Overland Run - Part 12

As the reluctant traveling companions arrived at Zamboanga Airport a massive rolling wall of black clouds approached from the south west, great thunderclaps warning of an impending tropical downpour of considerable proportions. They hurried to the terminal noting a heavy military presence both on the tarmac and in the building itself. A Philippines Airways plane was also unloading passengers and Max noted the two NPA fighters amongst the crowd leaving the plane. Their body guard-escort had arrived and he noticed with a sinking feeling one of the army officers pointing at them. As quickly as he could without breaking into a run he headed for the terminal cursing the backpack that would have to be waited for at the luggage collection.

There was a ear shattering clap of thunder followed almost instantly by torrential rain and to his horror he recognized a different sound, the clattering roar of an automatic weapon as one of the Philipinos opened fire on the approaching soldiers. Many of the disembarking passengers failed to notice it as the chaos of the heavy rain began to drown out sound and vision but Max saw a soldier go down turning the rain on the tarmac red as he fell then screaming passengers started falling as the troops fired recklessly into the crowd. Charlie, the police officer in him taking over, grabbed Max by the arm and they ran terrified into the terminal, pushing through the horrified onlookers.

Most of the onlookers were still unaware of the turmoil outside until the building’s windows began to shatter, the guerillas had not arrived alone and their companions were adding to the carnage outside. Max saw Marylyn standing near the exit and he grabbed the terrified girl and together they ran for the carpark, closely followed by Charlie. Both of the middle aged men were fitter than their girth indicated and they followed Marylyn to her car with out too much physical distress. The long legged Filipina opened the doors of the compact Toyota and Max pushed her out of the way to let Charlie take the driver’s seat. Sometimes lunatic driving was called for. Amazingly Charlie stopped at the carpark boom gate and handed the stunned attendant a hundred peso note, automatically she pressed the open button and the small car laid rubber all the way to the highway. Max looked back and saw that grenades had added to the destruction of the airport and the elimination of their former companions.

Trembling with the adrenalin rush of the escape Max noted a satisfied smirk on Charlie’s face; the arsehole had shopped their escort in an effort to take control of the job. He sincerely hoped the Cebuana girl had given the cunt AIDS.
Several hectic miles down the road Max made a reluctant Charlie surrender the wheel to Marylyn. It was time to take to the back streets and Zamboanga City was the Mindanao girl’s town. She had recovered from the shock of the firefight and he shoved Charlie into the front passenger seat and squeezed into the back. From now on he would watch the man’s every move, he didn’t want to be the next one eliminated from the operation.

The small car weaved through the back streets before turning into the country side. The rain had reduced the traffic flow and they moved rapidly away from the city. After an hour they turned into a dirt track, sliding in the mud but there was enough gravel for traction. Soon they came to a small house on the outskirts of a village almost hidden by a variety of palms, banana trees and thin stemmed papayas. Max got out, still trembling with reaction and Marylyn rushed to him, hugging him and holding him close. She may have been Harry’s girlfriend but Max had always been the only man who had ever treated her as a human being rather than just someone there to be fucked. She acknowledged Charlie with a lift of the chin and led them into the house that Harry’s money had built.

Like most Philipino houses, or most Asian houses for that matter, it was full of people. Marylyn’s mother directed traffic, her two teenage son’s watched TV and several nieces and nephews headed outside as the rain stopped to clean up.
“I’m not fucking staying here” snarled Charlie, and Max turned on him instantly, the day’s fear and hatred that churned in his guts turning to violence. He grabbed the amazed man by the throat and used his bulk to slam him against the wall of the room, feeling the whole house shake.

“Listen you fucking arsehole, the cops will be nailing what’s left of one of our former friends to the floor by his balls now, they’ll have our description out of him in an hour. Two fucking fat foreigners, one with the worst fucking hair transplant in the world. OK, fuck off to the Zamboanga Hilton and we’ll be gone two seconds after you leave.” He drew a clenched fist back , “If you make it back to Angeles Harry will be waiting for you, you cunt”

Charlie wasn’t a coward but he recognized the danger he was in immediately; he held his hands up carefully, not touching Max and slowly forming his features into an ingratiating smile. “Sorry mate, pressure of the day and all that, this will do fine, just got a bit carried away.”

