"Better'n I've any right ta be," Al answered. "Done a lot o' work onna Ferrari. Don't reckon ya seen that one yet."
Situated hard on the marina, their little group came almost immediately to the large sea hangar Al had been using. A quick comm command and the cargo doors rolled up, allowing them to transit their cargo in smoothly. Inside, a cement ramp sloped down one edge of the space directly to a broad, heavy gangplank connecting to the Catalina's wide side doors.
The plane was a large four-engine prop, light in the water at the moment. It was either pale blue, gray, or sea green, depending on how the light caught it before hitting the naked eye - the coatings Al had used defied a static color scheme. Ushering them inside, they walked through the spartan aft cargo space and forward into the equally bare-bones and much smaller passenger compartment, which was just behind the cockpit. The place was all hard and functional - corrugated aluminum alloy flooring with no other interior finish, the space enclosed by the fiberglass hull, adorned only by squarish HVAC ducts and heavy bundles of wiring stapled into place. There had once been plasboard walls, but Al had had to cut it all away to install the exit ports for the four ejection seats that now filled the space, two on each side.
Al quickly ran everyone through the ejection seats - securing, triggering, and water deployment - then went on back to make sure the loads were properly tied down.
"So we waitin' fer Silky, or she gittin' there on 'er own?"