Somewhere in the Shallow Sea

by Dennis Macaraeg

  It was Good Friday and Olongapo City felt desolate. The streets were absent of the usual hubbub of activities—no patrons going in the restaurants, no shoppers with bags of goodies walking out of stores, and no kids in their school uniforms running along the sidewalks.

  As they exited the city, they passed by the rotunda—the bust of the “apo” stood erect. According to legends, the apo, or wise leader, who tried dearly to get the warring tribes to stop fighting each other was decapitated and his head was placed on a bamboo pole. The people called out “olo ng apo,” or “head of the wise leader.” The word became part of the tribe’s vocabulary and eventually morphed into the word Olongapo, for which the city was named.

  The buses coming out of the terminal followed the van. Danny looked back at the bust getting smaller as they moved farther away from the city. He thought of their meeting with Commander Berto and hoped that Blake would not meet the same gruesome ending as the apo.

  * * *

  As they were approaching the municipality of Dinalupihan in the province of Bataan, they encountered slow traffic. They rolled the windows down, curious what was going on. Bystanders were gathered on the side of the road watching a man in a red robe carry a black cross on his shoulder, re-enacting Jesus on his way to the Calvary on the day he was crucified. The man playing the part of Jesus struggled as he stepped forward, slowly dragging the cross on the hot cement street.

  A row of shirtless men with red cloths covering their faces appeared around the bend, self-flagellating their backs with the slivers of bamboo bound to their ropes. Bright red blood was smeared all over their backs, dripping down their white pants. Their relentless beating had peeled off their skin’s top layer.

  “What are they doing to themselves?” Helen asked as horror resonated in her voice.

  “It’s called penitensya, or penance. These men are trying to punish themselves for all the bad deeds they’ve committed throughout the year,” Danny answered.

  “Isn’t that practice discouraged by the church?” Helen asked.

  “I don’t think the practice will ever be stopped. It has been going on for generations. Men vowed to do this because of a favor they had prayed for. Some of the men have loved ones who are very sick, and some of them are in very tough situations. By doing the penitensya, they are hoping that their worries will be solved.”

  A group of men performing the ritual stopped at a station where women were chanting a prayer. The men lay on their stomachs and spread their arms in the shape of the cross. A group of men with flat wooden sticks, began whacking their buttocks.

  “My God!” Helen said, flinching.

  Danny buried her face in his chest to shield her from the self-deprecating act. Danny thought of the bargain he made with God when he was at the San Agustin church. He wondered if it was good enough to get Blake back. Maybe he needed to make a promise and do the penitensya.

  As soon as they found a sliver of space in the crowd, they carefully maneuvered for the town’s exit.

  * * *

  Danny felt right at home when they finally arrived in Metro Manila, its familiar streets choked with Jeepneys belching smoke, stopped in the middle of the road to take more passengers. Thousands of commuters stood patiently on the side of the road waiting for a ride that would either take them to work or back home.

  The view of the Andres Bonifacio Monument looked intimidating from afar. The beige obelisk towering over the city of Caloocan reminded everyone passing by of the bloody history of the country and the sacrifices that the people made to win their freedom from Spanish rule. Andres Bonifacio stood proudly in front of the flag and the revolutionaries holding up bolos, shouting battle cries to their brethren.

  * * *

  Melchor was sitting on a chair drinking a cup of coffee when Danny and Helen arrived.

  “Just in time,” Melchor said.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have to come with us,” Helen said.

  “What are you saying? I’m not afraid of Commander Berto. Especially now that I know his men are lousy shooters. I want to be there when Blake is released.”

  “Then I guess we can go now,” Danny said.

  * * *

  The van was rounding the corner when the cars in front began to slow down. A greasy-haired, political candidate wearing a red, white and blue vest was standing on the flatbed truck with a picture of his face and his name on large banners. His promises were written in big bold letters for the world to see, passing by with his convoy of supporters trailing behind. He waved at the crowd along the way, all expecting to catch a freebie of T-shirts and hats tossed from the truck.