Still shaking Max pushed himself away from Charlie, coming back from the brink, the lack of fulfillment bitter in his mouth. He knew the cunt had set those guys up, but wasn’t a hundred percent sure. To get rid of him now would cause friction with Harry, he had to let things settle, get his dope back some how and sort out what Harry wanted.

Suddenly he realised that Marylyn was rubbing the back of his neck talking softly to him holding him and telling him to be good.

He turned to her, “some fucking hostess you are, a man’s been here half the day and hasn’t been offered a drink yet.”

Laughing, letting the tension ease, she went to the fridge and got a couple of beers opening the first and handing it to Max. She took the second for herself, calling to one of the children to get something to Charlie, smiling innocently as he glowered at the insult.

Max ran his hands down the splendid naked breasts, mentally agreeing that saline bags felt better than silicone as well as being so much safer. Not that Harry would have cared when he remodeled the girl so he moved his hands to her buttocks, all natural, and ran a finger along the cleft of her butt. Never stopping the gentle stroking as she rolled him onto his back and lowered herself down onto him, a spasm of pleasure running through her almost immediately. When there both sated she snuggled into him and chuckled, “All the more nice for wait so long Max, good to be with a man and not have to wear schoolgirl clothes with no panties,” she laughed. Not wanting to hear about Harry’s peculiarities he rolled on his side and whispered in her ear, telling her about the bag at the airport, then telling her everything else. She was silent for a long time then started whispering back.

The next day a council of war was held after breakfast. The TV news informed them that all the guerillas were dead, one having died in custody, and two foreigners were being sought by the security forces. They were vague about what the foreigners were being hunted for but hinted that some terrorist connection was suspected. An intensive search of the city and surrounding area was underway, and hundreds of police and troops were moving on known Abu Sayef strongholds incase they had been involved in the previous days action. Several Generals appeared on the screen, shaking hands and smiling broadly, a successful action against guerillas was a rare thing for them and they were making the most of the occasion. But then they didn’t usually get such reliable information, thought Max bitterly. He mused happily for a while on what the NPA would do to Charlie Gilmour if they ever found out about his reachery.

A small van arrived at the house, two men who Max recognized from an earlier visit as Marylyn’s cousins got out and opened the back door. The first thing he noticed was his backpack and behind it a small wooden crate. They produced a hammer and a small jimmy bar and soon revealed a shrink wrapped bundle of six large, heavy brief cases. Charlie slit the plastic with a kitchen knife but these were no ordinary briefcases, the locks were like nothing Max had seen before and an ‘accidental’ slash with the knife barely marked the fabric showing some sort of fine stainless steel mesh incorporated into it. Not impregnable but it would certainly involve considerable effort to open them without the keys. Charlie couldn’t keep his hands off them, Max saw greed and curiosity oozing from every pore in the man’s body. “How did they get here?” he asked, addressing Marylyn directly for the first time since the airport. “A small cargo ship” she replied, “So many come to the port from all over Asia; this one from Java originally, but who know where it go in between.”

Max was pondering their options, flying out was impossible, even the ferries were being watched he knew. A mini bus or other large vehicle had to be rented and they would go overland to one of the other Mindanao cities with a ferry port. Maybe a large fishing vessel could be hired to get them back to Luzon, but not here, the triumphant Philipino security forces would be determined to cap their victory of the previous day with the capture of the foreign ‘terrorists’. Max knew that the competence of the Philipinos had risen dramatically in the last few years; in 2002 they had called on the American military to help rescue American missionaries kidnapped by Abu Sayef. Max didn’t doubt they had deserved all they got, as would any one who arrived in a militant Muslim area brandishing bibles, but the Americans had put several thousand troops into the area; rescuing the surviving missionaries and giving the Philipino forces months of intensive anti-terrorism training.

Charlie carefully edged Max away from Marylyn until they were out of hearing range. “We’re rich Max, the bags have to be full of money, millions, fuck Harry… lets go, we need this more than him and he’s shit on both of us for years.”

“And where will you go Charlie? He’ll get you in the Philippines and if you run to Australia Rex will be waiting.”

