“You first,” Louis said realizing he had never asked anything about Stefan’s past while pumping him about movies.
“My story is pretty simple. My father runs a successful fancy antique and furniture import business with a discreet but high-priced showroom in Zurich. Benches for bankers I call it. A strict childhood, I learned a lot about what my father does, but my real gift is numbers. School followed by a scholarship to university in the United States studying law and specializing in film finance. First class degree snapped up by a bank. Fast track to partner but my boss… is not so smart. As Louis knows, I made the mistake of telling him that. Now I seem to be a delivery man,” he joked looking at Haribon. “I’m back to square one unpacking and carrying heavy crates like I did as a boy for my father. Great career path,” he chuckled and turned to Louis.
Louis thought for a moment. He wanted, in fact needed, to have a more glorious background than this Filipino truck driver or Swiss shopkeeper’s son.
“My grandfather was Irish. A freedom fighter. Imprisoned by the British. He escaped with his daughter, my mother and fled to the U.S. He built up a number of businesses, but we are still fundraisers for the cause.”
Haribon looked blank, the marijuana clouding his thought process.
“If you want to smuggle something out of the Philippines, I’m your man,” he grinned.
Stefan thought for a moment. “As you know, we Swiss are neutral in all things… so long as we have your money.”
“You must hate Americans; they occupied your homeland after the war and gave you that asshole Marcos,” said Louis to Haribon, trying to emphasize his freedom fighter politics.
“Baseball and Coca-Cola,” said Haribon exhaling a huge ball of sweet-smelling smoke.
“I don’t understand,” said Louis waving away the smoke.
“The U.S. gave us baseball and coke. We gave you sex and our treasures. I think you guys got a good deal, no Louis?”
“Not me, I’m no Yank. My family’s real home country is still occupied. Same as you except we give ’em bombs and bullets, rather than lap dances and the clap,” Louis replied arrogantly.
“They’re Catholic in Ireland too, no…? But from what I hear, girls never fuck even their own countrymen unless they’re married to them… let alone British soldiers.” Haribon paused. “If more Irish girls had looked like you, the British would have left ages ago.”
Louis didn’t crack a smile, but once again Haribon burst into laughter his jet-black hair falling over his forehead as he rocked to and fro.
“Louis don’t be so serious,” Stefan chided, holding back his laughter. “I might have fucked you had I been a soldier.” He too collapsed in fits of laughter.
“One day, those in the struggle will appreciate me as much as my grandfather. I want revenge for what happened to my family… I want…”
“OK, OK, you win. I want the same… We got fucked by occupying forces. So how we gonna do it, get revenge…?” asked Haribon.
“I need a drink before I can answer that,” said Stefan.
The three young men stayed up most of the night, drinking almost a whole bottle of Tupay, while swapping stories of their imperfect pasts and their dreams for the perfect future.
It was dawn when they fell asleep and despite the rain that started to fall, slept right through the day. They awoke to a firestorm.
* * *
Although barely used in the final edit of the movie, the director had scheduled to blow up the set of Colonel Kurtz’s (Marlon Brando’s) village, known as the ‘Monkey Camp’ in a series of special effects explosions that were one of the largest ever filmed. Today was the day. The whole sky ignited with a huge burst of white-hot magnesium and the ground shook as explosion after explosion flashed across the heavens.
“Let’s get out of here,” cried Louis.
Wide-eyed with fear they scrambled to escape the massive blasts that added to the pounding in their heads from being hungover. Louis turned from the crevice where they had slept to run down towards the river. Haribon grabbed him.
“No, this way, we need to take cover in the rock and caves above us,” Haribon said. “A rockfall would crush us.”
Stefan had already realized that was the safest option and was rushing ahead to take cover.
Louis’ instinct was to run, and he pulled away from Haribon. He started down to the water’s edge where massive gasoline charges were shooting flames into the air. He ran a short distance before the large Filipino grappled him to the ground.
“Not that way. Up there,” he said pointing to the rock face above them.
