Voice 1: Acabo de necesitar para estar seguro eso por la mañana, allí complacerá es alguien allí recoger las medicinas. Voice 2, from outside: ¡Oye! Julio. Apenas esté por favor seguro no amontonar los frascos de vidrio demasiado altos.
Voice 1: No, nuestro piloto no está disponible todavía. El estará listo para volar mañana.
A woman’s voice: ¿Piensa usted que nuestro gringo está despierto todavía?
My body feels heavy, drained, sore. I become aware that I am laying in a fetal position on my left side. I open my eyes to see that I am lying on a cot in a semidarkened, plane room. My wrists are tied together and the cot is hard and rough. There is a heavy sheet drawn across the opening in the walls which are made up of exposed 2x4 joists with drywall on the outside. As near as I can tell, the cot, a small table, a lamp and two chairs are the only things in this 10 x 15 foot room. It seems that the room was built into the corner of a large building, maybe like an aircraft hanger? I swing my legs off the bed and push up to sitting. As I sit up I am awash in nauseating dizziness – a fog envelops me and I am distantly aware that the THUD I hear is my head hitting the floor.
The woman’s voice: ¿Usted está seguro que él será conveniente trabajar mañana por la mañana? A man’s voice: Estaré seguro tener el cheque de doctor él fuera con cuidado antes nosotros salimos. I open my eye to see two darkened faces looking over me. My right eye feels heavy and swollen, I bring my now-unshackled hand up to feel a bandage over my forehead.
“Senior Ron, hello. My name is Xavier” the man introduces himself.
“This is your assistant Soledad,” he nods toward the young woman.
“Welcome to Guatemala.” “Guata Who Ha?” I ask.
“GuateMALa” Soledad corrects.
“We have many things to discuss” Xavier continues, “but first we need to get you feeling better. Please, let Soledad help you and then I will fill you in. I’m sure you have many questionings.” Soledad kneels by my cot and offers me a straw. The drink smells fruity so I sip up some tropical mango or passion fruit juice. “You would like to eat, no?” Soledad asks. “First let me try and sit” I reply. I slide my legs off the bed and come, again, into sitting. Soledad sits on the cot next me, her arm around my shoulder steadying me. (At this point, if I were another author, I would launch into a detailed explanation of Soledad’s good and bad points. I will leave that up to the readers’ imagination stating only that she reminded me of a pint-sized, Hispanic Jessica Simpson.) After a few minuets of spinning and a few more sips of the juice she calls for Pedro to bring in my food. The teenager brings in a tray with a halved grapefruit and some crackers. Soledad guides me to the table where I eat carefully. (Or should I say cautiously?) With the heavy sheet now drawn back I can see that I am indeed in what appears to be a hanger of some sort with pallets and boxes. I have also seen two pickups, a jeep and a forklift. I have heard two small planes fly past outside and have determined that it is nighttime locally. Oh, and that I’m in Guatemala.
After watching me eat my breakfast, Soledad leaves the room, only to return with a man whom I hadn’t seen before. “Hello,” he greets. “I am doctor Juan Jesus Manuel Vasquez Uribe Constantinas Gutierrez. I trust you are feeling better now?”
“Ummm, yes, thank you.” The doctor proceeds to look at the bump on my head, checks my pupils and ears, and feels my neck glands. He checks my gross motor coordination as well as the strength in my arms and legs.
“Well,” he finally states, “I think you’ll be ready to fly by morning – all things considered.” With that he leaves. Soledad directs me out of my little room into the large expanse. About 50 feet away, on the near wall, I am taken to a chair at a large desk behind which Xavier is on the phone. “No señor, tenemos todos los libros y las medicinas aquí. Estaremos entregando ésos más tarde esta mañana pero quieren sus promesas que los niños serán capaces de recibir los bienes sin interferencia de los funcionarios del gobierno en su área. Okay, gracias amigo.”
After hanging up the phone he turns to me with a look of…was that pity?
“Ron,” he begins. “I am sorry for bringing you here under such circumstances.” He pauses, “But we must be very careful in our operations as well. I’m sure you understand.” Well, I didn’t but I nodded anyway. “Tell me,” Xavier continues, “What do you remember?”
“I was in…Innsbruck Austria. Alejandro had called me and asked to meet near the former Olympic Village Square, I left my hotel…walked to meet him…that’s really about it.”
