“Lucky to have such a good guide,” interrupted Haribon giving the woman a hug.
“Hmmm,” she said, not quite so enthusiastic. “Look at the clock face numbers here and here,” she continued, pointing at the document, “tell us the depth of floor we need to break through and the angle the original cave is located from the fake floor above. The face with numbers starting at 15 and running anticlockwise up to 150 is for depth.”
“But the face has four different pairs of colored hands each pointing at a different number,” said Haribon. “Which one do we use to calculate?” There was another clock next to it, which had three hands and the numbers ran clockwise from 0-360 to depict degrees. “Same problem with this one,” he added.
“The bird pecking the ground depicted below the first clock tells us to follow the third hand for the correct depth and the bird with wings spread above the degree numbers means the second hand points at the true angle to dig.”
Relief that this beloved woman really knew her job was visible on Haribon’s face. On and on she went, identifying each tiny icon. There were anchors that depicted metal supports, an open hand that warned of the sand traps. Depending on which way they pointed, flags warned of dead-ends or secret passages.
“These depict mustard gas canisters,” she continued pointing at a crudely drawn eye, “and this sign that looks like a snowflake, that’s a mine. These flowers mean a water pipe. Fracture that and depending on the source the engineers tapped into, it could easily flood the entire chamber.”
Patiently she went through every sign on the map, as if she was reading a book in hieroglyphics. “And these?” asked Haribon, waving his hand towards the bottom of the map. There were at least forty signs spread randomly across the very base of the map. There were stars, squares, pentagons, pendulums, pyramids and sunbursts.
“They all symbolize… treasure.”
The implication of so many symbols was not lost on Haribon. “So much, is it possible?”
“Believe me, compared to some I was forced to unearth, this is still quite small.” Consuela took a deep nervous breath and shakily rested her knuckle in the center of all the booty symbols where there was drawn a pair of crossed arrows and what looked like three coiled snakes, a curved bow and a thunderbolt.
“You may never know,” she said, “because those crossed arrows and the thunderbolt. They mean death.”
“And the others next to them?” asked Haribon pointing at the faint symbols of snakes and bows.
“Those are ones I have never seen before,” she replied looking back at him, fear in her eyes.
* * *
The crew spent three days opening up the entrance, cutting back the concrete and porcelain inlay the Japanese had used to fill it in years before.
“We can’t wait any longer,” warned Jonathan as they stood out under the stars.
Haribon replied, “We start drilling tomorrow, through the floor, but no one enters the actual chamber below until I say so… after what happened to Roxas they had better do as I say.”
Jonathan nodded reluctantly.
“Why not send in some of the Ifugao tribe laborers I’ve hired? No one would miss them if something happened,” suggested Jonathan.
Haribon glared at him. “You are one cold son of a bitch, Jonathan. I said no one.”
Despite the tension between them, Jonathan and Haribon were speaking to each other in hushed tones as the crew headed back to the production offices, the day’s work completed. As each one walked past Haribon they nodded ‘good evening’ to their boss.
“See you at the party,” one said, referring to the event scheduled that evening.
“A crew and cast get-together. The foreigners and us. We’re all invited,” said Haribon, his tone making it clear Jonathan was to attend as well. “Even if you just mooch about in the background.” With that, he turned and headed down to the valley himself.
As Haribon walked away, Jonathan was more convinced than ever of his partner’s weakness, unlike the man whom he had become increasingly close to, far away in Los Angeles. Their initial contact had been quite by chance when Jonathan answered a call from Louis McConnell intended for Haribon. Jonathan and the Executive Producer now conversed on a daily basis, Jonathan providing progress reports and other information, repeating every conversation he had on the set from complaints about per diems with the star, to the personal family conversations with his cousin. As Jonathan confided more and more in Mr. Louis, as he now called him, he began to appreciate that this man saw things with ruthless clarity. He wouldn’t have blinked at risking a few tribesmen to get at the treasure he thought, as he slowly followed Haribon towards the party.
