Danger Down Under: Another Vince Hamilton Investigation

by Patrick Slaney

  Lion Air was a low-cost airline, so there was zero service on the flight. Fortunately, the flight time was only one and a half hours, so we didn't have to endure the experience for too long.

  Our connecting flight for Kupang on West Timor was due to leave half-an-hour after we landed in Surabaya, so we had anticipated quite a scramble to catch it. We were not disappointed, however, when it departed about forty minutes late. We were just very relieved to get away. It was a much smaller plane only seating about eighteen people.

  We finally reached Kupang airport on West Timor at 3.30pm. When we stepped off the plane we were once again enveloped by the heat and the humidity. It was even worse than Jakarta and Surabaya.

  Having got our bags, which thankfully had arrived in the same place as we had, we took a hazardous ride in a local taxi into the city. The driver recommended a hotel called The Hotel on The Rock which on first impressions seemed to be excellent, and it was also dirt cheap.

  'I am exhausted after our journey, Vince. I am going to have a siesta in my air-conditioned room. I will see you later around seven if that is OK.' Tony looked exhausted. His clothes were soaked through, and he was miserable.

  'I think that I will also have a rest. We can draw up a plan for tomorrow over our dinner. I'll meet you in the bar around seven.'

  We each went to our respective rooms, and I crashed out pretty quickly. I was as exhausted as Tony looked.

  I got up just after six and went to the pool for a swim. I was surprised to find that it was getting dark although the heat was just as intense. The pool was well lit, so there was no problem in pretending that the sun was out.

  'That's an excellent idea, Vince, why didn't I think of it.' Tony had wandered out into the pool area and was standing over me on the edge of the pool.

  'It's very refreshing although the water is luke warm.'

  'I'm going to get a beer; can I get you anything?'

  'No, I am fine. I'll go and have a shower and join you in about fifteen minutes.'

  Tony was sitting beside the pool with a beer in his hand when I returned. I sat down beside him, and a waiter came over.

  'I'll have a beer please; Tony, will you have another one?'

  'Yes, go ahead, this one is nearly dead.'

  'Two beers please,' I asked the waiter.

  'So, what is your plan for tomorrow,' Tony asked me.

  'We need to have a good look around the airport we flew into today. It's certainly large enough to handle the King Air, but it seems to be quite busy. I can't see drug smugglers feeling comfortable when there are so many people around.'

  'I agree, if I put myself in the shoes of somebody smuggling drugs, I wouldn't choose such an accessible place.'

  'Perhaps we can find someone who will be able to give us information on the other airstrips in the area. I am fairly convinced that we are in the right location, but we don't have the necessary information.'

  'It would be advantageous to talk to a local pilot; he would be able to fill us in on the local scene,' Tony suggested.

  'When we arrived this afternoon I had a quick look around the airfield as we were walking from the plane to the terminal. There appear to be some private planes parked in an area a bit away from the main terminal,' I said. 'If we hang around for a while perhaps we can talk to the owner of one of those.'

  'There are also bound to be engineers and maintenance staff working at the airport, and they could maybe help us,' Tony added.

  'We'll spend the morning there and see how it develops. Let's go in and get some dinner now.'

  After a good night's sleep, we met for a swim before breakfast at 8.30am, and we were ready, after a good breakfast, to set off in a taxi for the airport at ten.

  Security wasn't too tight, and we managed to get access to the section of the apron where the private planes were parked. The first hanger that we encountered accommodated a flying school. We went into the office and spoke to a lady who seemed to be in charge.

  'Are you the owner?' I asked her.

  'No, way.' She smiled. 'Jarrod is taking a lesson at the moment, but he should be back in about twenty minutes.'

  'So, if we return in about half-an-hour he should be here.'

  'Yes, I'll tell him you were looking for him. What's your name?'

  'I'm Vince Hamilton and this is my brother Tony.'

  'I'll see you in a little while then.' She turned back to the task that I had dragged her away from.

