Rebels of Mindanao (6 page)

The next day, Mahir left Lefkosia and crossed the green line into the Greek part of the Nicosia. As he used his Turkish passport, he was not looked upon suspiciously; many transient workers made this crossing daily. Later the same day he was on a Middle East Airlines flight to Damascus. The Syrian contact who met him at the airport gave him a new passport, identifying him as an Indonesian citizen. Mahir appeared passably like the Indonesian shown in his passport identity. From here on he would travel on a round-trip ticket out of Damascus; one-way tickets always looked suspicious to airport officials. The next two days he spent at the Sheraton Hotel in downtown Damascus, paid for in advance by someone he never met, where two duffel bags were delivered to his room. The second day he received confirmation that 250,000 American dollars, half of his earthly reward for the mission, had been paid in advance and received in London into the old account set up by his father many years ago at Barclay's Bank, Ealing Branch. When he left Syria he had a new name on a new passport and five million U.S. dollars in hundred dollar bills packed neatly inside the two bags that he checked to be transported in the baggage compartment of the aircraft as ordinary luggage. Several porters and customs inspectors in airports along his travel route would receive good tips to let the bags pass through untouched. After connections through Bangkok and Jakarta, where he was met by a nameless person who passed him on to the next nameless person, his final contact put him on a fishing boat that was headed out to the Celebes Sea for a week. He was lodged in the crew's
quarters, where he always had a bed to sleep in because one or another of the crew would be on duty. He had no work to do on board, and after three days of playing solitaire he became bored. The fourth day out they were met at sea by a smaller diesel-powered boat that looked as though it could move fast. He went the rest of the way in this
banka
, another twenty-four hours, with fewer comforts than before.

The last day passed slowly. After midnight, when the sea was calm and the moon was still buried below the horizon, the crew assisted him out of the
banka
and into a one-man rubber raft. He took with him only the waterproof duffle bags with the money and the small bag that he had hand-carried on his flights, and paddled the last hundred yards to shore. Feeling calm and committed to his mission, Mahir walked awkwardly over sharp irregular coral formations the last few feet to the beach, pulling his floating kit behind him in the first low light of the rising moon.

Zamboanga, in southwest Mindanao, is one of those South Pacific visions of a volcanic island, where mangrove roots protect the white sand beaches from a possible tourist onslaught. After the coral and the mangrove, thick undergrowth, chest high, impedes progress. Then the rain forest begins.

If all these obstacles did not keep the tourist industry from setting up sex clubs and four-star restaurants on the pristine sands, the threat of kidnapping for profit by the Abu Sayaf does, and precludes property investment in any business undertaking. The shore was empty.

Mahir pulled his gear behind him and quickly waded up a waist-deep stream, whose bed allowed him to avoid the mangrove spikes at the shoreline and to escape the possibility of being seen on the open beach. Silence prevailed at first while he waded forward, but when he stopped to adjust his equipment, the sounds came, birds of many voices, the rustling sound of something heavy moving unseen from lower to higher ground in the underbrush, high breezes stirring leaves above, and breaths of air moving strands of barbed vines to grab at his clothing. Hungry insects similar to mosquitoes and creatures like mantises he had seen before, only healthier and better fed, permeated the brush around him. Smaller species of flies and mosquitoes that seemed to have evolved precisely to enter through the tiniest cracks in his insect nettings buzzed
continuously around him. They seemed to savor the insect repellent they sucked off his skin whenever exposed, drawn to the poison like an illegal recreational drug.

Who was watching him? The intelligence from Al Qaeda cells in Indonesia, passed halfway around the world to Damascus and back to him by radio while he was on the boat, would soon be outdated. Perhaps he would get new information from the mysterious contact Sheik Kemal had hinted about. Mahir had been told that small tactical units of U.S. Green Berets were located with Rangers of the Philippine Army somewhere inland from his present position, and would be delighted to catch him with cash in his possession. Mahir ducked under the canvas tarp he carried with him and turned on his mini-flashlight to check his map against his GPS readout. He determined his position and identified the particular river, nameless on the map, which moved past him as the tide began to move out and its drop to the sea became more pronounced.

