“The Best Office View”—Part 2—& Vlog!

Ladies and gents, from the Flight Deck, Cap’n Aux will be joining you in the back of the cabin today,  for our Excellent Philippines Jumpseat Adventure!
(Some of you have been clamoring for this post since February, so here it finally is!)

 

   

The easy part: jumpseating to SFO. . . and then waiting 4 hours for the connection!
Philippine Airlines (PAL) 105
The question is: as “Non-Rev Standbys” on the B-747, will we get on?!

  

   

Of course, I reciprocate by giving him a signed copy of
The Last Bush Pilots!

                      

 

 “U wanna ride, bud? 20 pesos!”    “OMG, Cap’n Aux is driving!  Bail Ouuutt!!”

  

  

 

 

 

Did I say, “Superyacht?”  This sucker has, not one, but TWO helipads!

 

 

 

 

            

 

One last dinner invite—this time, with the stars of the movie, Bagets.

The Filipino equivalent of The Breakfast Club, these movie stars are household names in the Philippines!

Ol’ Cap’n Aux was surprised at all the gawks and ogling we received on the streets of Manila . . .
till he realized it was for THEM, not him! 😉

And as always, all good things got to come to an end . . . .

Folks, I can honestly say:  In all my world travels, the Filipino people are one of the warmest, kindest, hardest working, honest and most welcoming and giving people I’ve ever met.

A sincere, heartfelt THANK YOU to my new Pinoy friends . . . .
I REALLY SHALL RETURN!

. . . Meanwhile, back in the States, let’s wrap it up with . . .

I’m getting some spectaucular hum-dingers this summer, so here’s a few more!

Click on links below that look like this:

 

1.  JOIN THIS SITE………………….VERIFY………………………..JOINED
2.  COMMENT………………………..VERIFY………………………..MADE
3.  FACEBOOK……………………….VERIFY………………………..LIKED
4.  TWITTER………………………….VERIFY………………………..TWEETED
5.  EMAIL………………………………VERIFY………………………..MAILED
6.  OTHER NETWORKS…………..VERIFY………………………..SHARED

Sneak Preview!

Excerpt from

Code Name: Dodger
In the new novel, teen orphan Justin Reed stows away aboard the villains’ superyacht Dark Angel, hoping to rescue his adopted father—CIA Agent Bob Cheney—who is kidnapped by drug smugglers!

http://amazon.com/author/ericauxier

Chapter 6: Intercept

King Cole, aka CIA Director Allen Cole, sat across from me, facing backwards.  He had arrived in his private helicopter only minutes after the smugglers had tried to kidnap Bob, aka Agent Fagin, and me.  Unfortunately for Bob, King Cole was too late.
Over the voice-activated speaker in my headset, Cole’s voice crackled.
“Ever flown in a helicopter before, Justin?” he asked.
“Does falling out of one count?” I replied.
“Hmph,” he said, shaking his head and chuckling.  “Only you, Dodger.  You’ll have to tell me the tale some time.”
“So, where are we going?” I asked.
Cole answered, “We’re to rendezvous with a Coast Guard cutter.”
I froze.  “In . . . in the ocean?”
Cole flashed a surprised glance at me.  “That’s usually where they keep Coast Guard cutters.”
I looked out the window.  My knees weakened at the thought of riding on a ship in the middle of the deep ocean.  “Wh-why?” I managed to peep.
“Air traffic control tracked a primary radar target—your smugglers’ helicopter—until it disappeared several miles off the coast.  It had to have met a ship somewhere.  So we dispatched the C.G. cutter to intercept on that vector.  We’re tasking satellite coverage right now, but we’ve only got a few breaks in the overcast.”
“What about infrared?” I asked.
“Satellite ir will help, but not enough to ID the signatures.  So for now, that’s our best guess.  If they do find a ship, they’ll search it under the guise of a routine Customs inspection.  We don’t want them to know we’re onto them.  But they’ll really be looking for Bob.”
A few minutes later, the executive chopper zoomed past the coastline and out over open water.  My grip on the armrest tightened.  Staring at the deep ocean, I couldn’t help but imagine a giant kraken blasting out of the water, grabbing our fragile ship and dragging it down to the black depths of its watery dungeon.  I sat back and closed my eyes, trying to think dry thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to CIA Director Cole, who was staring at me intensely.  As always, I felt like he was reading my thoughts.

“So why do you need me?” I asked.

“To identify the kidnappers.  If you can, then we’ll have Just Cause to impound the ship.”

“What if I don’t see them?”

Cole held up his hands, palms up.  “We’ll have to trust our boys to do a thorough search.”

“Admiral Cole,” the pilot’s staticky voice rang in my ears.

I gave Cole a surprised look.  So, in addition to being the CIA Director, he was a retired Navy Admiral as well.

“What is it, ensign?” Cole asked.

