“You three men, follow us.” He pointed to Juan and the other two. The first two hurried to the group, and Juan knew he was trapped; he walked up and got in step beside them.
“Where are we going?” Juan whispered to the man beside him.
The rebel shrugged. “Don’t matter. Nothing happening.”
They went down two blocks, then the four in front went into a building through a door. Juan held to the back and when the rest were inside, he turned and sprinted down the block and around a corner, and ran another block before he stopped. No one chased him.
He decided to be less obvious, and kept to alleys and less traveled streets as he checked out the buildings and places where the rebels were concentrated. He soon had the barracks pegged, and the mess hall. There was a line there, so he stood in it and went through the early lunch line. They had cooked brown rice, a thin noodle soup, and bread. At least it was real food. He wandered the town for another two hours, and decided he had everything he could remember. There had been no sign of any hostages, or any guards around any buildings that might have contained them.
Juan moved to the farthest part of the town, then walked across the road and into the brush and trees and jungle on the far side. Ten minutes later he was back at the “home” tree, and found Lam aiming his MP-5 at the spot where Juan finished his silent approach and stepped out of the last brush.
“Got you,” Lam said.
Juan shook his head. “Thought I was sneaking up on you. Where’s your sketch of the town? I can fill in some blanks. You talk to your commander yet?”
Lam gave him a report on the radio talk. “We’re due for another call in a half hour. We have enough info for a strike on this place, if the commander can get any choppers. His last word was it would be better not to ask for any just yet.”
They worked for twenty minutes over the sketches of the town, and put in the approximate locations of the rebel facilities.
“Spread all over the place,” Juan said. “Not sure if that was on purpose, or just wherever they could find a building that would fit their needs.”
He told Lam about the men with red tabs on their shoulders. “Maybe they do have officers designated that way. Everyone snapped to attention when they came by.”
Lam set up the SATCOM antenna, training it on the section of the sky where he had found the satellite before, and adjusted it until he heard the beep from the set.
He raised Murdock on the first call. It was just after 1400.
“Home Plate, we have scored here. Have all the info we need to make a social call. Anytime you get transport. We estimate about three hundred guests, and the rest are locals. Pinpoint work is required. Some eggs may be broken. Over.”
“Understand, Scout One. We still have nothing from our friend with the Company. He promised results today. He’s burning up phone lines to Manila. Sit tight. Hope to have an action plan for tomorrow. Out.”
“Now what?” Juan asked.
“Did anyone follow you?” Lam asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“There are some troops in the woods here. We better scat back a ways and discourage them. I’d guess about six, maybe eight. Let’s work directly away from the road.”
They moved silently, with all of their gear, and stopped on a gentle slope up the side of the hill. They wedged in behind trees and watched below. On one small clearing they saw eight men moving through the jungle area, with rifles at the ready and bayonets attached.
“Hunting us or just on a training mission?”
Lam checked them with his 6×30 binoculars and shook his head. “Could be a little of both. Must not be permitted for one of the rebels to wander into the jungle away from the camp. You must have made some guard curious.”
“We take them?” Juan asked. “Be a piece of cake.”
“Not our mission, Juan. We go for a full-blown hit on the various targets inside the town with the whole platoon. That’s what we’re here for. If we find something about the hostages, we’ll be a step ahead.”
They moved twice again, working higher on the slope of the mountain that formed one side of the narrow valley that led upstream. At last the hunters turned and hiked back down the slopes to the road and into their camp.
Lam and Juan stayed at their spot far up the slope and watched the camp below. Lam looked at his watch and waited for the time to make another radio call, at 1800.
Davao, Mindanao
Murdock had Bradford turn on the SATCOM to receive at 1745. Promptly at 1800 the speaker came on.
“Home Plate, this is Scout One. Calling Home Plate.”
“Yes, we have you, Scout. What’s happening?”
“Juan’s targeted and identified a dozen spots where some courtesy calls could be made at your convenience.”
“Roger that, Scout. We’re still having communication problems here. The old man hasn’t noticed that Juan isn’t around here. That’s good. Don Stroh hasn’t come through yet. You suggest a day or night visit?”
“Night would be safest. Lots of weapons around here. No sign of the hostages.”
“Hope we’re getting closer. I asked for a new target to hit, but the colonel said he didn’t have any more intel where the rebels might be, let alone the hostages.”
“Any more released?”
“Four more, Japanese. They were driven by car to a town over on the west coast. Doesn’t help us much, but it’s a pointer.”
“Keep us informed, Home Plate. We’ll cool it here tonight and see what you can develop tomorrow.”
Murdock put down the handset and scowled. “Where in hell is Stroh when you need him?”
He looked up and saw Stroh standing just behind him.
“Any closer and we’d have to get engaged,” Stroh said. He had a grin six feet wide. “Finally snagged some politicos who would whip the Army into shape. We have a major general flying in here tonight from Manila. He’s been given temporary command of the Mindanao Region. He has complete authority and he’s been instructed by his government to give us carte blanche in chasing down the hostages, even if it means fighting the rebels. We’re hot to go. You have a target?”