He walked up the stream, his feet sucked down on each step forward by the decomposing vegetable mush on the bottom. He felt leeches sniffing for his blood. A short distance from the shore, where the coastal road crossed the river, he reached a concrete bridge and passed under an overhanging branch. He punctured the rubber raft, weighted it down with stones and pushed it under a waterlogged block of wood. Then he stashed the two big bags under the bridge and waited to meet up with his next contact.

There was little traffic crossing the bridge over his head, and no pedestrians were likely to enter the water here, certainly not at this hour. Just before daylight, he heard brush moving and a human presence descending the bank at the northwest corner of the bridge, part of the agreed-upon recognition signal. He observed from his hidden position, and then approached the stout soldier who would be his guide. Mahir Hakki was about to join the Abu Sayaf in their revolution.

F
ort Bonifacio is the final resting place for 17,206 American soldiers, with neat rows of crosses and Stars of David extending in sweeping, circular rows around the central monument. Thornton did not want the number of dead buried in the American cemetery to increase, not even by one. And Philippine Army Colonel Reginald O. Liu did not want to add any names, especially his own, onto the crosses reserved for Filipino soldiers resting forever in the adjacent cemetery. But there was a good chance that because of what they were about to do their names could be engraved on stone here sooner than either preferred.

Liu and his driver, Staff Sergeant Willie Rivera, met Thornton's flight from Davao City, and the Filipino officer and the American civilian saluted each other with big smiles. Since he had arrived in the Philippines, Thornton had been in regular touch with Liu, mostly by e-mail. He regarded Liu as a near genius, whose wit and humor inspired all who knew him, his friends, superiors in rank, and especially the men he
commanded. On the few occasions over the years when Thornton had flown in to Manila to visit, he usually stayed with Liu, at least when he was traveling alone.

From his teaching days at West Point, Thornton remembered Liu as the sharp, young foreign cadet who had an intense desire to learn and excelled in the study of what for him was his third language, German. That was a long time ago. In recent years, they had become comrades. When Liu presented Thornton to one of his cliques of military buddies or political alliances, he introduced him as “My professor, he taught me everything he knew.” And Thornton would respond, “Yes, see how far it got him.” It was a trite, self-deprecating act, but it drew smiles and opened avenues for more serious conversations among the close-knit hierarchy of Filipino military officers and businessmen.

“
Willkommen in Manila,”
Liu greeted his former teacher.

“Hey, Reggie, thanks for being here. What's up?” Thornton was not sure if he would be met by anyone at the airport, let alone the colonel.

“What's up is dinner and the game on a big screen TV at your embassy. Hargens clued me in on your plans.”

Thornton threw his overnight bag into the back seat of Liu's government black SUV and himself with it. Thornton was staying at the old Paco Park Hotel downtown and Rivera drove him there after dropping Liu off at Philippine Army headquarters on the way. The insurrection in Mindanao was heating up, and Liu was heavily involved in contingency planning for possible military operations.

Later in the afternoon Rivera returned to the hotel, with Colonel Liu riding in the front seat and obviously on a mission. Liu was in action mode, wearing combat fatigues and a web belt with a .44 Magnum holstered and obvious, not his usual uniform for riding around town. Thornton jumped into the back seat and asked Liu, “Off to war, are we?”

Liu relaxed noticeably once they were underway and took off his weapon, handing it to Rivera to hold for him while he and Thornton were having dinner at the Manila Yacht Club. It was coincidentally the weekend of the annual Army-Navy football game, which provided a convenient explanation for an unusual assortment of Americans and Filipinos to meet without drawing much attention from the press or the curious. This year's celebration started at the fancy club with the old
grads of the U.S. Naval Academy who lived in the Philippines hosting the West Point graduates. The Army and Navy alumni, divided today not by country but by school affiliation, included American Embassy staff, active-duty U.S. and Filipino officers, as well as several members of the Philippine Congress and prominent businessmen who had followed civilian paths after their military service ended. Several other officers also were wearing their fatigues rather than dress uniforms, indicating that something definitely was up.