He noted the suspicion of a smirk appear on the other man’s face, God he’d love to play poker against this idiot. Somehow Rex was out of the equation but he knew it would only be temporary, Charlie was incapable of taking Rex out permanently; it would be a anonymous phone call to some countries immigration. Rex would be in a South American prison somewhere while his documents were checked. Possibly he had been set up but Max knew the street smart ex-con would buy his way out quickly.

“You have to be joking Charlie,” he continued, “Marylyn would have half her family down on us with jungle bolos in seconds, we can’t get out of here without her and you know it. Wait till we get back to Angeles and you can rip him off a few bucks at a time like you always have.”

“We can pay the slut off,” hissed Charlie, “A thousand bucks is a fortune to a peasant like her, she’s got no loyalty to anyone, she’d sell her own fucking kids for fifty.” Cursing, he knew that he was helpless without Max though, in one night he’d got the bitch on his side, you’d think she’d been fucked that many times her cunt would have as much feeling left as a piece of liver. Rapidly sinking into his ‘the whole world's against me’ mode he backed off.

“Just an idea” he whined, thinking he’d wait for his chance and Max could get fucked.

Max was pleased with what Marylyn came up with in the transportation line, a long wheelbase Toyota Land cruiser, several decades old and well worn but she assured him that the engine and transmission were fully reconditioned. There were plenty of them around and the tinted windows would hide the passengers from a casual inspection. He and Charlie would sit in the back making themselves difficult to see even with the front windows down. Max didn’t know the large islands interior, his visits had confined him to a few of the coastal cities, but he knew if they could get to the north coast there were regular ferries heading into the Vasayas and up to Luzon. What they would need was a driver and a guide, preferably one of each. There was plenty of room for four people and their luggage would fit in the back with the briefcases. He sent Marylyn into town to stock up on bottled water and stuff he and Charlie could eat like packet food and fruit. He didn’t want anyone laid up for days after a plate of chicken adobo at some jungle village café. Marylyn came back in an hour with enough provisions for a week, she also had the several maps of the interior he had asked for. Mindanao was about three hundred miles long and he knew that the roads would be ordinary at best. It was the least populated part of the Philippines but he expected a slow trip. They would drive nonstop until clear of the southern part of the island, military operations against Abu Sayef were on going there and the risk of being stopped and searched would be high.

Max imagined the dilemma of some twenty year old army lieutenant when a search revealed the drugs and the briefcases. Try to keep it and run? Hand it over to his superiors and never see it again? Maybe murdered by his own platoon when they realised what he had. It would almost be worth getting caught to watch the kid trying to figure it out.

They spent the day getting their clothes washed and loafing around, Max considered trying to tempt Marylyn into her room but knew she wouldn’t be in it while Mum and the kids were around. It had only been after the rest of the house had been asleep that he had been welcomed into her bed. It would be no secret he knew, Philipino mothers were good at denial, she would be happy to believe that a daughter made enough money for a house, car and college for the kids working as a ‘waitress’ in Angeles City. He knew Marylyn had been superb at her profession, raking in the commission on at least twenty drinks every night then carefully choosing a bed mate from the throng of admirers who hung around when Harry was away. He thought ruefully that he was probably the first person to enjoy her skills for free in nearly twenty years. She had told him once that she had married at sixteen and had two kids in a short time when her husband just disappeared. Whether he had been killed by bandits or run off to Manila with another woman she never knew. No one had seen or heard from him since. Barely old enough to work in the bars of Angeles she had the made the pilgrimage that so many girls from poor families made every year.

A strange Philipino arrived and Marylyn introduced him as her brother surprising them all by declaring him an occasional member of Abu Sayef. Charlie, still the detective at heart queried this instantly, he knew Marylyn to be a devout Catholic and wanted to know how the fuck she had a Muslim brother. “Same Papa,” she said, “my Mum only girlfriend, he was Muslim, her Catholic, he don’t marry her so she bring me up Catholic.”

She laughed at Max, “Better to be Catholic,” she said, “I can have many lovers then confess at the church every Sunday.”

“Fucking no principals at all,” sneered the highly unprincipled Charlie Gilmour.