Stefan looked to see the two men clambering over the rocks and boulders. Another enormous blast overhead threw them to the ground.
“Look out,” cried Haribon. A widening crack in the mountainside seemed to be crumbling and a small avalanche of rocks was now thundering towards them. Haribon managed to pull himself clear but Louis was too slow and slid down the hillside, pulled along in a shower of stones. He stopped after a hundred yards, his ankle caught beneath a boulder and badly twisted.
“Stefan,” cried Haribon, “come help me get him out!”
As Stefan scrambled down, Haribon looked for something to use as a lever to lift the rock and let Louis scramble away.
Another series of explosions filled the air and more of the rock face above gave away, revealing a small cave. A metal cylinder rolled out and bounced down the hill towards Haribon and Louis. There was horror on their faces as the big brass shell, clearly marked with a chrysanthemum on one side and the rising sun on the other, picked up speed. A moment later it was followed by another shell, then another. Haribon turned, his sense of self-preservation urging him to run before the shells crashed into the rock-strewn ground and exploded.
Louis yelled at him, his eyes fixed on the rolling shells, “For God’s sake, help me!”
Haribon threw himself over Louis covering his ears, bracing for the inevitable explosion and certain death. Nothing. All he heard was a long and piercing scream.
He leaped up as Louis’ terrified cry turned into hysterical laughter. A carpet of precious stones and small gold bars littered the ground. More shells rolled down the hill and broke open, spilling their valuable contents over the rock-strewn ground.
As Stefan scrambled down to join Louis and Haribon, a round boulder rolled out from the cave and came to a halt among the precious treasure. It was the carved stone head of a Buddha.
Soaked to the skin, the air still ablaze with explosions, Haribon and Stefan eventually managed to haul Louis’ leg out from under the rock.
“Jesus, what the hell is all this?” asked Stefan.
Forgetting the searing pain in his foot, Louis tried to scramble up to the crack in the cliff that had opened above them.
“I’m going to find out…,” he panted, gritting his teeth in pain. Stefan and Haribon quickly caught up to him and helped him towards the entrance.
The F/X’s team flares and the flashes of magnesium threw moments of light into a small chamber. All three peered in. “What the hell is in there?” asked Louis, craning his neck. “Yamashita,” whispered Haribon.
They briefly glimpsed inside. A dusty mound of rag covered skeletons, a tripod mounted rusting machine gun, part of an old wooden crate stamped with a 16 Petal Chrysanthemum and a metal box on its side were all they could make out.
Within seconds there was a rumble. Looking up, Haribon and Stefan yanked Louis out of the path of a massive avalanche. Stones rained down obliterating the cave from view, burying the entrance once more under tons of rock and rubble.
There was silence.
“We three. We take a vow right now. We come back one day. Until then we divide what came out of that cave into equal shares,” Haribon said firmly.
“But it doesn’t look like there is anything to come back for,” said Louis.
“I couldn’t see properly, and who cares?” said Stefan. “What we have here is enough to set us all up. I’m not diggin
g through all that for what looked like some rags and a machine gun.”
“There’s more… we need to get out of here, then I’ll explain. First, we shake. Right now. We clear everything up. Shells and every last jewel,” said Haribon.
He held out his hand, Louis and Stefan shrugged, then clasped it.
“And Stefan, you take that Buddha head,” added Haribon. “Why him?” asked Louis.
“Do you know anything about antiques?” asked Haribon.
“Fine, but if you can sell it, I want my share, said Louis.
“I don’t think it’s worth much. Just a big paperweight. Come help me, it’s damn heavy,” said Stefan, straining under the weight as he tried to lift it.
With Louis still nursing his ankle, Stefan gave up and waited for Haribon to come back with the truck. The contents of those shells were more than enough to set them all up in business.
What Haribon told them on the drive to Manila was why they knew one day they had to come back.
It would take them years to set it all up.