  “These politicians! Some of them never do anything good for the nation,” Melchor said. “Turn down that street. We must get out of here fast or we’re going to be late.”

  While the van was driving through a narrow street just wide enough for a large truck to get through, the noise from the candidate’s megaphone and the shouts from the throng of people faded in the distance. Four blocks later, the staccato sound of a police siren suddenly began to wail. Danny looked behind him and saw police lights flashing.

  “What a pest,” Melchor remarked.

  A policeman approached the car, adjusting his baseball cap.

  “What’s going on?” Helen asked.

  “Some sort of traffic violation,” Danny said, worried at the impending delay.

  “What seems to be the problem, officer?” Melchor asked.

  “This is a one-way street. You didn’t see the sign?” the officer said with intimidating eyes. “Your license, please.”

  While the officer read the information on the card, Melchor tried to neutralize the situation. “I’m really sorry. We’re new in this area. I’m taking my friends to the airport and we’re running late. With your kindness, sir, can I just leave the fine with you? They can’t miss their flight back to America.”

  The policeman pretended to write something on his ticket book and said nothing. It felt like an eternity for each minute that the policeman dragged out the situation. Though Melchor knew it was illegal to bribe public officials, not everyone was honest and he knew how the game was played.

  “I’m doing you a favor today. I don’t normally do this,” the policeman said, giving the license back to the driver. “See that kid in the corner selling gum and cigarettes? Buy a pack of cigarettes and pay him five hundred pesos. Then you’re free to go.”

  * * *

  Finally gaining speed, they reached Epifanio de los Santos Avenue. It was the site of the People Power Revolution—the extraordinary moment in Philippine history in February 1986 when hundreds of thousands of people flooded the streets of Manila wanting the current regime out. Nuns equipped only with rosaries, priests wielding wooden crosses, students holding banners, and housewives carrying the statue of the Virgin Mary begged the military armed to the teeth not to fire on the innocent civilians. Young women offered flowers to the battle-weary soldiers. Both men and boys pushed tanks with their bare hands, as if they could stop the behemoth from advancing and crushing them.

  Then suddenly, as if by deus ex machina, helicopters sent by the United States appeared in the sky. Twenty-plus years of a leader that would seem to go on for another decade were finally over.

  * * *

  “Back so quickly?” the bank manager asked.

  “Can you help us get our things?” Helen asked.

  “Sure…come this way,” the manager said, ushering them to the bank vault.

  The bank manager inserted his key in the slot and unlocked the boxes. With their personal keys, Danny and Helen unlocked the safety deposit boxes and transferred the Cube to their rollaway luggage.

  “We need to close our account. We won’t be needing the safety deposit boxes anymore,” Helen said, handing her key to the bank manager.

  “You may keep it as a souvenir. We’ll be replacing the lock as soon as you leave.”

  Danny pocketed the key and hoped that he’d never have to use
it ever again.

  * * *

  With a tense look in his face, the pilot stood by the wing of the chartered airplane and waited for instructions from Melchor on where to go.

  “We’re going to Zamboanga City,” Melchor said, climbing into the cabin.

  The pilot nodded and sauntered around the plane’s tail section pretending to do a preflight inspection. When no one was looking, he texted their flight information to Dr. Klein.

  FIFTEEN

  The dark brown SUV was already waiting outside the airport when Danny, Helen and Melchor arrived. The air was thick with humidity and the ground was hot from the early afternoon April sun. Danny could feel his shirt sticking to his back.

  “Commander Berto and his men are waiting for us in a warehouse outside of the city to make the electronic transfer and to receive the Cube,” Eduardo said from the driver’s seat.

  * * *

  Zamboanga—the largest city built on the southern part of Mindanao Island where its centuries-old problems coexist with its present-day headaches. The SUV moved freely through streets that were just as crowded as Manila. Men on motorcycles squeezed through tight spaces between vehicles, barely wide enough for the width of their handlebars to fit through.