* * *
The next day Jonathan reported back to Mr. Louis the events of the party and Bill’s party trick with the keg. Louis saw an opportunity, an advantage he could exploit. He had a plan for ending the movie and it now included a bonus; the death of Bill Baines.
He buzzed the intercom to his PA. “Get me the insurance document.”
Over the next few days Louis explained the upside of the plan to Jonathan who saw immediately it was the right solution. However when McConnell explained it to Haribon, the Filipino had strongly disagreed, “That’s not part of the deal. He lives,” he said emphatically into the phone. “Or you will answer to me.” Haribon slammed down the phone as Jonathan coolly listened outside.
* * *
As the days followed, bore holes were carefully sunk in accordance with Consuela’s detailed instructions. They revealed a vast array of trucks, tantalizingly laden with cargo. Haribon insisted that all the trucks were off limits.
Cranes and winches were placed over the holes ready to hoist up the hoped-for bounty, but still Haribon held back. He had never seen Consuela so concerned. All those years when forced to help Marcos, she had encountered traps and deathly puzzles and successfully unraveled their mysteries; until a final dig when she had got it all wrong. Fifteen men died that day, gassed to death by an elaborately concealed canister that had been dipped in gold.
Her life became worthless, her record of involuntary success shattered. She fled from the dictator’s wrath, reuniting with the boy she had once cared for as his ya-ya. A man who could protect her, as she had once protected him. Now he needed her help and unique skills. She wanted to retrieve the treasure for him, but alarm bells were ringing. For the umpteenth time she stared at the strange shapes.
“I can’t hold back any longer, we have to start emptying those vehicles,” sighed Haribon that evening. “We enter the chamber tomorrow.”
That night Consuela’s sleep was haunted by the images of men choking and dying surrounded by gold.
* * *
“No one starts unloading till I’m sure.” Haribon ordered the next morning while he, Jonathan and four men were climbing down a rope ladder through one of the holes punched in the false floor.
Jonathan wandered over to a nearby truck picked out by the lights from above. The tires were flat, the windshield covered by a film of grime.
Ignoring orders Jonathan withdrew his balisong. He slashed at the cords and the dusty tarpaulin draped over the truck next to him dropped away. Row upon row of stacked boxes covered the bed of the truck.
Jonathan glanced at Haribon then put his leg onto the rear bumper, in readiness to haul himself onto the vehicle.
“Stop, stop, don’t touch it!” came an out of breath voice from above.
Haribon swung around and looking up saw Consuela’s anxious expression as she leaned forward over one of the holes, two Ifugao tribesmen trying to haul her back.
“Let her go,” Haribon shouted angrily.
“It was simple. So obvious,” she cried. “Underneath.”
Jonathan was not prepared to wait any more. With arms spread wide and grabbing each side of the tailgate he bent his knee in preparation to haul himself up, when a crashing blow to his kidney stopped him. He fell to the dirt.
“For now, you still do as I say,” whi
spered Haribon glaring down at him.
Haribon turned and looked up at Consuela, a questioning expression on his face.
“Underneath,” she repeated. “Those images, I thought the snakes and bows were symbols… the hand that drew them was tired; they were the last on the page. But last night… we were talking about vehicles, trucks… It’s the first location I have heard of where trucks were left behind. I wondered why? Then it came to me. The vehicles are the traps. I misread those signs as symbols. They aren’t coiled snakes and the bows. They depict actual things… the coil and leaf springs of the vehicles. Take the weight out of the back and as the springs decompress or the leaf springs uncoil…”
Haribon bent down on the ground next to the stricken Jonathan.“Follow me,” he said, thrusting a flashlight into his hand. The two men wriggled on their backs under the truck’s rear axle.