“Okay” Xavier assures me. “The Alejandro who called you was my man not yours.” He waves to a 30-something year old man on the forklift. “Have you seen this document?” He slides a paper across the desk. It read as follows: Esteemed executive members of the Flight of the Month Club, We would like to use this opportunity to introduce ourselves. We are Los Carlos of Calí, exporters of fine Colombian commodities. We understand the Club is flying into Innsbruck, Austria during the month of December and is having difficulties finding financial backing for the venture. We are prepared to offer the executive members the opportunity to transport some of our finest Colombian products to the market of Innsbruck. The offer would be $1200.00 US dollars per kilogram of product delivered safely to the Innsbruck airport. With early or on time delivery there will be a $10,000.00 cash bonus. Los Carlos of Calí have taken the necessary steps to deal with the customs services of Austria. As a further incentive to the pilots of your organization, should the pilots of the Flight Club, in typical fashion, fail to deliver the products due to unforeseen technical issues there will be penalties. Thank you for your consideration. With our best wishes this holiday season, Los Carlos de Calí Av. Cortacabezas Parque Industrial Castrar Gringos Calí, Colombia
“Geert” was all I could say. (or remember for that matter) Xavier leans forward over the desk.
“Do you bigots think that drugs is all we deal in?” “Excuse me?” “This letter…Is it not yours? Does it not clearly hint that the ‘finest Columbian products’ would be drugs? What do you take me for, an even bigger idiot than your friends?” While I did take offense to his accusations, looking around at all of the men in the building, some of them armed, I did not feel it prudent to argue his point. “What do you want from me?” I ask finally. Xavier sits back, folding his hands behind his head. Then he chuckles. “We have a load of medicine and books which are to be delivered to various schools throughout the region. If you can complete these deliveries for us, and take Soledad back to her home afterwards, you will be free to go.” “Medicines?” I ask. “Of course my friend. Would you like to see?” He calls over one of the men who brings a box. Xavier whips out a knife and deftly slices all four corners and the box falls open, revealing bandages and vials of antibiotics as well as some local anesthetics, sterile syringes and gauze sponges. He speaks again, “You American’s are so wasteful, you throw out good medicines when they go unused – while here, we have no medicine sometimes. As our doctors see it, old medicine is better than no medicine. So, we procure medicines, and good books, and deliver them to the poor and orphaned.” I nod. “This is where we must be very careful, you see. If the governments knew what we were doing, they would charge tariffs on all of the goods – even if they were to be considered ‘extra’ or ‘unusable’ they would still charge us. There is much corruption in government – as in your country I am sure.” I nod agreement. “So where do I come in, exactly?” “Ah yes” he continues, “I thought that it would be a good education for you, and your virtual flying buddies, if you flew the routes for us this time. I will send Roberto and Soledad in the cockpit with you to help out, I will also have four others of my men in the back to be sure that our ‘products’ arrive safely. This is key though, we must not allow the government or airport officials to suspect anything is out of the ordinary, so you must fly, as they say, ‘by the book.’ Can you do that?” Xavier then takes me outside where I see a beautiful silver DC-3 being loaded by his men. There are few official markings other than some stripes and a Venezuelan flag or two. I can see where the registration number has been painted over, rather poorly I might add, and the YV500 markings are still visible alongside the new numbers.
“She’s old” Xavier offers, “but she is a good horse.” After we both look over the exterior of the plane carefully he asks, “So then, you will be able to fly her for us in the morning?” (pict1) “In the morning?” I ask, “What time is it?” Xavier looks at his watch, “02:23 local time.” “Do I have a choice?” I ask. He chuckles again, “We all have choices my friend – but flying with us is certainly the safer and less painful of your available options.”
