I have never had to take a story into two-months worth of PIREPs before but this was beginning to read more like one of Bill’s books. (You HAVE purchased your copy of GET REAL – the FlightSim Novel haven’t you?) Anyway, this is not that book but you may need to go back and read the Flight Club’s December FOTM PIREPs to get all the background information.The RPMs rev and the tires squeal as I put the little Alfa Romeo convertible through its paces along Topanga Canyon Road in western Los Angeles County. I am heading through the canyons, past sagebrush, palm trees and wonderfully designed homes down toward Malibu and the famous Pacific Coast Highway (PCH1). Just as I catch the first glimpses of the blue Pacific Ocean the dash-mounted cell phone rings. I hit the answer button, “Yellooooooooow?” I say above the “Reeeeeee, reeeeeeeeeeee!” revs of the motor.
"Ron? It’s Peter”says the voice on the other end of the call. “Where are you?”
PETER STARK! I was shocked (and a little scared). After my antics last month I needed to be careful talking to Peter, I didn’t want to raise suspicion. Skreeeeeeeeetch, “Ummmmm,”
Reeeeeeeeee, reeeeeeeeeeeeeeskreeeeeetch, “Monacco.”
“Crickey Mon! Are you being chiased?” Peter asks.
Ruuuuuuuummmmmmmmm, “NO! Just havin’ a little fun.” Reeeeeeee, reeeeeeeeeeee. Ruuummmm-Ruuuuuuuuummmmmmmm-Rum-skreeeetch. “What do you need?” Reeeeeee, reeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
“We got us a hum-dinger mon, big problems. Me, Bill, Tony, Salina, Hans maybe others, we’re all caught up in this. So far as I know, you are the only one not involved yet.”
WHEW! Ruuuuum, ruuuuuuuummmmmmmm. So far it sounded like I was off the hook. “Go on.”
I say. Reeeeee, reeeeeeeeee.
“No one has heard from Brad either, he may be missing.”
“Are you kidding me?!” Ruuuuuummmmm-
“Remember Rik, used to fly with the Flight Club?” Peter continues, hesitating.
“Yea, sure. What’s old Vyverman up to anyway?” skreeeeetch
“Well, he might have some information on this too, he thinks he has a lead in the Mediterranean basin but he can’t get too close to the problem either – with his international ties and all.”
Reeeeee, reeeeeeee, reeeeeeeeeee. “So what am I supposed to do?” I ask. “You’re closer, in North Africa aren’t you?” Ruuuuuuummmmmm.
“Yes but last month an agent, using MY NAME AND I.D. was knocked off on some remote Chilean island!” Peter was practically shouting.
“He wasn’t ‘knocked off’!” I correct. Whoops!
“So far as we can figure there must be a ring of pharmaceutical smugglers. They raided Bill’s rather extensive pharmacy in Perth last month. They actually kidnapped him, took his DC-3 and made him fly them across the whole of the country down there.”
“WHAT?” Ruuuum-Ruuuuuummmmm-Ruuum-skreeeeeeeeeeeetch. (I pull off under a Eucalyptus tree at the intersection of Topanga Canyon and PCH)
“We can only guess after this,” Peter continues, “but we think they set off across the South Pacific. Tony ended up in a medication-induced stupor on some Tahitian island. As I mentioned, some guy claiming to be Peter Stark the Australian was ‘taken out’ on some remote Chilean island! One of our agents said he dropped Hans off in Ecuador but that the whole situation stank like a bloated dead dingo.” Peter obviously needed to remain “freelance” and under-cover in Africa, I only hoped that he’d be working on finding additional information from his end. I was also thankful to learn that there were some real, virtual, “bad guys” out there…but WHO WHERE THEY? Who would admit to flying virtual contraband?
Anyway, Peter had hinted that I’d need to get to (or near) the Mediterranean, which was FINE with me, I’d love to go there. So I was off to LAX to find a flight – something discrete.
Rum, skreeeeeeeetch reeeeeeeeee, reeeeeeeeeeeeeee, reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-
Rum, skreeeeeeeetch reeeeeeeeee, reeeeeeeeeeeeeee, reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-
LAX to St.Maarten V.I. departing Monday December 13th at Oh-dark-30 in the morning: I boarded the Jetstar VC-10 with the other passengers. Frankly, I didn’t know they were still using these “Vickers” for regular flights – oh well, it’s all a story anyway! ATC directed us out to runway 7L for departure. I watched the Disney/Pixar movie The Incredibles during the long flight, [PHOTO 001] cabin service was pretty good too! As usual ATC brought us down late and the Captain had to make the procedure turn over the NDB [PHOTO 002] before setting up for final approach over the famous beach at Princes Julianna. [PHOTO 003] We arrived to runway 9 a little after 16:00 local time.