Murdock told him what he’d just heard from Lam.
“Sounds interesting, but how does that get us to the hostages?”
“We take two prisoners. We interrogate them downstream somewhere. They will talk. Someone will know where the hostages are and how we get to them.”
A Filipino Army runner with sergeant’s stripes on his sleeves came to the door, and Jaybird let him in. They talked a moment and Jaybird pointed to Murdock and Stroh. The Filipino came over at once and saluted.
“Sir, Commander Murdock?”
“Yes.”
“Sir, Colonel Alvarez would like to see you at once. No others are required, just you.”
Stroh put his hand on Murdock’s shoulder. “Don’t like the sound of this. I’m going to tag along. If he don’t like it, tough shit.”
A few minutes later a jeep let the two Americans off in front of the post commander’s office, and they went inside. A master sergeant looked at both of them, stared hard at Don Stroh in his summer civilian clothes, then nodded and led them to the colonel’s office.
Colonel Alvarez worked on some papers on his desk. When he heard his door close, he looked up.
“I asked to see only Commander Murdock,” the colonel growled.
“I understand that, Colonel Alvarez, but I’m along for the ride. Anything you want to say to him you can say while I’m here.”
“Mr. Stroh, your CIA credentials don’t mean shit in my office. You get out now, or I’ll call two military police and have them haul you out by your balls.”
Stroh chuckled. “Colonel, I don’t think you should do that. First put in a call to Manila and check with Major General Nofrando Domingo.”
Colonel Alvarez jolted to his feet at the mention of the name. “What in hell have you been doing?”
“Make the call, Colonel. You’ll
find it interesting. However, you better hurry. As I remember, the general and his staff are flying here tonight. They may have taken off already.”
Alvarez slumped in his chair. “Bastard.”
“How long did you think you could get away with protecting the rebels, Colonel?” Murdock asked. “First you send us on a wild-goose chase to a camp you knew was abandoned. The next day you give us three rebels in an out-of-the-way village that was of no importance. Then you were livid when we told you that we had found another rebel camp and attacked it. Since then you’ve been stalling and putting us off.”
“I did no such thing.”
“A little late for alibis, Colonel,” Stroh said. “You and your career are gone. Zippo, poof, like a light winking out at midnight.”
“Just for your information, Colonel, we left two men along that river,” Murdock said. “They have located a rebel regional headquarters. We knew it was impossible to get any chopper support through you. But General Domingo has been ordered by your President to give us full cooperation.”
The colonel reached for his phone.
“Afraid not, Alvarez,” Stroh barked. “General Domingo has given me and Major Rodriguez the authority to put you under house arrest until he arrives. You won’t be tipping off the rebels anymore about anything.”
Murdock turned to go, then went back and ripped the telephone wires out of the wall. “Colonel, how much of that six million dollars were you supposed to get for your work here stopping all Army efforts to find the hostages?”
Alvarez glared at Murdock. Stroh went to the door, and two military policemen came in. Right behind them was a tall man with gold oak leaves on his shoulders.
“Good, Major Rodriguez,” Stroh said. “The colonel here would like to be shown to his quarters, where he is to be isolated with no phone or radio use until Major General Nofrando Domingo arrives later. You are dismissed, Colonel. You’re outgunned and outranked.”
The colonel left without his unlit cigar, and Stroh laughed. “Well, now, the old CIA dog does come in handy sometimes, doesn’t he?”
“More than you know this time. We were dead in the water.”
“Well, let’s talk about it over dinner. I understand the officers club here has a wonderful range of foods. I’m buying. You can pick out the wine.”
Murdock looked at his watch. “Fine, but we have to be back to our SATCOM by 2200. Lam and I need to work out a schedule for tomorrow, or tomorrow night, whichever he thinks would be the best.”
Dinner was delicious: a rare steak with all the trimmings and a huge baked potato that Murdock could have made his dinner by itself.
They hit the SEALs area at 2130; Bradford set up the radio to receive and they waited.
Promptly at 2200 the call came.
They decided on a nighttime operation for their own safety and to keep civilian casualties at a minimum.
“We’ll find an LZ that your ship can land in and mark it with flares,” said Lam. “We’ll keep it four miles downstream from the village so they won’t hear it. The jungle eats up sound around here like magic.”
“Roger, Scout One. We’ll be on station there at an hour after dark, or about 2000 tomorrow. Anything else?”
The sound of a rifle shot came over the radio. “Yeah, Skipper, we’re hauling ass. Somebody is moving in with about twenty men we didn’t hear. I must have been sleeping. Got to go. See you tomorrow, I hope.”
The radio went dead. There were no more transmissions.
“Now what the bloody hell is that all about?” Murdock asked. “Lam is our best set of ears. He can hear a mouse sneeze at fifty yards. Hell, we’ll check again later and see if we can get any signal. I hope to hell that they got away.”
11
Murdock and the rest of the SEALs slouched around their quarters. Everyone knew about the general coming in and that they had a target. If they could find it, and if Lam and Juan didn’t get themselves shot full of holes before daylight.
