The Manila Deception Page 6

  Shiro spun the weapon around and squeezed the trigger, several rounds hammering the other soldier in the chest. He shoved the second to the ground, releasing the weapon, and grabbed Takashi by the arm, hauling him forward, toward the customs booths. An alarm sounded as soldiers poured into the area, those already there forcing their way through the panicked crowds now rushing the gates.

  A line of customs officials attempted a human chain to stop the surging passengers, but failed miserably as they were hopelessly outnumbered. Takashi found himself caught up in the crowd, Shiro’s grip on his arm broken. He continued forward, his panicked mind no longer processing what was going on around him. One soldier was dead, another assaulted, and he hadn’t been in the country an hour. His face was certainly caught on innumerable cameras, and he was likely moments away from either death or arrest, a possibility that might be worse given where he was.

  He spotted the outer doors to the terminal ahead, and felt a surge of hope. If he could get outside with the crowds, and rendezvous with the other Yakuza who had arrived ahead of them, he might just get away with this. Surely, they would have a way to get everyone out of the country, something that didn’t involve the airport, then when he was back in Japan, he could go to the authorities and tell them what had happened, and hopefully clear his name.

  For he was no murderer.

  The Kijima family were not murderers.

  A jolt of recently discovered reality cleaved at his stomach, and a wave of nausea swept over him.

  Hiijiisan was a murderer. A mass murderer.

  It would take time to reconcile himself with that fact. All he could say for certain was that the man Hiijiisan spoke of was not the man Takashi knew.

  He had changed.

  And today, what had just happened couldn’t be allowed to further tarnish the Kijima name. He was no murderer.

  Determined to prove his innocence—from afar—he pushed through the crowds, spotting Shiro ahead clearing a path.

  Then his heart sank.

  A row of at least two dozen soldiers rushed the entrance, creating a wall of flesh and firepower as the crowd continued forward. A shot rang out.

  A single shot.

  And the herd abruptly stopped as if cows in an arrested stampede. More soldiers continued to stream into the area, and Takashi was left wondering what to do. He lowered his gaze in an attempt to blend into the crowd when something pressed into his back. His shoulders slumped and he raised his hands, slowly turning to find a soldier with a bloodied face standing there.

  It was over.

  18 |

  Unknown Location, The Philippines November 8th, 1944

  “There’s a boy in here!”

  Juan groaned as he struggled to open his eyes, the shouts of people around him growing in clarity as he slowly woke. Hands grabbed him and he was lifted into the air, the sound of water crashing around him something he had never experienced before, but had heard of from some of the men who traveled the river to barter the village’s harvests.

  He finally forced his eyes open and his parched mouth dropped at the sight of waves lapping against the shore, men and women running across golden sand, concerned looks on their faces as they approached, looks that became even more earnest as they caught sight of him.

  What’s wrong?

  He couldn’t see his body, too weak to lift his head that tilted precariously back. Finally someone placed a supporting hand under his head and lifted it up so he could see his body, and it scared him. He could finally see why everyone was so concerned.

  He was skin and bones, as starved a body as he had ever seen, and his nearly naked form was covered in blisters from what he assumed was the fire.

  He was horrifying.

  And it terrified him.

  “He’s been badly burned by the sun,” said one of the men as they approached a village that appeared very much like his own. “He must have been drifting for days.”

  “Bring water and some broth! And some cloths to wash him!” ordered one of the women, her voice reminding him of his auntie.

  Auntie!

  “Help them,” he said, yet it was no use. His voice was a silent whisper and went unnoticed. He had to tell them why he was here, of the tragedy that had befallen his village, and to send help before it was too late.

  What had the man said? That he must have been drifting for days?

  The thought made him sick.

  He had no idea how long his family and friends might survive, though judging from the state he was in, it couldn’t be much longer even if they didn’t have to deal with the sun.

  He was rushed inside a home and placed on a bed, then the men backed off and the women went to work. He was stripped of his clothes and bathed as water was slowly poured into him followed by a thin soup. Life slowly returned to his body, and within a short while, he was sitting up in the bed, eagerly gulping as much water as they could give him along with more of the soup.

  “What’s your name?” asked one of the women he had heard called Marikit.

  “Juan.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Maliit na Bahay.”

  Confused looks were exchanged as if they didn’t recognize it.

  “Small House?” The woman brushed the hair out of his face. “Is that what your village is called? Small House?”

  He nodded. “It’s up the river.”

  A man stepped forward. “Do you know the name of the river?”

  Juan shrugged. “It’s the river. There’s more than one?”

  The man took a knee. “Son, there are many rivers. Do you know how far up the river? How many days it would take you to go from your village to the ocean?”

  Juan shook his head. “No. I’ve never left the village. I think some of the men might have come to the ocean to trade, but I don’t know. Somebody described the ocean to me once, so that must mean someone has been here.” His heart hammered and his eyes shot wide. “You mean you don’t know where my village is?”

  The man shook his head. “No, we’ve never heard of it.”