The half brother would drive she said and she would come as the guide and interpreter, Max waited for the howl of outrage from Charlie but to his surprise the ex-cop just gave his little smirk and said nothing.

They got an early night, except for Max and Marylyn who managed to find each other in the darkness, and were on the road well before daylight.

The island of Mindanao is heavily forested and largely undeveloped, rich in minerals it represents the future of the Philippines which accounts for the ongoing battle with it’s Muslim inhabitants who want independence from Manila. They drove along the long narrow peninsula that Zamboanga was on the southern end of, negotiating the winding jungle roads with care, coming out of the mountains occasionally to pass towns full of rusting shacks made from flattened out petrol drums and scrap timber, some of it only tree branches.

They decided to stop the night at the small city of Ozamis, just a bare hundred miles from Cagayan de Oro the city that Max had decided to get the ferry to either Cebu City or Dumaghetti. Both cities would offer plane flights to Manila. He considered getting the ferry all the way to the capital but decided to delay the journey while he took stock of matters. He suspected that Charlie was up to something and wanted him to get around to it on neutral ground rather than the rat hole of Manila that he knew so well and had so many contacts. Charlie hated Philipino ferries anyway, avowing that they rolled over too easily drowning hundreds of passengers, which they had been known to do.

On the assumption that they would be caught just as easily in a small hotel as a big one they checked into the best hotel in town. Max and Charlie were gratified to find that their were suites with spa tubs and took one each, the brother being given fifty US dollars, not enough to arouse local interest, and told to hide him self and the car for the night. Charlie headed for his room complaining loudly of back pain while Max and Marylyn headed for theirs, looking forward to the hot tub after the days grimy drive.
Within twenty minutes they were in the tub swapping spit, as it was known in Max’s teenage years, as the tub slowly filled around them. Before it was full she was straddling his lap, holding back as the best courtesans do, knowing that when she came it would take him with her.

The first need fulfilled they headed for the town centre and found a restaurant specializing in the local seafood. Black squirming mud cabs were produced for their inspection and  a small coral trout taken off the ice to be tested for freshness. This was the Asia Max loved, a new town, eating fresh food full of the local flavours in the open air so they could watch the passers by and soaking up a completely new and strange atmosphere. Across the road the lights of a disco flashed, live bands were offered and he knew that Philipinos were the best and most highly sought after musicians in Asia. He had surprised many a night club band in places as far apart as Bali and Ho Chi Minh City by coming up and complementing them in Tagalog or even Broken Spanish, the unique dialect of Southern Mindanao. He prided himself with his ability to say “thank you”, “hello” or order a beer fluently in a dozen Asian languages. “Beautiful girl” was one of his specialties too. Deciding things were going too well he got Marylyn to ring the hotel so he could invite Charlie out. They replied his room wasn’t answering making him wonder where the devious man was.

The firefight and deaths at the airport had shaken him considerably, it was the first time he had experienced that sort of violence and it had left him disturbed. The casual, easy going façade was severely cracked and now he decided he would leave nothing to fate. Squirming on the ground in his own blood was a very real possibility.
They spent a few hours in the night club before returning to the hotel and sliding into the large bed, Marylyn marveling at his reaction, “Max, you are young man” she sighed, “no take Viagra even.”

The next day found them on the road, Charlie informing them he had gone to bed and turned the phone off after a bath and a room service meal. Max doubted this, Marylyn had said the hotel clerk said the phone wasn’t being answered, but let it lie. The car turned out of the fields outside the city and the road ran along an isolated coastal area, following sandy beaches.

“Pull over mate’, Charlie said to the driver, “I need a piss.”

Max agreed, to much juice and tea to settle the slight hangover at breakfast had filled his bladder too. They climbed out the back doors and Charlie walked to the driver’s window and leant in as if to say something. He produced a gun from his suit pocket and shot the Philipino in the temple, blood and brain tissue splattering Marylyn in the passenger seat. Obligingly she leant screaming over her brother allowing Charlie to club her with the gun butt, then he turned to a stunned Max, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him into the gun barrel until it touched his face.

“Right you fucking know-all dirt bag, here’s where you get yours” he snarled triumphantly.

© Julian. All rights reserved by the author.