  They were all silent in the back of the SUV not knowing where Eduardo was taking them. A layer of worry gripped Danny as he thought of how the day would turn out. The meeting seemed like the same old song and dance they had previously done. They were driving around the city as if they were a group of tourists on a chartered bus. He looked out the window and saw a white mosque with a red dome and red-tipped minarets out in the distance. In the back of his mind, Danny wanted to protest to get things going but he knew that Eduardo was in charge of the situation and there wasn’t a thing he could do.

  They just had passed by the old Fort Pilar, a defense bastion against looming pirates from the nearby islands, built by the Spaniards in the 1600s, when out of frustration Helen asked, “Why are we wasting time and not going directly to Blake?”

  “We need to keep driving around until I’m sure that Dr. Klein or the military is not following us. We don’t need any surprises. We’re almost there,” Eduardo replied.

  The SUV traced the road along the bay. People were sitting on the concrete seawall and enjoying the ocean breeze. Container and passenger ships floated in the distance. Women in long blouses and headscarves walked lazily along the water. The vinta—boats with colorful striped patterns of red and blue sails—floated near the shore.

  “Basilan Island is about ten miles that way,” Eduardo said, pointing out to sea. “Commander Berto’s main hideout is in those mountains.”

  “Is that where those men have been keeping Blake?” Danny asked.

  It was strange that Basilan Island was only a stone’s throw from a modern city like Zamboanga, yet no one could rescue him—even with the military’s entire arsenal of boats, helicopters and armored personnel-carriers.

  About half an hour later when Eduardo was confident that no one was following them, he decided that the time was right to meet with Kulog ng Timog.

  * * *

  The SUV stopped in front of a warehouse with corrugated tin walls surrounded by old tires collecting dust, stacked around the building.

  “Let’s go. They’re waiting for us,” Eduardo said, getting out of the vehicle.

  They followed him to a closed door on the side of the building. The place was eerily quiet and it seemed like no one was inside. Eduardo dialed a number on his phone. Danny heard him start talking in Chavacano—a Spanish-based dialect spoken in the area.

  “I’m glad you’re able to speak Chavacano,” Danny said.

  “I grew up around here. That’s why some of these bandits trust me, thinking I’m one of their own,” Eduardo replied.

  When the side door finally opened, a man in black pants with an AK-47 hanging from his shoulder greeted them with a straight face. They followed the man to the warehouse, walking straight into the belly of the beast and not knowing what to expect when they finally met with Blake.

  Commander Berto and his men were sitting around the table with their rifles resting on their laps, playing cards and eating halo-halo (shaved ice with evaporated milk), sweet beans, coconut, and toasted rice topped with purple ice cream. Danny found it odd that the mood in the room was so calm, as if it was just another day at office.

  “Did you enjoy the tour of the city? Because I hate surprises popping out of the bushes,” Commander Berto asked.

  “Where’s Blake?” Helen asked.

  “Relax…I haven’t cut his head off. At least not yet. We treat our paying guests here, especially foreigners with such out-of-this-world island hospitality.”

  “Please…where’s Blake?” Danny asked.

  Commander Berto snapped his fingers. A henchman with a pistol tucked into his belt dragged out Blake. Although Blake walked on his own power, he looked weak from the captivity that had been going on for more than two weeks.

  “Are you okay?” Helen asked, rushing into his arms and hugging him tight.

  “Just a bit dehydrated from the heat but I’m fine,” Blake responded.

  “Enough of that drama. You’ll all be together soon enjoying the California sunshine as soon as you give me the money and the Cube,” Commander Berto said squeezing himself between Helen and Blake—separating them. “As soon as we get things going here, the sooner we’re all going home in time for dinner. Where’s your little gadget?”