  “But they’re all trapped! They’re going to die! You have to have heard of it!” Tears flowed and his entire body shook with anguish. How could it be that no one had heard of his home? So many people lived there. How could it be possible?

  A gentle hand was placed on his shoulder. “Calm down, now. What are you talking about? What do you mean they’re trapped?”

  “The Japanese came. They made us carry heavy boxes up the hill and put them in the cave. Then they forced everyone inside, then blew up the entrance and burned our village. I was able to squeeze through a small hole, but no one else. They’re all trapped. If you don’t help them, they’re all going to die.”

  The man sighed. “Judging by how long you were out there, son, they’re probably already dead.”

  He wailed, then jumped out of the bed and raced for the door, determined to save them himself, but was caught by the man before he made it two steps. He was handed over to the woman who held him tight as he sobbed. The man rejoined the others in the room.

  “We have to try and help.”

  “I agree, but how? I’ve never heard of the village.”

  The man shook his head. “Neither have I, but he said it was by a river, and he was in a boat, so it makes sense that he got in the boat and drifted down the river and out to sea. He could have drifted for some time. The mouth of the river isn’t far from here. We should send some men up it, to see if we can find his village.”

  “But there are several rivers that he might have come out from.”

  “It makes sense that it would be the nearest. Any farther and I can’t see him having survived.”

  “And if you find this village? What are you going to do? If the Japanese did this, then we risk bringing them here if we interfere.”

  The man sighed, his head slowly bobbing. “The guerrillas.”

  “What?”

  “The guerrillas. If we find the village, we’ll let them know. They can deal with it.”

  “And you know how to find them?”

  The man gave his challenger a look. “We all know someone who knows.” He headed for the door. “We must act quickly. If they are indeed trapped, then they might only have days, if that.”

  19 |

  Ninoy Aquino International Airport Manila, The Philippines Present Day

  Acton gripped Laura’s hand as they cleared customs. The airport was swarming with armed guards, and the atmosphere seemed tense. He didn’t dare ask the customs officer what was going on, having learned long ago that idle chatter in the Third World could make you appear suspicious.

  Nobody was happy dealing with customs.

  Simply answer the questions in as few words as possible, then hopefully move on.

  And they swiftly did, their charter placing them in a different part of the terminal than the normal airlines, the crowds much thinner. As they headed toward the rendezvous point, Acton made it a point to make sure Tommy and Mai were ahead of them where he could see them, already regretting his decision to let them come, though they seemed blissfully unaware of anything untoward happening.

  His head was on a swivel for anything out of the ordinary. If security was this tight, something had either just happened, or might be about to happen.

  And with his luck, the latter was more likely.

  “Something’s going on here,” muttered Laura.

  Acton agreed. “Let’s just get out of here before whatever that is involves us.”

  Laura pointed toward the doors. “There’s Cameron.”

  Acton smiled. “And that’s Buwan with him.”

  “Cameron looks concerned.”

  “Doesn’t he always?”

  Laura chuckled. “True!”

  “Jim! So happy to see you!” Professor Buwan Bautista rushed forward, giving Acton a thumping hug as Laura gave Leather a gentler one. Acton was certain the former soldier was never pleased with the reception while on duty, but had learned over time to never deny Laura her preferred method of greeting those whom she considered friends.

  “And this must be your lovely wife?”

  Acton held out his arm toward Laura. “Professor Buwan Bautista, may I present Professor Laura Palmer.”

  A handshake was exchanged then Tommy and Mai were introduced. More pleasantries were about to ensue when Leather cleared his throat. “There was an incident here earlier. I’d prefer to get some place secure as quickly as possible.”

  “What happened?” asked Acton.

  “Some shooting. We’re not sure what’s going on, but security has been increased.”

  Laura frowned. “Does it pose a problem?”

  Leather shook his head. “No, this isn’t JFK. These things are more frequent here than in the States. Just keep your doors locked and your eyes open.”

  Laura nodded. “Of course.”

  Leather led them through the doors and within moments, they were in a large SUV with tinted windows.

  Bautista spun in his seat, staring behind them. “Where’s your luggage?”

  Acton chuckled. “Don’t worry, it’s being taken to the hotel.”

  Bautista shook his head. “Unbelievable.” He tapped his window. “This looks different.”

  Leather glanced back at him from the front seat. “Ballistic glass. Unless they have RPGs, we’ll be okay.”

  Bautista’s eyes widened as he turned to Laura. “Just how rich are you?”

  Laura laughed. “A lady never tells.”

  Bautista turned to Acton who raised his hands.

  “Hey, don’t ask me.” Acton gestured toward Leather. “He works for her and carries a gun. He’s liable to shoot me if I reveal vital intel.”

  Bautista laughed. “You certainly have changed, Jim.”

  Acton eyed the man he hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. It had been a onetime meeting at a conference in Hong Kong, though they had kept in touch since then on a regular basis. He considered the man more than a colleague, though didn’t truly know him that well. He decided to take everything as friendly. “I hope not for the worse.”