  We went for a walk around the rest of the private section of the airfield. We came across a maintenance area where there was a man working on a Cessna. He definitely wasn't a local as he looked like one of us.

  'Good morning, do you mind if I talk to you for a minute?' I asked him.

  'No, fire ahead; I'm fed up with this crate anyway and could do with a break.' He had an Australian accent.

  'We're trying to track down a Beechcraft King Air 250 that is flying out of one of the airports in this general area?'

  'Have you got its registration number?'

  'I do, but it may have been changed. It is VH-MTC.'

  'And you're saying that it is a Beechcraft King Air.'

  'That's right.'

  'I definitely haven't seen it in the last few weeks. Mind you, if I am working on an aircraft, I don't tend to notice much that is going on around the airport. By the way, my name is Mike.'

  I gave him our names.

  'Are there any airfields close to here that have a one-kilometre runway?' Tony asked.

  Mike put his hand up to his chin and thought for a minute.

  'There are a few airstrips further up country, but they are shorter than a kilometre. When we take a plane for a run after maintenance, we generally head west and go to Rote Island. There is an airport there called Lekunik, and it would be perfect for a King Air.'

  'How do we get there?' Tony asked.

  If you can't get somebody to fly you down there, then you would have to go by boat, but I would thoroughly recommend that you go there by plane.'

  'How far is it by air?' I asked.

  'It's about one hundred and twenty kilometres there and back. I can phone one of my clients who does plane charters to see if he can take you. When do you want to go?'

  'It's a bit late now to go today, but tomorrow would suit fine.'

  'Where are you staying?'

  'We're at The Hotel on the Rock,' I replied.

  'I'll tell him to leave a message for you.'

  'Many thanks, Mike and we apologise for interrupting your work,' Tony said.

  We shook hands and left him to it.

  When we went back to the flying school Jarrod had returned, and he agreed to talk to us.

  'What's the problem guys?' he asked.

  We explained what we were looking for and also told him that the plane had been stolen, and the pilot had been forced to fly it. We gave him the registration number.

  'That's quite a fancy airplane, and I haven't seen it around here,' he explained. 'It certainly hasn't been visible during daylight hours, but I am not here at night.'

  'Are there many planes that use the airport at night?' I asked.

  'Not officially, but aircraft have been known to take off or land at all hours of the night. The landing lights are switched off overnight, and there is no traffic controller on duty. It is a bit risky unless you know the area well, but it is possible.'

  'Have you any suggestions as to what other airports they might be able to use in this area.'

  'I would discount any to the east. It is more than your life is worth to venture up there. There are a lot of undisciplined rebels there who are always looking to take revenge on somebody.'

  'How about Rote Island?' I asked.

  'That's a distinct possibility,' Jarrod replied. 'The runway is a good length, and it is very isolated; not a lot of activity there as it has no scheduled flights.'

  'Is it worth us having a look there,' Tony inquired.

  'Definitely. There is even a small hotel situated n
earby called Hotel Ricky which, I am told, is not too bad. I haven’t stayed there myself.'

  'Thanks for that, I think that we will take a trip there tomorrow if we can arrange a flight.'

  'Why are you searching for this particular plane?'

  'The plane was stolen from the Essendon Flying School in Melbourne and we are trying to get it back.' I deliberately didn't tell him about Stuart Smith; there was no need for him to know that we were mainly after Stuart.

  'That's not the flying school that Leyton Burns owns, by any chance?'

  'It is indeed,' I answered. 'Do you know him?'

  'I can't say that I know him very well, but I have met him a few times.'

  'Thanks for what you have told us,' I added. We will definitely follow your advice and go to Rote Island.'

  'If there is any way that I can assist you just phone me. I will help in whatever way I can.'

  Tony and I went for lunch in the airport terminal. It wasn't the best, but it was adequate, and it was very cheap.