That night I hit the casino near-by to see if anyone knew anything about smuggling anti-psychotic medications. After talking with a half-dozen people “in-the-know”, I discovered that there was a group, calling themselves “The Six Pack”, who were thought to be conducting some devious acts of espionage, possibly to include smuggling, under the guise of “bar hopping.” One guy I met handed me a recruiting flyer from the group:
…adventures of six beer lovin’ flight simmers, trying to (against all odds) overcome bad weather, time zones, crazy air traffic controllers and muddy runways, as they go from continent to continent in search of… the perfect beer!!
This project brings together a somewhat “dysfunctional” group of pilots -- Strong believers that beer is the one true thing that can bring mankind together, members of “The Six Pack” intend to tour the world -- this web site will contain twists, tales and drama -- We all enter this adventure with good (or bad)intentions –
I asked where he had gotten the information and was told that a Canadian named “Bryan Kirk” had tried to hire him about 3 months ago. I spent the rest of that night and most of the next day scaring up leads from Montreal to Pittsburg to Tampa and Miami, through non-existent people…to Key West…then the trail seemed to fizzle. Something smelled of a Government Bureaucracy!
We knew from the flier that they were interested in beer, or at least that was their cover story, so the next afternoon I headed over to the most popular local bar. I found an old man willing to talk: “Don’t know much,” he said, “but one of them guys was here last week…said that they now had enough money to make it to ‘Papa’s III’. Something about getting paid off for doing a job.”
“Where’s Papa’s III?” I ask blankly – forgetting that a James Bond type could get the additional information from MI6. The old guy didn’t know but there wasn’t time now anyway, I was heading off to Paris aboard a Corsair 747SP.
We knew from the flier that they were interested in beer, or at least that was their cover story, so the next afternoon I headed over to the most popular local bar. I found an old man willing to talk: “Don’t know much,” he said, “but one of them guys was here last week…said that they now had enough money to make it to ‘Papa’s III’. Something about getting paid off for doing a job.”
“Where’s Papa’s III?” I ask blankly – forgetting that a James Bond type could get the additional information from MI6. The old guy didn’t know but there wasn’t time now anyway, I was heading off to Paris aboard a Corsair 747SP.
We departed the islands about 16:40 local time [PHOTO 004] taking a heading direct to the Azores. [PHOTO 005] Darkness soon came upon us and the flight was finished just before dawn. We were having difficulties first with capturing the ILS (because I forgot to switch the NAV/GPS switch) so we went missed. Next time by I was having difficulties with the airspeed and glideslope trim (‘cause I still had too much gas in the tanks) so went missed again at only 2.5 miles out! The third time by we made the landing nicely, shutting down just before 6 AM local time.
Although I would MUCH rather be spending my internet time at http://www.plr.org/ , I found a bar on Corsica so booked a little RJ to run me down there. We left about 15:00, [PHOTO 006] cruised down to the scenic Italian coast at 21,000 feet, [PHOTO 007] arriving in Corte’ just as the sun was slipping down behind Spain. [PHOTO 008] There was just time enough to head over to the local “Disco” to see what I could find out. I pulled on the Tuxedo I had gotten from Salina last month and checked my supplies: the chamber and extra clip for my Glock-9 semi-automatic; exploding pen; tear-gas-canister pager; shoe-phone…no, I mean cell-phone; shoe-bomb and x-ray-vision-thingy. What else would 007 carry? Oh yes, my briefcase, the one from “Tattoo”, which still contained the plans from “Q” which, being a month old now, were worth little more than scratch paper!
I headed to a local hotel, (actually on the coast) with a nightly disco bar…too commercial for these guys. But, (Bill take notes) I did meet up with a young lady named Mercedes who said she’d take me to another Disco on the island. We drove in her little European roadster to the Spanish-styled building. (Bill, I wanted you to see the architecture here!) [PHOTO 009] At a “quiet” table in a corner I met a man whom I had seen painted on the side of a 747 before [PHOTO 010] (Bond never forgets a face). What’s more, this guy knew of “Papa III” so I also asked him if he knew of “The Six Pack” but he did not. He recommended several “party stops” along the Mediterranean (Captain Jack’s Pub and Beer Garden at the Sea Horse Hotel; Captain’s Bar and Casino Harghada; Hurghada Trocadero Bar; Pub 20 Bar at Three Corners Empire Hotel; Jimmy’s at the Safir; Hotel La Luna Summer Night Club etc, there were many more) and then handed me his Thomas Cook Captain’s calling card. “I’m off for the next couple of days, do you need a pilot?” he offered.