  Bautista appeared horrified. “Oh no! Not at all! That’s not what I meant! I just remember the last time we met, you were trying to scrape together enough money to go to Peru. Now you’re flying in on a private jet, have a bulletproof vehicle, and I understand are staying at one of the nicest hotels in Manila.” He gestured toward Leather and the driver. “Not to mention these guys. They look so terrifying, I swear they could be Delta Force or something.”

  Leather grunted. “They wish.”

  Laura leaned over and patted Bautista’s arm. “A word of advice, dear, never mistake British Special Air Service for American Special Forces. It tends to upset them and it likely won’t end well for you.”

  Bautista visibly paled. “I’m, umm, sorry if I insulted you, Mr. Man Who Could Kill Me With One Punch.”

  Leather waved it off. “I’ll live.” He checked the GPS. “We’ll be at the hotel in ten minutes. All the gear we brought, along with the special items we requested, are being delivered to the address Professor Bautista provided. We’ll be ready to head out first thing in the morning, if that’s still your plan, ma’am.”

  “It is.” Laura took Acton’s hand and turned to Bautista. “We’ll freshen up, have a nap, then how about we all meet for dinner?”

  Bautista brightened. “Absolutely! May I bring my wife?”

  “I insist.”

  “Excellent.”

  Leather turned in his seat. “I’d recommend the hotel restaurant, ma’am. It’s highly rated, and more secure than leaving the premises.”

  Laura turned to Bautista. “Is that fine with you?”

  Bautista’s eyes widened. “Eating at the Grand? Absolutely, though I fear my wife will insist on buying a new dress!”

  20 |

  Mindanao, The Philippines November 11th, 1944

  Rodrigo lay on the floor of the cave, his back pressed against the cool wall, gasping for breath, his beautiful wife lying next to him, her head on his shoulder, barely having said anything since she had been brutally violated by the hateful Japanese.

  It had been days. At least five, though he couldn’t be sure. He was drifting in and out of consciousness so much, he might have lost count. He was beyond hunger, the pangs no longer registering as his body shut down from the lack of water. He had always heard that water was more important than food, yet dismissed it. With a river running past the village, no one ever went truly thirsty, and they always had enough to eat, even if the offerings were usually simple.

  His wife always managed to keep him happy in that department, collecting various plants in the jungle to enhance the flavors. He kissed the top of her head and she flinched then groaned.

  “Is he back?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Then they must have captured him.”

  His eyes burned and his chest ached at the thought of what they might have done to him. “Don’t lose hope, my love.”

  “They took all my hope.”

  He wrapped his arms around her. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help you.”

  “Please, Lord, let me die.”

  It was a whispered prayer, said aloud, and it broke his heart. Yet he understood. If his son was dead, if everyone he ever knew was dead, if his beloved wife was dead, he too wanted to die. He stared up into the dark, closing his eyes.

  Please, Lord, end our suffering.

  A long sigh escaped his wife’s lips then the heaving of her chest stopped. He felt for signs of life, but he already knew the answer.

  She was dead.

  Her suffering was over.

  A weak cry escaped his lips as all will to live left him.

  And it was greeted with silence, all those around him already gone, he and his wife the only ones who had lasted, clinging to the hope that their precious Juan had survived and would return to save them.

  He gasped one last time, his head slowly sagging onto his wife’s, his suffering on this earth over, his eternity in Heaven earned along with all the others, a smile slowly spreading as he realized he would soon see them all, and Juan, on the other side.

  21 |

  Ninoy Aquino International Airport Manila, The Philippines Present Day

  “Why is Yakuza here?”

  Takashi sobbed, shaking his head as tears flowed down his face and his bloodied nose ran. “I’m not Yakuza! I swear, I’m not Yakuza!”

  “You killed one of our men! You murdered my friend!”

  Again he vehemently shook his head. “No! That wasn’t me! It was the other man! Not me! I swear on my life that I had nothing to do with it!”

  Another open-handed smack made contact with his cheek, his ears ringing, the sting overwhelming, yet it was nothing compared to the club that the man’s partner had been using. He squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of its blow, and moments later the violent impact with his stomach had urine flowing freely.

  He couldn’t take it anymore.

  Shiro’s last whispered words to him before they were separated left no room for misinterpretation.

  “Tell them nothing, or your hiijiisan dies.”

  Yet he just couldn’t take it anymore.

  He was not a courageous man, not a strong man. He had never been in a fight in his entire life, had never experienced the pain of a punch, and avoided anything physical that might involve contact.

  Sports was not part of his life.

  He loved to cook, and the only pain involved in his chosen profession was the sting of raw onions in the eyes, a sliced tip of a finger from a wayward knife, or a burned hand from an inappropriately handled cast iron pan.

  All of which one learned to avoid after time.

  “Why are you here?”

  The demand was relentless, and he doubted they wanted an answer. They merely wanted to torture those who had killed their comrade.