The compressed leaf springs were completely flat. Attached to each were glass vials containing cyanide as well as chargers wrapped to sticks of dynamite. If the loads were lifted off the truck above, the springs would have returned to their bow shape and pulled the plungers out of the vials, releasing the gas as well as triggering the detonators in the dynamite. It was the same story on every vehicle, the compressed suspension, be it coiled or leaf springs, acted as detonator. Emptying any one of the trucks would have killed everyone in the chamber. Once again, his beloved Ya-Ya had protected him. He would protect her forever in return.
* * *
After five days of continual toil, the men had relieved every vehicle of the deadly traps. It still took a further ten days to bring out their precious loads. Then it was done. It was time to shut down the movie.
64
MANILA, PHILIPPINES
“How much are we talking about?” Cara asked quietly, “from the treasure?”
“Over the years the holding company received just over $475 million,” Haribon said flatly.
“Once out of the country and stored away, Stefan was the expert. Over time he privately sold off the artwork and jewelry or paid me if he or Louis wanted to keep anything for themselves. Stefan sold the bullion, small amounts at a time so as not to raise suspicion. An initial low profile was key to never being detected. The return on that money as well as from investments made with it has been coming in ever since.”
Cara’s face was frozen in shock at the revelations. “Nearly half a billion dollars?”
“Twice a year I sent a share to all those involved.” Haribon looked straight at Cara. “My group, Golden Eagle Trust, kept 30%, Louis and Stefan’s accounts received 30% each; around $140 million apiece. The other roughly $48 million was split between the remaining four: Robert Kelso, Marcus Riley, Sam Wood and Bill Baines.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Cara.
“After Bill’s death, I insisted his share be sent to you. One of the numbered accounts was meant to be yours, Cara. Over 15 years your cut should be around $12 million.”
Cara looked blankly at him. “No… not my Bill. He’d never be a part of this.”
“And you…” Haribon stared at her through his heavy framed glasses.
“But I never even knew…”
“And I believe that because…?” Haribon’s tone hardened.
“But I never received a penny…” Then of course she knew she had, even if only a small fraction.
“After Bill died, Louis was pressuring me not to ask questions. He even threatened me with legal action. I had no idea about any accounts… but I took his money,” she said, her head hanging down in sadness.
“But nothing like $12million…? I suspected as much. A local bank manager kindly put me right,” he said still angry at his own reliance on Louis and Stefan’s assurances.
“Louis, that lying bastard…,” replied Cara, her tone rising.
Haribon held up his hand to stop her. “So, if you didn’t get your money where did it go? What about the others? Who received the money, and who never had a clue like you?”
The silence from Cara made Haribon go on. The shock was still clear on her face.
“I’m sorry, you wanted to know what happened to Bill,” Haribon said a bit more softly. “To shut down the movie, Stefan and Louis persuaded me that we needed to make sure things didn’t go smoothly. Trucks were late, the wrong materials were delivered; we even gave the impression that drug deals were going on. People became jittery.”
“Then we took some completed footage and held the reels of film for ransom as we had agreed at the beginning. That was it as far as I was concerned. Job done. Later, I was told Bill and three friends went up to the cave trying to rescue the stolen film. Jonathan must have set it all up and told them they could leave Bill in exchange for the rushes. I was on my way back to the cave and was surprised to see Bill nonchalantly leaning against the shed wall of the little wooden entrance that shrouded the cave. Suddenly Jonathan stepped out from the shadows, pulled out a gun and shot Bill.”
That was as close to the truth as Haribon was going to give her. “End of movie.”
Cara jumped at his last words and stared at Haribon. There was not a tear in her eye as she said coldly, “He’s a dead man.”
65
PAGSANJAN, PHILIPPINES
The drive the next day was a hell of a lot easier than it had been the last time Marcus had done it. Pagsanjan was in the very southeast corner of Laguna de Bay, a vast body of water about thirty miles long by twenty-five miles wide that clung to the southeast corner of Metro Manila.