60
MANILA, PHILIPPINES
Rizal and Joselito had arrived at the hotel while Mako and Marcus were at the Fort. Rizal quickly entered the foyer while his sidekick waited in the car. They had strict instructions from their employer, Haribon Guinto. Be quick. They had a plane to meet.
* * *
“They’re at the Fort, right?” asked Rizal.
“Yes, and I have this,” the concierge said holding up a small security sack locked with a tiny padlock. “We offer these to guests as an alternative to the safe in their room and lock them in the hotel safe. We tell them they have the only key…” He shrugged and with a smile, promptly took a key from his pocket and unlocked the bag. He pulled out the red USB and stacks of paperwork.
“What’s on it?” asked Rizal looking at the USB.
“No idea. That’s for you guys.”
“Courier it immediately to Mr. Guinto,” said Rizal. He looked around, went over to the newspaper kiosk, and returned with a fat magazine and a pack of chewing gum.
“Put these in for now. It’ll feel the same.”
The concierge dropped them into the bag and reset the lock. “Let’s just hope they don’t open it…”
“His compliments for your loyalty,” whispered Rizal, handing the concierge a thick envelope, and turning to go.
“Wait,” the concierge said, “One more thing. There was someone else asking after Mr. Guinto; he was in the foyer a few minutes ago, but I don’t see him now. Name and room number is the best I can do,” he added handing over a piece of paper.
Rizal nodded thanks and headed towards the exit.
“Got any more gum?” asked a tall, fit, well-dressed man, who had appeared next to him from behind a column. “My name is Lorne, and I come with compliments from Tyler Gemmell.” Rizal would have swatted him away, were it not for the gun poking him in the ribs.
“Just a moment of your time, please,” Lorne added politely. “We need to talk…”
61
MANILA, PHILIPPINES
“It was treasure… not weapons… not drugs…” Marcus leaned his head against the seat back as he and Mako returned to the hotel, crawling through the late afternoon traffic.
“What did Sam think Aqua Regia was?” asked Mako as she nestled into Marcus’ neck, appearing to the driver as if she were whispering sweet nothings in his ear. They couldn’t trust anyone.
“Sam knew it meant something. Maybe he saw or overheard a snatch of conversation that made him think it was connected to drugs. Once Sam had that bit between his teeth, there was no stopping him.”
“Well, someone did,” Mako replied dryly. Soon they were back at the hotel. Marcus offered a tip to Datu. He grinned and refused with a wave. They walked into the lobby and collected their key. No other messages at the desk.
Marcus handed the concierge a tip which he expertly accepted. “Thanks for the guide. She was…”
“A real treasure,” chimed in Mako.
As they walked into their room, they picked up a note that had been slipped under their door. It read simply, ‘Be ready to leave at 7:00 in the morning, your car will be outside the hotel. You will be met in Pagsanjan’.
Mako pushed the door shut with her heel. “You reckon this shit’s going to get clearer tomorrow? Japanese soldiers, fairy tales about treasure, possible dummy accounts from a movie? Are you sure Bill’s even dead? We’re in way over our heads. We’re dead, Marcus.”
“I’m not sure of anything anymore…,” he replied, the stress just under the surface. “But this guy or group apparently knew the exact moment we rode into town. If they had wanted us dead, we would have been dropped into a concrete coffin, just like Consuela Ramon’s dad. Today was lifting a veil, not lowering a shroud. These people have long arms, Mako. We’re no safer at home than we are here.” Marcus flicked the room keycard onto the table and stretched. “You’re right, that son-of-a bitch wasn’t exactly delivering a Hallmark greeting card in Nisten,” agreed Mako.
“But what happened to us in Nisten just doesn’t add up. You know what I think?” Marcus yanked open the mini bar and without asking emptied both small bottles of vodka into a pair of tumblers. He picked out a can of tonic then thought better of it, taking a gulp of the spirit neat and cold. He passed her a glass. “If we’re not dead here, our new friend wasn’t trying to kill us in Europe either.”
“But that’s crazy. Two Filipino guys are looking for us?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’d be glad never to have anyone looking for me ever again. Period.” He raised his glass. “Cheers,” he said as he emptied it. Mako did the same.