  When we got back to the hotel, there was a message for us from our friendly Australian mechanic who we had met at the airport. His friend, named Pete Adams, would ferry us to Rote Island tomorrow for two hundred dollars. If we wanted to avail of his services, there was a number we could ring.

  'Hi, is that Pete Adams?' I phoned him from the hotel reception.

  'That's me,' he replied.

  'I gather that you can take us to Lekunik Airport on Rote Island tomorrow.'

  'Yes, Mike told me that you wanted to go down there. Is it your plan to fly back the same day?'

  'No, we will stay in the hotel there for at least one night as we want to have a look around.'

  'Then I would have to charge you two hundred dollars for each leg. You'll appreciate that I have to return to my base in Surabaya and then go back to pick you up.'

  'OK, I accept your terms; what time will you leave tomorrow?'

  'I'll pick you up at your hotel at 8.30am if that suits you.'

  'That's fine. How long is the flight?'

  'We should be there in under the hour unless there is a headwind,' Pete said.

  'I look forward to seeing you tomorrow morning,' I replied, putting the phone down.

  'From what I picked up from your phone call, it sounds as if we are being picked up at 8.30am tomorrow morning,' Tony inquired.

  'Yes, the Pilots name is Pete Adams and he will fly us to Lekunik Airport in the morning.'

  'I also heard you say that we will stay in the hotel beside the airport and not come back on the return flight.'

  'I will phone them now and confirm that they have two rooms. When we leave tomorrow morning, we can check-out here and bring our bags with us.'

  'This is turning into quite a big adventure, Vince. I am not used to all this excitement and unscheduled activity.' Tony gave me a nervous smile.

  'You can have a restful afternoon beside the pool. I will try and phone the guys back in Darwin to see if they have had any luck in their search.'

  I attempted to get through to Rod or Kevin on a number of occasions, but had no luck. Tony and I spent the remainder of the day relaxing and preparing for our trip to Rote Island. Our afternoon was slightly upset when a tropical rainstorm descended on us. Once the storm departed, the humidity shot up, and it was unpleasantly warm. It was not a place to come to on holiday.

  Chapter 18

  Up bright and early the following morning I had time for a swim before breakfast. Tony didn't join me in the pool, but we did have breakfast together. Of interest to me was that there was a strong wind blowing from the direction we would have to fly in. The journey would, therefore, take a bit longer due to the headwind as had already been explained to me.

  We were both standing in front of the hotel with our bags when Pete Adams arrived in a battered old minibus displaying Adams Tours on its side and rear door.

  'Good morning gentlemen,' he called out to us as he climbed out of the driver's side.

  He came round and shook our hands. He then stowed our bags in the rear of the minibus and opened the sliding door for Tony and me to get in.

  'I see that there is quite a strong headwind this morning,' I remarked.

  'Yes, but it will only add about another ten minutes to our flight time.'

  'Do you ever have to cancel flights because of the weather?' Tony asked. I had detected that he was quite nervous about the upcoming trip. He was more used to the Boeing 737 size of aircraft.

  'The only weather that grounds us is one of the torrential downpours like we had yesterday afternoon. That type of monsoon-like storm creates severe downdrafts that are dangerous during take-off and landing.'

  'Have you been in these parts long Pete?' I asked him.

  'I was actually raised here in West Timor. My father came out here from Holland as a pilot with Garuda, the state airline, about twenty years ago. After twenty years with them he set up his own flying business. I took over from him when he finally fell off his perch.'

  'Was that long ago?'

  'It’s about eight years now. He got caught out in a storm and hit power lines on his approach to the airport runway. He was killed instantly.'

  'I am sorry to hear that. It must have been a great shock to you,' Tony added.

  'I honestly never thought that he would go that way. He was an ultra-safe person and never took risks. It was tragic.' I could see that Pete was quite choked up by what he was telling us.

  We arrived at the airport, and Pete drove us across the tarmac to a shed behind one of the hangers. The same name, Adams Tours, was painted on the side of the shed.