While the pre-dawn hours pass I read up on some of historical information about this aircraft, and pace the floor hoping to work out much of the stiff soreness which lingers throughout my body. Finally the first rays of dawn appear and Xavier introduces me to my co-pilot Roberto Iglesias. We climb the stairs and up the hill into the well-worn cockpit where we start on the pre-flight checks. I still feel a bit foggy but Roberto walks me through it all and I try to quickly familiarize myself with the cockpit. Soledad brings us each a paper bag with breakfast and when the other men are in and all the cargo is secure we start the engines. The old radials cough and rumble to life – what a nice sound! We set off to taxi out to the active runway and I take a quick lesson in toe-brake steering (since the old way of flipping the rudder lever doesn’t seem to work in this plane!) Once we are lined up and cleared by ATC I slowly advance the throttles, they are stiff and heavy (or maybe I’m just weak from my ordeal) but we quickly get the tail up and use most of the rest of the runway accelerating into my trim setting, at which point we rotate off without really any back pressure on the yoke. As we confirm our safe climb Roberto raises the flaps and gear and Soledad talks with ATC from the “navigator’s” chair behind the co-pilot. (pict2)The air is choppy as we climb out and the bumps continue all the way in to Tegucigalpa, Honduras. This may be some of the best scenery in Central America and today it is obscured by clouds and low-lying haze or fog. (pict3)We have gusting wind and turbulence all the way onto runway 1. (pict4)
We arrive behind a departing MD-80 and under Soledad’s direction we are granted taxi to a distant hanger. (pict5)Roberto suggests that we keep the engines idling as there are only a few books to drop off here. I wished I had my copy of GET REAL but come to think of it, I don’t have anything of mine. “Soledad?” I ask, “Where’s all my stuff – from the hotel in Innsbruck?” “Once I am safely back to my family in Cali, they will give you your bag and you will be free to go wherever you like.” “Will I be flying this?” I ask. “Oh no” she replies, “This will only take us to Panama, then YOU will be providing our plane to Cali.” “I will?” I wonder aloud. Roberto pats me on the back, “The Collector will provide you a way” he says. I hear the back doors close and then, “¡Bueno jefe, todos nosotros somos hechos aquí, vayamos en a la próxima parada, rápidamente!” “Let’s go!” Roberto exclaims. Already Soledad is contacting the tower as I watch the blue Toyota pickup drive away.
We taxi back out to runway 1 and depart, (pict6)climbing back up to 9,000 feet for the less-bumpy cruise into Managua, Nicaragua. (pict7)It is nearly 10AM as we glide in over the threshold to runway 27. Off to the right I can see a group of Nuns and children waving – Wow, this is kind of fun! (pict8)(Just wish that I could see more than 5 miles!) During our 75 minutes on the ground the sun finally burned through the haze and the temperature climbed out of the 60’s. With Roberto and Soledad and the others back on board we restarted the big engines and taxied the short distance back to the runway for departure. Once cleared, we were safely on our way for San Jose, Costa Rica. I made a circling climb over Managua (pict9)and headed for the Lago de Nicaragua. (pict10)Our next waypoint was at the lake’s south end, San Carlos – the haze below had returned. (pict11)After a jaunt down the scenic coast we turned to finals into San Jose. (pict12) (pict13)
Just over two hours later I was again setting up for finals, this time in the waning daylight and into Marcos A. Gelebert International, Panama City. (pict14)It had been a long and tiring day (pict15)but Soledad promised some relaxation and a good meal once the plane was secured and we met up with one of Xavier’s colleagues. The wind was really whipping as I tried to keep the old DC-3 lined up on the runway without taking out the corner of that building which was too close to my approach path! (pict16)I landed a quite long, my bounciest landing of the day – not a good way to impress the watching ante’rage but then again, I think my task was only to deliver the goods not to look pretty.
In a hanger much like the only I had awakened in 18 hours earlier I sat at a table with 14 other individuals and we feasted on the best of local Panamanian cuisine. I felt satisfied, ready to sleep – but Soledad had other ideas. (Now, now, don’t jump to conclusions – it wasn’t like that!) Soledad, who had been working on this operation with Xavier for weeks, had missed the holidays at home and wanted to get back to her family in Cali. She offered me her cell phone and I called Alejandro (“The Collector” not Xavier’s man) who recommended something fast and with a good IFR panel.
It was nearly dark when I found myself and the young Hispanic beauty in the cockpit of the Adam-700 BizJet. (pict17)As I taxied back out to the northbound runway, Soledad entered a VOR > VOR route into the onboard computer – just over 500 miles to Cali. (pict18)Extended forcasts looked clear and calm, but I knew that there was terrain around the region so I had Soledad pull the plate for the ILS into runway 1 anyway. As tired as I was at this point, the flight passed without incident and before long we were descending into Cali, Columbia. I turned south taking my downwind leg 3 miles past the VOR, then turned left back over the VOR and smoothly onto the ILS. Seems that the glideslope takes you off toward Bogota (pict19)but I had the VASI lights locked in and flew the little jet right down onto the numbers. (Yes, a little earlier than the ideal touchdown point) We taxied over to the fuel pumps where Soledad’s brother, Raul was waiting. Once she was back in his arms we loaded my bags and said our goodbyes. I taxied the little plane off to a darkened corner of the airport, shut down, climbed into the back and slept until dawn.
AIr, thanks for a surprisingly fun and historical tour of Central America. It was a great job once again – can’t wait until next time. Cub Flounder