  Helen pulled out the touchpad and inserted the cable into the laptop’s USB port. She entered her account number and password into the bank’s website. Commander Berto handed her a piece of paper with his account number written on it. Helen keyed in the information and placed her thumb on the scanner. A few seconds later, her thumbprints were verified and a green check mark next to her name flashed on the screen. Commander Berto escorted Blake to the computer. He placed his thumb on the scanner. After his biometrics were validated, a box with the text “Transfer Now” began to blink. Below it, the amount of $900,000.00 was displayed. With the computer’s touchpad, Helen completed the transfer.

  “There you go. You got your million dollars. Here’s the Cube,” Danny said, thrusting the rollaway to Commander Berto. “Can we go home now with Blake?”

  “You’re not off the hook yet, cowboy. I have boats waiting for us on the beach to take us back to Basilan Island. I don’t want a repeat performance of what had happened to us back in Tawi-Tawi. Once we’re on the boat, we will let you go,” Commander Berto said. “I need you as insurance just in case the military is waiting for an ambush. Then you’ll never see me again.”

  “How can we be sure that you’ll release us when we get to the beach?” Danny asked.

  “Looks like you have no choice, huh?” Commander Berto said, pointing his AK-47 at Danny. “You two get in the van with me and Blake. That’s not a request.”

  With no other choice but to comply, they climbed into the van.

  “What about us?” Melchor asked.

  “You and Eduardo stay in the SUV you came with and follow us closely.”

  * * *

  Nobody was talking in the van—the only sound Danny could hear was the pinging sound of the diesel engine puttering along the asphalt road. Danny stole a glance at Commander Berto who was checking and rechecking the magazine clips around his waist. If he had a nonchalant way of conducting his business earlier, this time Danny could see the tension in his movements.

  As they were speeding along a curve in the road, a man in a straw hat towing a carabao suddenly appeared in front of them. The driver slammed on the brakes. The animal bowed its head down, pointing its long, crescent-shaped horns at the van.

  “Get moving, old man!” Commander Berto shouted.

  The man in the straw hat pulled the rope attached to a metal ring on the carabao’s nose, but the animal didn’t want to take a step forward. Impatient, Commander Berto pulled out his pistol and fired several shots in the air. Th
e screams of gunfire ricocheted inside the van. Danny and Helen winced at the noise. Danny heard Commander Berto order the driver to go around the carabao. The driver stepped on the gas and they continued moving along the two-lane concrete road.

  As the van was getting near the beach, coconut trees began to appear in the distance, swaying freely in the afternoon breeze. They were less than a football field away from the waiting speedboats.

  Straight up ahead, three oncoming vehicles were approaching them at high speeds as if determined to hit them head on. The driver quickly reacted by jerking the steering wheel to the right to avoid being hit, but his hasty action caused the van to swerve to the shoulder. The tires got stuck in the soft soil and the van couldn’t move forward.

  “Get out! Get out!” Commander Berto shouted. “We need to run to the beach.”

  Danny felt a strong grip on his arm pulling him out. The armed men were pushing Blake and Helen out, too. Danny grabbed the rollaway containing the Cube to save it from getting lost in the confusion. As soon as he was out in the open, he turned his attention to the group of cars. To his dismay, he saw Dr. Klein getting out of the van with a pistol in his hand, surrounded by several men with assault rifles.

  Bullets began popping from every direction. Danny saw the man who brought out Blake earlier at the warehouse fall to the ground, thick blood oozing from his chest and neck.

  Danny immediately draped his arms around Helen’s shoulders, pulled her down to the ground, and shielded her with his body. He covered his ears to muffle the sounds of the gunfire erupting all around him. The barrage of bullets from all directions was nonstop. Danny surveyed his immediate surroundings to get away from the line of fire. Seeing a large rock bulging from the ground several yards away, he signaled Helen to crawl slowly behind it. As he crouched next to the rock, trying dearly not to get hit by the onslaught of bullets, it was all he could do to survive the chaos swirling around him and to try to stay alive until the afternoon bloodbath was over.