  'This was my father's idea,' Pete said as he pointed to the name on the shed. It's my daily reminder of him.'

  There were two planes parked nearby a small Piper Cherokee and a larger Cessna 404 Titan.

  'Since there are only the two of you, I will take the Cherokee today. The Cessna 404 seats ten and is more expensive to run as it has two engines,' Pete explained.

  'Will this small plane take us there?' Tony was looking with horror at the tiny aircraft.

  'This model of Piper has been flying in countries all around the world for at least fifty years,' Pete replied. 'I think that there is a fair chance it will get us there safely today.' He smiled

  He stuffed our bags into a compartment at the rear of the fuselage, and we climbed on board the plane. He inspected the outside of the Piper, did his pre-flight checks and then started the engine. We were ready to set off for Rote Island.

  In just over an hour's time, after a low-level flight during which we could get a good view of the local countryside, we were on our approach to the landing strip at Lekunik Airport. The runway was east-west, so we didn't have to face the discomfort of landing in a crosswind. On the approach, he pointed down at a building close to the coast.

  'That's your hotel guys.'

  Once on the ground Tony gave a huge sigh. I think he had practically held his breath since the take off in Kupang!

  'Enjoy the flight, Tony?' I poked him in his ribs.

  'No Vince, I didn't. I felt as if I was going to fall through the bottom of the Cherokee at any minute. It seemed so flimsy.'

  'I enjoyed it because you can appreciate the experience of flying through the air and you feel the wind tugging on the plane.' I, in fact, enjoyed flying in small planes.

  'I'll drop you off over there at that shed which acts as the terminal building. You can phone the hotel from there, and somebody will come and pick you up,' Pete suggested.

  'Are you going back straight away?' I asked.

  'Yes, I will offload you and be on my way. My return journey will take less time with the wind behind me.'

  We got our bags unloaded, said our goodbyes to Pete, I paid him, and he was gone. He told us to phone him to let us know when we wanted to be picked up. He supplied us with his office and mobile telephone numbers.

  The so-called terminal building seemed to be locked up, so there was no way of getting to a phone, and ther
e was no signal for my mobile.

  The approaches to the terminal ‘shed’ were surprisingly well groomed and quite ornate indicating that there must be life around somewhere.

  'I'll go and see what I can find while you look after our bags,' Tony suggested.

  I sat down in the shade while Tony went to find help. It was sweltering and muggy.

  Twenty minutes later I heard the sound of a very rough engine. An ancient and very rusty Volkswagen pick-up truck approached. To my surprise, Tony was on the back of it. They pulled up beside me.

  'This guy was working in a warehouse just around the corner and when I explained our predicament, he volunteered to take us to the hotel.'

  I looked at the driver and gave him a wave. I received a toothless grin back.

  'The plane was dangerous Tony, but this looks to be a death trap.' I commented.

  'It'll be fine, it's only old like you,' was Tony's jocular reply.

  We loaded the bags in the back and climbed in. We then endured a three-kilometre journey to the hotel over a very bumpy road in a truck that had once probably had suspension but was now rigid. The smooth tarmac was confined to the immediate precincts of the airport. Apparently some external agency had paid for the airport, which was quite smart and modern, but fifty meters away it was to the local standard.

  We eventually arrived at the Hotel Ricky with very sore bums and other bruises. The hotel, from the outside, looked as if it had seen better days.

  Compared with the modern hotel we had just been staying in at Kupang, this one was a shock to the system.

  The receptionist apologised for the fact that the air-conditioning wasn't working but stated that we were lucky as there were ceiling fans in our rooms. We were also asked if we wanted lunch.

  Since we didn't think that there would be anywhere else to buy food we said that we would eat all our meals in the hotel as long as we were staying.

  The rooms were old but clean, and there were showers in the en-suite facilities. It wasn't brilliant, but there was no other hotel available. I joined Tony for a beer on a patio situated at the rear of the hotel.