“It’s insane, but it’s the only explanation. Two Filipinos, each with different agendas,” Marcus sighed.
“Okay, I’ll bite… But I need another drink.” Mako waved her fingers at the fridge as she flopped into a chair.
He yanked it open and she pointed at a miniature gin.
“At least no one here has asked us for a Buddha head. Is there any ice in there …?”
A couple of hours later the last of the sun’s rays clipped the edge of the room, bathing it in an amber glow. Miniature bottles of vodka, gin, tequila, sake, Bacardi rum, and a split of champagne stood like soldiers on the windowsill. Mako’s pedicured feet rested on a footstool, her toes occasionally splaying and closing, a tell-tale sign she was concentrating.
“Tell me, were you ever lonely down there…” Marcus nodded at her, his slightly drunken stare moving slowly from her face to her lap.
At first she was confused, even wondered if he was so drunk, he was being crude.
“In Cannes, I mean,” he quickly added, as he realized the possible double entendre.
Nice save, she thought.
“Why? Is Producer boy jealous of my life?” Mako laughed at Marcus. Dangerous waters, she thought. Keep it light.
“Seriously?” she asked, her toes wiggling.
She got up and fished once more into the mini bar coming out with two miniature Tupay bottles. “At least it’s white spirit. OK for you or do you want me to call room service?”
He shrugged a gesture of ‘fuhgeddaboudit’ and offered his empty glass.
“Why were you living on your own?” He wasn’t going to let this drop.
“I don’t plan for the future… makes commitment difficult.” Mako shook her hair. “My father scarred me deeply. You?”
“I travel all the time, go to some fucked up places. One of my bags even has a bullet hole in it from when I was working in Colombia on a movie about the drug cartels. Madness.”
Mako looked at him, waiting for him to go on.
“It’s easy to find a partner to share your life when it’s going up, but harder if you have to accept the kind of downs I’ve been slapped with. I don’t mind putting myself through all that, but it’s a lot to ask of someone else. It’s usually me who ends it…”
“Just find someone who enjoys the rollercoaster as much as y
ou do. They exist,” she said in a matter of fact tone.
“Maybe I just give off the wrong vibe?” he said with a lop-sided grin.
She smiled. “You sure do. Beamed right out and smacked me center forehead the moment I first met you,” her own palm slapping against her brow as she said it. “Thought you were a jerk!” She grinned and raised her glass in a toast. “To emotional misfits.” He grinned and raised his glass, the booze making him warm and fuzzy. A couple of peas in a pod he thought to himself. “Two emotional misfits,” he replied, misunderstanding and assuming her toast was just for them.
She stretched. “I’m a little trashed. You wanna carry me down to dinner?”
“Screw that. Call room service,” he replied waving a dismissive hand.
“I don’t want to eat in a hotel room again.”
“Me neither. I meant call them to bring a trolley to wheel us both down to the restaurant.”
“What the hell went on in Pagsanjan?” she asked, the drink banishing all fear.
“Maybe we’ll find out tomorrow,” he replied.
“Whatever it is, we’ll handle it together. C’mon let’s eat. Call for our ride,” she said clapping her hands.
Marcus reached for the phone.
That was Mako. Head down, butting antlers with the here and now.
62
MANILA, PHILIPPINES
The sprinkler system was shooting individual bursts of water out over the manicured garden in a steady consistent beat, each spurt a hissing rainbow as it arced across the cloudless sky. A pair of small green guaiabero parrots chorused their distinctive ‘zeet zeet’ call as they pecked at the figs growing in trees that lined the lawn. Haribon sat in the formally laid out garden of his Manila home reflecting on the character of his ex-partner Louis McConnell.
It wasn’t enough for Louis just to succeed, his friends and colleagues had to fail. Haribon now understood that in the end, for Louis to prove in his own mind that he was the better man, he had to steal from everyone else. This was his weakness and would surely lead to his ultimate downfall.
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