Rebels of Mindanao (36 page)

Starke looked confused for a moment, then it hit him. “You think people don't trust you, but you trust everybody. I'll show you.” He gave Thornton his friendly frown and did a slow about-face to coordinate with the Otazas, telling them to stay at Liu's CP but to be ready. He would be back when Thornton told him to be back.

After Starke drove away, the downtrodden Thornton walked over to Colonel Liu and told him, “OK, Reggie, I'll take that flight to Manila now.”

W
here the hell have you been? All I know about your
verdammte
antics since you went on the job with Thornton is official press releases. Where are you now?” Wolfgang Moser asked Starke when he called.

It was good to hear Moser's voice. “In town, on the way to O'Neil's place. Got time?”

“Sure, about twenty-five minutes?”

“Perfect. I'll come by your place. Be ready!” Starke was hungry for a cheeseburger and for some companionship—Moser first, for conversation, and the twins later.

From where Starke parked the Pajero, he and Moser walked together down unlit Claveria Street to the Lady Love. The city stationed two or three patrolmen on every major intersection within the city to direct traffic with hand signals because that was cheaper than installing expensive traffic lights. There were no streetlights and few traffic lights in
Davao City, and with ever-higher electricity costs, streetlights were a fantasy of the future.

A barefoot woman wearing a loose, torn dress appeared out of the early evening shadows from between two buildings and approached Moser to offer, “Do you want a girl?”

“No!” Moser was disgusted to contemplate being with the old hag and walked quickly away from the woman, but she followed him, trying to negotiate. He turned back to ask Starke, “Can you imagine a woman that ugly trying to sell herself on the street?”

“Wolfgang, don't you get it even after all your years here? She wasn't asking if you wanted
her;
she was asking if you wanted a
girl
. She probably has a stable of teenagers or even younger girls back in the alley. Maybe her own daughters or daughters of her friends, and maybe some boys, bought in the country or in the barrios around town from parents who have too many kids.”

Moser was embarrassed he had been so naive and did not relax until he reached the familiar environment of the Lady Love, where Moser and Starke commandeered a booth for themselves. Morris O'Neil himself came over and plopped down beside Moser while a cute new waitress took their order for six beers, two for each, to save time. Moser recounted the recent street scene to Morris.

“I think you're right, Hank,” Morris told him seriously, “there's been some rumor about a covey of quail living on the second floor above the ink refill station. But I haven't seen any of them. Where you lads been lately?” Morris asked as a half-dozen draft San Miguel beers in icy mugs were set down in front of them.

The twins showed up, and the direction of the conversation changed. Jade snuggled beside Starke, lightly touching thighs from hips to knees. “Do you want to see our new costumes?”

“Sure. Morris put up the money for your outfits?” Starke thought they both looked very sexy.

“No way. We had to pay for them ourselves, but it wasn't very much.” Jasmine was standing beside Starke, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder.

“And we did a lot of the work ourselves, finishing, doing some sewing and gluing. We can make our own dresses, you know.” Jade was justifiably proud of her handiwork.

Starke pretended to be surprised, “You're becoming industrious and yet conservative young ladies.”

“No. Hardly that. We thought we might have to take care of ourselves alone someday.” No one present believed Jasmine in the slightest.

“I suppose if it didn't cost much, it means there were very tiny amounts of material purchased. Right?” Moser liked to kid around with the twins; they were nice girls and harmless.

“You got that right, sir,” they answered the D.J. simultaneously.

“Anyway, there's more coverage than with the two green sleeves.” Jade turned back to Starke. “So many of the customers that come here have become regulars that we decided to change our theme. Now we'll wear only feathers!”

“Only feathers? That's interesting.” Starke could imagine how the clientele would appreciate their new act.

“Yes, we start with the green sleeves as before, but then slowly take them off. The end of our old act is where the new one starts. We end it wearing only feathers.”

“Yes. And the feathers are only on our face masks, winding upwards in swirls and down in spirals around our paper masks. We'll look just like Kabayan.” Jade completed the image for the three men at the table.

“So, that leaves you completely
hubo hvbo?
” Moser knew the Visayan phrase. The girls seemed to be becoming more aware and less naive than when he had first met them.

“Yes, except for the feathers.” Jasmine laughed and continued to play with her audience.

Starke could imagine their finale. “Well, maybe later I can watch the last show?”

“You can count on seeing our last show, but not here.” Jade whispered in his ear, and then flew backstage with Jasmine to get ready for their first performance of the evening.

Moser had observed the private cabaret at their table with mild amusement, but had enough. “I'll leave you gents to your vices, got to get ready for my own show.”

“Break a leg!” Morris said to his back as the D.J. left the bar.

After the twins' first show they busied themselves flirting with customers, something they seemed to have gotten better at. Starke wondered
about their newly found gregariousness. He finished one more beer, then left the Lady Love and walked home along the never deserted, now even darker streets, passing some of the same street people he had passed on the way in. Back in his loft, he pushed in a Willie Nelson CD and waited for the twins to come home and unfurl their feathers.

T
he urgency of quieting both Manila and Washington had been the reason General Hargens needed to get Thornton back to the embassy sooner rather than later. The Philippine Air Force flight out of Koronadal Airport that Liu had arranged was delayed by bad weather over the Sulu Sea, refueled in Iloilo and Batangas, and finally dropped Thornton at the Manila airport to hook up with Hargens' chopper. Hargens liked to start early, before much of the Defense Department in Washington, D.C., closed down, which meant 6
AM
Manila time. He was accustomed to talking with his home office first and getting himself up to speed before the day began in Asia. Hargens was waiting for Thornton when the helicopter deposited him onto the embassy grounds and escorted him directly to the conference room.