“We’ve intercepted a vessel named Dark Angel, a luxury megayacht flying Mexican colors, steaming south along the coast at full speed.  Pulling ‘em over now.”  He finished by telling Cole the registration number.

“Very good,” Cole replied, typing something into his spyPad.  “Keep us apprised.”

“Roger that.”

Cole held his spyPad up to me.  I peered back at a picture of an enormous gleeming luxury yacht, complete with no less than two helipads.  “The Dark Angel,” Cole replied.  “Computer, tell us about the ship.”

In my headset, a new voice spoke—the same one I had named “Madge” on the old spyPhone that I’d stolen from Bob.

“Certainly, Admiral,” Madge began.  “Built by Mitsubishi Heavy Industries in 1970 as a Japanese maritime training vessel, in 2000 the Taisha Maru was converted in the Philippines into a luxury megayacht.  Sold, overhauled and upgraded several more times, she has sailed under multiple names: the Taisha Maru the Tiara II, the Galapagos, the Ark Angel, and finally, the Dark Angel.  She is now owned by a private Mexican corporatation.”

“Madge, who owns it now?” I asked.

Upon hearing her name, Cole flashed me a funny look; I gave an embarrassed shrug.

“Registration is a bit nebulous, Agent Dodger,” Madge replied.

I was shocked that she recognized my voice, let alone called me Agent Dodger.  I’d always just been a stupid New York street kid, not some CIA-trained superspy.

She continued.  “Dark Angel is registered under a Belize flag.”

“Belize?” I said, surprised.

Cole nodded in understanding.  “Belize registration gets a maritime vessel through a lot of red tape in some countries.  It’s like an unspoken rule in the business, stating, ‘We’re rich and powerful enough to bypass your inspections.  Don’t mess with us.”

Madge added, “In point of fact, Dark Angel is owned by a Mexican Corporation named Infinitum Industries.”

“Ocho infinite,” I said.

“What’s that?” Cole asked.

I opened my mouth to answer, but Madge beat me to it.

“Literal Spanish translation of the phrase ‘ocho infinite’ is ‘eight infinity’.”

“Our Mexican kidnappers kept babbling that phrase,” I explained, “but I never figured out what it meant.”

Cole furled his brows.  “Hmm.  Ocho is the name of the drug lord family that tried to kidnap you.”

“It sounds like a slogan or something,” I said.  “Like, ‘Long live the Ocho family’.”

Cole nodded his head.  “Exactly.  In that case, it’s a good bet Infinitum Industries is a shell corporation for the Ocho organization.  A money laundering front for their real trade in drugs, weapons and human trafficking.  That’s a helluva break, Dodger.  We’ll just have to peel away the onion and see what rotten core lies beneath.  And where it resides.  Computer—or, Madge,” Cole said with a faint smirk, “what’s the specs on the Dark Angel?”

The photo, which had been slowly spinning around in 3D mode to show the megayacht from all angles, became a schematic.

“Due to the multiple conversions,” Madge replied, “some information in CIA database may be inaccurate.  Our best guess suggests the following estimates.  Length: 78 meters.  Beam: 10.0 meters.  Draft: 2.4 meters at 50% load.  Superstructure: Aluminum.  Hull & decks, Carbon/Kevlar Composite.  Displacement: 450 tons . . .”

As Madge yakked away, the schematic took us on a tour of the ship, including all passages, berths, even the engine room.  In the upper corner, photos of the ship would pop up to highlight different features.

Madge continued her survey.  “Engines: four by 400 kilowatt Daimler Turbo Compound; Power: 4,000 kilowatts.  Berths: 18 Guest, 16 Crew.  Helipads: two, fore and aft, capable of accommodating most standard executive-size helicopters.”
By the time she finished, I felt like I knew the ship as if I had lived on it.

“Wow,” I said.  “Best guess?  I feel like I could walk through that ship blindfolded.”

“What I’m afraid of,” Cole said, “is that, during all those conversions, they snuck in an undocumented smuggling hold or two.”

“Yeah,” I said, sitting back.  I gazed out the window—and felt like a cattle prod had shocked me.  During Madge’s briefing I’d forgotten the freaky fact that we were flying over deep, deep, dark ocean.  Worse, now the waves raced by only a few feet below us; the pilot had descended to stay beneath the slate grey overcast.

Suddenly, we flew into a rain squall.  Winds knocked us around.  Rain pelted our fragile craft.

I closed my eyes and sat back, fighting off panic.

After an eternity of bouncing around, I felt ourselves slowing.  I opened my eyes and looked ahead.  The rain had passed and I could see to the horizon.  Two dark spots appeared ahead in the distance.  Over the next few minutes, they grew into ships, one painted the bright orange and white colors of a Coast Guard cutter.  And the other, over twice as big, gleaming white and spotless, an enormous superyacht.

The Dark Angel.