Bradford tried the SATCOM call every half hour until midnight; then Murdock told him they would try in the morning.
“Get some sleep,” Murdock said. “We still have a mission tomorrow afternoon until we hear differently. My gut feeling is that the two of them will come through the attack.”
Stroh lifted his brows. “Did they say upstream or downstream from the second village you hit before?”
Murdock frowned, rubbed his face with his hand, and shook his head. “They didn’t say. But with two thousand people, it would have to be downstream. Up there in the boonies where we were, there was nothing to support a population that size.”
“So how far down?”
“We need a good detailed map of the area. Wonder if the colonel has any.”
“You mean the general. We don’t know if he came in tonight or not, but at least we stopped the damn Colonel Alvarez. I bet he was in for some big cash money.”
“Damn, I wish those guys would call in.”
“Leave the SATCOM on all night. You’ve got plenty of battery.”
“True, and replacements. Let me find Bradford and the set. I’ll baby-sit the thing.”
“Do we know where the leader of this rebel bunch has his headquarters?” Stroh asked.
“Not a clue. I don’t even know his name.”
“That I can give you. He’s Muhammad Al Hillah. He took a Muslim name and wants to be a hero to his people.”
“How many Muslims in Mindanao?”
“Nobody knows for sure. Some say four million, some say less than two million. It’s a huge place.”
“So this Al Hillah has a big pool to draw from.”
“Most of them were fanatics until a couple of years ago when the big peace treaty came. So now Al Hillah has only to work with the true dissidents and rebels who have broken away from the old Separatist Islamic Liberation Front. Complicated, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Give me a good old-fashioned firefight any day.” Murdock yawned and looked over at Stroh. “You going to stay up all night and help me watch the radio? They could call at any time.”
“Oh, hell, no. I’ve got to get my beauty rest. I’ve got some major’s digs while he’s on leave. You take care.” Don waved and hurried out the door.
Murdock took the SATCOM from Bradford and set it up near his bunk, where the antenna could reach through a window and nail the satellite. He let it beep once, then turned it to receive and stretched out on his bunk. If Lam called, he would hear the voice and be on it like a fly on sticky paper.
Near Lebak, Mindanao
On the Moro Gulf
Muhammad Al Hillah sat in his house on the cliffs high above the west coast town of Lebak. It was one of his hideaways where no one could bother him, or even find him. He came here to think, to plan, to make love, and to meditate. He was due to travel over the mountains to the training center at Bunga, a good source for many of his recruits. He stood and stretched to his full five feet eleven. He was sturdy at 190 pounds, and had not gone to fat as many of his fellow Moro fighters had done since the peace treaty in 1996. He had carried on the fight even when most of the others had signed the paper and accepted the benevolence of the central government. Now many of them were regretting it.
He scratched his arm and rubbed his nose. He should be doing something. His skin was lighter than that of many Filipinos, and he had a broad face, deep-set eyes, and a prominent nose. At thirty-eight he was already losing his hair, and his forehead had increased by almost an inch in the past five years. His father had been bald at fifty.
Muhammad worked on a bunch of grapes, and checked a large wall map he’d stolen from the Army. He had it tacked to the wall. It had colored pushpins in it showing each of his camps and strong points, his training camp, and where most of his equipment and materials were hidden.
He should be in the training camp at Bunga. His captain in charge sometimes went overboard in his realistic training. In the long run it would make better soldiers for him. It was a hard trip to Bunga. He a
nd his bodyguard would have to go by motorcycle in a few days. On the trails it would take them most of two days. What he needed was a helicopter.
Muhammad smiled at the thought. He could just see himself in a small Bell chopper lifting off from a clearing and soaring over the trees and mountains, setting down at one camp after the other. He could coordinate his work quicker and better. He shook his head. But where would he keep it and how would he service and maintain it? He knew that helicopters took five times as much maintenance and service as a regular airplane. He had no mechanics who knew helicopters. Sadly, even stealing one from the Army was not a viable plan.
So, what was next? The hostage operation was moving along. So far he had ransomed out eight of the men and women from three different countries for eight hundred thousand U.S. dollars. Already he had a victory. He had heard by radio that the U.S. had sent a crack fighting unit into Davao. They had hit one of his camps well above Bunga. Twenty-eight dead. He hadn’t suffered a loss like that since they began the campaign three years ago.
He paused a moment thinking about it. What was the best way to discourage them? The U.S. public went crazy over casualties in a mini-war. Yes. He would inflict six or eight casualties on them the next time they tried to hit one of his camps. The U.S. press would hear about it, and the public pressure would force the President to call the fighting group home. He didn’t know what elite group they were. It didn’t matter. With the new weapons he had after the three-million-dollar gift from Osama bin Laden, he could stand up against any fighting force. They would be surprised by the larger-caliber guns he had.
He looked out over his mountain stronghold. Misty today. On a clear day he could see six miles to the sea. This was a beautiful spot — but more importantly, it was safe and secure and known only to a handful of his most trusted lieutenants. The troops assigned here never left. They were his permanent elite bodyguard unit.
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