Hargens had scheduled this meeting, following instructions from his boss, the Secretary of Defense. The U.S. Ambassador to the Philippines was the nominal chairman of today's meeting, but the ambassador was
in trouble and he knew it. Ambassador Richardson had been quoted on Malaysian television while on a trip to Kuala Lumpur as saying that the situation in Mindanao was beginning to look like Iraq, a sensitive issue in Washington with overtones of political dissent. In Manila his quoted statement was viewed simply as condescending ignorance on the part of the Americans. The ambassador wanted to get himself out of the mess; perhaps Hargens' ideas and the recent successes of the Philippine Army in Mindanao could help his situation.

Most of the participants who had attended the previous meeting in this same venue, which now seemed so long ago, were already present. But Major Hayes' chair was empty. His temporary replacement had arrived from the states, a young infantry lieutenant outranked by everyone. He leaned against the wall not knowing where to sit. John Robert Mundy's place was also unoccupied; although he had not been pleasant to have around when he was alive, Mundy's loss was nevertheless felt in some way by each of them.

Thornton arrived late, and had had a lot to think about during his delay. When he got to the conference room, he glanced at the vacant chairs and thought about what might have been for the men who once sat in them. He had seen men in combat survive terrible wounds and recover to lead valuable lives, and he had witnessed men bleeding to death from apparently superficial cuts, drowning in a few minutes or dying of fever from what started as a common cold. There seemed to be no reason why some survived.

Thornton wrestled with his conscience. Was it true that passion and ignorance were a dangerous combination? If so, it is a continuing condition in Mindanao, and here in Manila it was worse. Even the embassy staff seemed to have succumbed to a global pandemic of ignorance, his buddy Hargens and a few others excluded. Hargens had the ability and the vision to see truth, or at least truth the same way Thornton saw it. Revolution and continuing threats of revolution in the southern Philippines would happen again and again as long as there were too many people chasing too little useful work. Thornton sat next to Hargens, and allowed himself to philosophize somewhat more than usual. What he said was, “Luke, I was wrong about thinking I was doing this all just for the money. I don't need it; I miss what I lost.”

Hargens heard him, didn't completely understand, but had to start the meeting. He wrung his bony hands, nodded respectfully to Congressman Galan, and addressed the entire group. “Yesterday may have been a day of defeat for the NPA, but those outlaws don't know about events outside Mindanao. They're waiting for international support, for global revolt against the ‘imperialistic and capitalistic' Americans, using their terms. You have to realize that's what they believe. Let's see what happens next; it's just never over.”

“Well, this chapter is over, anyway.” Thornton gazed around the room. “But don't you wonder, what have we really learned here, what difference will it make a hundred years from now if our photos are hanging on that wall and MacArthur is forgotten and is as irrelevant as U.S. Grant today? What have we really changed?”

“Maybe you and I remember why the old wars were fought; the newer generations don't know; they haven't studied history.” The general did remember.

“We just waste our time proving once again that power always wins,” Thornton answered Hargens and paused while the others thought about what he meant. He continued, “Foreigners just enforce their foreign superstitions on Filipino citizens over tribal superstitions, with missionary preaching mixed in.” True to his rabble-rouser label, he could not stop.

“And thank you, U.S. government, corporations and taxpayers for funding
both
sides in this war,” Thornton continued. “If America didn't send money here, and the Arabs also didn't, there would be none to steal or to be filtered off by the several levels of graft between Manila and Mindanao.”

“That is truly superficial and arrogant, Mr. Thornton,” interjected the ambassador, who had his own opinion and the official position to sell. Tapping his ballpoint pen a little too hard on the table, the furrow in his brow deepening, the ambassador looked as though he was ready to spit. This civilian “contractor” guy was done with his job. And tomorrow Hargens would be in his plush JUSMAG office, while Congressman Galan would be busy shuffling routine papers. But for him here in the embassy there would be new issues, new politics, the same indigenous tribes and established interest groups emerging with different icons and newer slogans, and a whole new crop of Filipino generals whom he
would have to meet on the lunch and dinner circuit to learn their names and agendas. He would have to wrestle with reporters from the
Star
and the
Inquirer
and think about the delicate phrasing of the next press releases that he would have to concoct concerning what USAID and the JUSMAG advisors were up to in the field. He prayed he would not have to shut down the embassy again because of street demonstrations against America.

The conversation in the conference room was becoming testy. “The Filipino citizen needs to do more for himself to prevail against internal terrorist threats. We can't do it for you.” Ambassador Richardson needed to impress Galan with the U.S. position. His country was busy in too many other places in the world to hold their hands forever.

“We didn't ask you to.” Galan stated frankly. “In fact, if you remember, we didn't want you here in the first place.”

Thornton had had enough. “Anyway, I'm out of here, before your next war against the Lumads. I've lost everything I care about. There can't be real peace in Mindanao until the MNLF cuts its ties with the Al Qaeda and the Abu Sayaf, and they never will. That's all they have, those poor, desperate bastards.”

“OK, I know, we can't defeat a desperate populace.” The time for Galan's political opportunities was growing nearer, and he was positioning himself to further his reputation and position with the electorate. “But there are criminal elements that must be wiped out so our good people, Christian and others, will be able to build a nation.”

Ambassador Richardson wanted to remind all those present that the Republic of the Philippine Islands was
not
the only country in the world where the U.S. was involved, and it was far from the top of the list in importance, but said it as tactfully as a career diplomat could and still make a point: “Congressman, it is your country and your show, but we will always be your ally. You should assess the remaining strength of the NPA and give us your official report. We'll continue to assist your forces in the field, and to help with the immediate image problems you may have. The U.S. Embassy will sign a memorandum of support for the government as having successfully defeated this particular terrorist plot. You can decide the venue and how you want us to announce it. Go ahead, make some hay.”