestly? A miracle. Or maybe a complete overhaul of their entire aerospace industry. But that's not my problem. They can keep crashing planes for all I care."
Beckett shook her head, smiling. "You really have a way with words, don't you?"
Meanwhile, in India, the executives at Hindustan Aeronautics Limited were in a state of confusion and frustration.
"What do you mean he said no?" one board member demanded, slamming his fist on the table.
"He said he's too busy," the vice president replied nervously.
"Too busy?" the board member repeated, his voice rising. "Doesn't he understand the importance of this project? The future of our aerospace industry is at stake!"
Another executive chimed in. "Perhaps we didn't offer him enough money. Maybe we should increase our offer?"
The vice president shook his head. "It's not about money. He seemed... how do I put this... skeptical of our capabilities."
"Skeptical?"
The vice president hesitated before answering. "He mentioned our... history of crashes. He doesn't want his name associated with us in case something goes wrong."
The room fell silent.
After a long pause, one of the older board members spoke up. "Perhaps we should focus on improving our own capabilities before seeking external help. If we can't convince someone like Castle of our competence, how can we expect to compete on the global stage?"
His words were met with reluctant nods, but the mood in the room remained grim.
Back in New York, Castle was already moving on from the incident. He had bigger things to worry about—like the ongoing schemes of the Rockset organization and the upcoming conspiracy involving the White House.
As far as he was concerned, HAL's woes were not his problem. And if they wanted to keep crashing planes, well... that was their business.
"Good luck, HAL," he muttered to himself, smirking. "You're going to need it."
(End of Chapter)
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