Sounded to me like the perfect opportunity to get kidnapped, but why not? “Sure” I said, trying to hide my enthusiasm. Early the next morning I had Mercedes take me to the airport at Calvi (St. Catherine’s) where I was to meet the man who called himself “Rik” (I should have been suspect of a guy who can’t even spell his codename correctly!) For some reason I was expecting something, sheik, something slick, something modern or even futuristic, something worthy of an international spy such as myself…what I found was quite different! [PHOTO 011] There was “Rik,” standing by an old T-28 Trojan trainer. I climbed into the back, waved to my little hostess and we were off, to Las Palmas. [PHOTOS 012 & 013 ]
There, Rik had a new, bigger plane awaiting and we set off on an amazing “wild goose chase” to: northern Spain; Nice and Cannes; then to Lyon; Geneva; Northern France; finally to Belgium. [PHOTOS 014 – 015 - 016 ] The conversations were the same at every single stop so I’ll just give them to you once:
Rik: “Here we are!”
Me: “Is this Papa’s III?”
Rik: “No, but I know a great little bar here. You may find some information you need.”
We’d walk in and they’d all say, “Hi Rik, who’s your friend?”
Rik: “Some spy looking for ‘The Six Pack’.”
Them: “We’ll give him a Six Pack.”
Me: “I don’t drink, thanks”
Them: “Well then, how ‘bout some steak?”
Me: “Thanks but meat makes me ill and I’ve got important business to attend to.”
Them: “Wow Rik, this guy is some looser huh?”
Then we’d leave, heading off to Rik’s next worthless stop-over.
Two days later when we finally arrived in Brussels and my first priority was to get into a real bed, then I’d shower before worrying about these drug smugglers – but Rik had other plans. He drug me directly over to the Thomas Cook counter and booked me on the next flight out to Harghada, Egypt. I asked if he wasn’t going along and he looked at me incredulously: “No, I fly A320’s. Besides, I need to sleep before I fly.” He then turned and walked away, an off-duty flight attendant on each of his arms. “I thought Bond always got the girls” I sighed as I turned to board the 7E7, which was waiting at the end of the jetway.
In order to give you any details on my flight to Egypt I would have to have been awake. I was not, but see the pictures [PHOTOS 017 – 018 - 019 - 020 - 021 - 022 - 023 - 024 ] for scenes from that flight. (Note: the landing was so smooth that I didn’t wake up until we were parked up at the ramp and eager vacationers started climbing over me)
Upon my arrival in Egypt I took a taxi to the night club called Papa’s Beach where I was directed to the REAL Papa’s III, a place Rik described as the best local club on the sandy beach with no roof and loud music. [PHOTO 025]
I had to only ask once about “The Six Pack” and I suddenly found myself seated with Jack Johnston, an Irishman who had studied French before working in the likes of Dubai, Kuwait, Denmark and Switzerland. Now THIS GUY had connections! Then, shockingly, he admitted to knowing the head smuggler, Bryan Kirk! Jumping to my feet I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him to the table before wrestling him to the ground. “WHERE ARE THEY?” I shouted. “Where are the Six Pack Smugglers?” That’s the last thing I remember.
I awoke on a hard cot, in the well lit, empty cargo hold of a jet, winging it’s way to….somewhere? [PHOTO 026] My head ached! I struggled to focus my eyes on the faces nearby. “Okay,” I confess, “you got me! Finally. But who ARE you guys?” They rattled off their names: “Patrick, Ondra, Peps”… then the last man stepped forward, man was he ugly! “Peter Stark” he said. My jaw dropped! “THE Peter Stark?” I asked. “The Peter Stark from Robinson Crusoe!” he stated. “Where the **** is my airplane?”
“Ohhhh, THAT ‘Peter Stark’.” Ohhhh- how my head hurt! I just don’t see how Bill can keep this up, maybe it’s because he finds more girls who like their men, “weak and indecisive”? Whatever the case I was almost grateful to have been caught – I just wanted to rest. “So gentlemen,” I ask, “What’s the plan now?”
“We are planning on TRYING to continue our Around the World Flight,” they say. “We are live now at: http://aroundtheworld.vwss.ca. As for you,” they continue, “We plan to drop you off near where our problems started – then you’ll be on your own."
They then offered me a biscuit and some cool drink…I awoke several hours (or days) later on what appeared to be an unknown and uncharted tropical island. Now THIS was truly going to be a challenge!