After dinner, Liu and Thornton hung around drinking coffee until it got to be 3:30
AM
Manila time, or 3:30
PM
on the U.S. East Coast, where the game would be played. From the club they drove to the nearby U.S. Embassy to watch the contest live on an Armed Forces Network satellite hook-up. They found seats in the rear of the room around a big conference table; a bunch of Navy guys were at the other end. A few younger men and women from the Philippine armed forces and the U.S. Embassy staff joined the revelry after 4:00
AM
, when the embassy started office hours in order to overlap with Washington before the end of the workday in the U.S. Even Ambassador Richardson himself came in to watch the game and to have his early morning coffee before the office workday began.

General Hargens entered from the hallway leading back to the political section of the embassy and plopped down beside Thornton, asking him, “How do our chances look against Navy?”

“Not good this year, Luke. Our athletes can't weigh more than 250 pounds, you know; they couldn't survive in combat charging up a hill with rifle, steel helmet, flak jacket and forty-five pounds of gear in 100 plus degree heat-something the Navy guys don't have to do-so our football team can't compete against class A schools.” Thornton lamented the state of football at Army, a situation they both understood. “What's new with our little project? Should we firm up plans?”

“Some new info from the CIA.”

“And?” Thornton was curious.

“The Turk carrying the cash left the Middle East and has already landed in Mindanao. Neither the CIA nor Philippine Intelligence was able to track him after that. Charlie wanted me to let you know.”

Liu, sitting beside Thornton, was watching the game but listening to
the Americans. They were all on the same page regarding the Mindanao insurrection. “As usual, your CIA is great with theory but useless on the ground, especially here, in my country. Did you study my report?” he asked Hargens.

“Yeah. Your boys aren't any better. And if they were, they'd just keep the cash.”

Army scored a touchdown, and there was excitement around the room as the Navy grads hooted and the Army grads cheered, with good-natured heckling from both sides.

“In my years at West Point, we never lost this game,” Liu commented.

“During my years we never won. Staubach was their quarterback and Bellino carried the ball,” Thornton said.

Hargens got serious with Liu. “Reggie, I have to tell you, I would not like it if your political buddies got hold of the five million the Turk has.”

Colonel Liu stood up, offended and getting red in the face, “But your guys can't get it either. You're not even supposed to be in Mindanao,” and left the Americans to join the Filipino officers at the other end of the table.

Hargens took the opportunity to update Thornton. “Liu's an honorable guy, the best of the bunch. Let's help him stay that way. OK, here it is. You know Al Qaeda is waging worldwide war against us. In the Philippines, they're using this Turk to get money to the Abu Sayaf, their local cell in Mindanao, who will use the cash to control the New Peoples Army, the Moro Islamic Liberation Front, the Moros, and to mount a revolution. If they win the war, they'll install a radical Islamic government. The Abu Sayaf is on the State Department list of foreign terrorist organizations. You can be sure if they see the U.S. government putting our noses in here, they'll just toughen their position and move quickly to make something big happen.”

Thornton wanted some clarification for himself. “If only the Filipinos would do it themselves.”

“They've been trying for forty years to control the Moros. Never will happen; too many different interests, with corruption all along the way. Money makes it worse.”

“What exactly do you want me to do, if the U.S. can't be involved?”

“That is exactly why I need
you
. I said we could get you close to the
Turk, but then it'd be up to you. This is the best I can do and still let you keep whatever you can confiscate. Can't let too many politicians, theirs or ours, know about our deal. I have to trust Liu and even his boss, Congressman Galan: at least we know them, they're sitting here cheering on our team with us right now. Keeping your mission outside the CIA umbrella gives you an opportunity; but
you
have to make it happen. You'll have help from our technicians as STAGCOM. I've approved that as the operational name and concept for you as a consultant, but after tonight you're not going to see me for a while. So, good luck. Stop Hakki before he delivers the money to the rebel leaders. And whatever you do, don't let the Philippine Army get that money. They'd use it to throw out President Cayton just as he's coming around to supporting our foreign policy. That's part of your mission. Otherwise we wouldn't need you: we'd just let those guys at the other end of this table get it. Keep it away from them too; keep it away from everybody.”