On leaving the city the road forked, giving the visitor the choice of turning left and taking the northern shore road or keeping right and taking the road that curved around to the south. In terms of actual miles, they were about the same distance to Pagsanjan. When Marcus had last done it, there was not much difference in the roads, just the view.
The northern road that ran along the edge of the bay was still narrow, potholed, and dangerous. It wound through a number of tiny fishing villages with musical names such as Jalajala, Pililla and Kalayaan and it had always been Marcus’ preferred route. Exciting and picturesque, the journey took all day; if there was torrential rain, it could last three.
The southern route was now a paved main road though, so there really wasn’t any choice, especially as someone was waiting for them. They hooked onto the freeway and were in Pagsanjan just after midday. As they drove along the shoreline in the hired 4x4 SUV, Mako gazed out over the vast expanse of water.
“It’s huge. Freshwater, right?”
“Uh-huh. Fresh-ish. I wouldn’t drink it… but don’t let looks fool you. You could almost walk across it; at least Sam could have. It’s never more than six feet deep.”
They turned into Pagsanjan. Marcus looked around in confusion. It didn’t look anything like the small village he had left years before.
As their vehicle rumbled into town, they were immediately set upon by barceros eager to take them out in their small wooden canoes up the river that flowed into the bay, to the Magdapio Falls and site of the ‘Monkey Camp’ of Colonel Kurtz. The town was now a commercial shrine to APOCALYPSE NOW.
“Let me be your guide. I was extra on movie…”
“My brother and I were personal friends of Marlon Brando.…” The promises of intimacy and secrets about APOCALYPSE NOW spilled from everyone’s lips.
“Sleepy little town,” Mako shouted over the riot of car horns and cries from local traders. Souvenir shops lined the main street, with the bullet shaped head of Marlon Brando gazing out from posters that adorned nearly every storefront. Bars, restaurants, even the gas stations all shouted the name of the famous movie.
“We were only vaguely aware APOCALYPSE NOW had been made in this area when we were here,” whispered Marcus. “When the hell did all this spring up?” He wondered how, in all this chaos, they would be able to find the person they were to meet.
“You know my father loved that movie,” murmured Mako.
The 4x4 slowly edged towards the town center. Marcu
s leaned over the steering wheel, his head constantly turning from left to right trying to find a building or landmark he recognized from the past. He saw a big hotel, with an eagle carved over the door. A memory fluttered in Marcus’ subconscious.
“It’s weird Marcus, but you know…,” started Mako.
Marcus slammed on the brakes. The Diet Coke can Mako was sipping from banged against her top lip and spilled its dark sticky contents onto her cotton shorts and thighs.
“Thanks a lot, the bugs will love that,” she said yanking his baseball cap off his head, trying to mop up the droplets. There was a sharp rat-a-tat at the windshield that made her jump.
“Tell ’em we’re not interested in whatever they want to sell…” continued Mako still inspecting the stains.
“He’s not going to take ‘bug off ’ as an answer. I think we have met our guide,” Marcus replied grimly.
The tall reed-thin man was nonchalantly leaning against the vehicle, discreetly using the barrel of a snub-nosed revolver to rap on the window.
He pointed the weapon at the door lock button. Marcus hesitated just long enough for him to point the gun at Mako. Marcus had no choice, quickly pushing the rocker switch on the console. The locks snapped open and the sweat-stained man got in.
“Silence. Drive out of town on this road,” he instructed, “Should be memory lane for you…,” he said, nodding towards Marcus.
With the lake now behind them to their left and leaving Pagsanjan, the 4x4 hugged the road next to the river on their right, as it headed towards the falls.
“He doesn’t look much like a big shot hotel owner to me,” said Mako loudly, ignoring the man’s instruction for quiet, once again her bravado edging out her fear.
The man ignored her remark. “Slow. Now, up there,” he said directing them with a flick of the weapon to drive out across the plain and away from the river’s edge. Marcus turned the vehicle off the track, engaged low gear, and it slowly growled its way up towards the small rocky outcrop that the man was pointing to.
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