“I can see more buildings ahead,” Franklin said. “Looks like a real town with wooden buildings and even some telephone poles.”
“Watch for rebels in their green uniforms,” Domingo said. “If the police are controlling the town, then there probably won’t be any rebels carrying guns. Most Filipinos don’t own guns.”
Franklin slowed. Now they could see children playing in the yards. There were no real streets yet, just some roads wandering off toward the sea.
“Should we turn in here and not be so obvious?” Franklin asked.
“Not yet,” Domingo said. “Up there at those two-story buildings would be a good spot to give it a try.”
Two men standing near a small house with a corrugated metal roofed stared at them as they drove past. No wave, no friendly smiles.
“Probably think we’re rebels,” Domingo said. He dropped the magazine out of his .45, and pushed three fresh rounds into it, filling it up. Now he had eight shots again.
The buildings were looking more Western now, but some nipa huts with their thatched roofs were still mixed in.
“Next street to the right,” Domingo said. It was more of an order this time. Franklin grinned. “Aye aye,” he said.
The street had wooden-frame buildings on both sides. The street was dirt, and looked like it had been freshly watered to keep down the dust. Halfway along the street Franklin saw a two-story building with a Philippine flag flying over it. A telephone pole nearby trailed lines into the building that could be both telephone and electrical.
“That one?” Franklin asked.
“Ah, yes, the flag. That’s either the city hall or the police station or maybe the post office,” Domingo said. “Worth a try. Keep your weapons out of sight and stay in the car. My turf now, okay?”
“Yes. We’ll sit tight,” Canzoneri said.
“I’m leaving the rifle here, just my .45 on my hip. I doubt if I’ll have any trouble. If I can, I’ll use one of their phones. If I’m not out in ten minutes, bring your weapons and come in softly and gently. It may just be trouble with the phone lines.”
Franklin eased the Toyota to a stop in front of the building. He saw only four other cars in the street. General Domingo slid out of the car and walked directly to the front door of the building. It had four windows showing on the street, but they weren’t big enough that the SEALs could see inside.
Domingo turned the knob and walked inside with a military manner. It was the police station. He saw only two uniformed men behind a long counter across the front. A woman not in uniform sat behind a pair of telephones. She looked up.
“Yes, how may I help you?”
“I’d like to speak with the police commander.”
“I’m sorry, he’s not here this week. We do have a lieutenant who you can talk to. What is your name, please?”
“Captain Nofrando Domingo. I’m a policeman from another area. It’s quite urgent.”
The woman chattered at one of the uniformed men. She spoke in Filipino, which Domingo understood. She said, “He says he’s a policeman, so be careful.”
The man stood and came to the counter. He held out his hand. “Lieutenant Rosales, temporarily in charge here. Will you come into the office where we can talk?”
Domingo had scanned the small area. Nothing seemed out of order or dangerous. A filled gun cabinet on the wall with a glass front had a keyhole on the door. It could be locked.
“Yes, of course.”
They went into a room to the left and the lieutenant closed the door. Domingo saw the office had another door leading back into the other areas of the building.
Rosales sat in a chair behind a clean-topped desk and smiled.
“Now, what’s the business that you have?”
“First, jurisdiction. In my charts there is no major policing presence here in Lebak. Most matters are handled by the police in Kiamba or Cotatabo.”
“Progress, Captain Domingo. We were granted jurisdiction here only two months ago. It’s not unusual that you had not been informed. Where are you stationed?”
“I’m usually at Buayan. Here on a special mission for the President. You may have heard about it. It’s called the further integration of our aboriginal people.”
“Yes, that’s moving along nicely for us. We’ve contacted two of the tribes up in the hills.”
“Good. I can make a good report then. I need to call Davao. I trust your microwave units are working properly?”
“Davao? I’d think you would report to Manila.”
“Usually. The Vice President is handling most of this and he’s in Davao for another day. So I need to get your report to him quickly.”
“I’ll check to see if the lines are available,” the lieutenant said, starting to stand.
“I can do that myself, Lieutenant. Please stand and face the wall and lace your fingers on top of your head.”
“What? You are joking.”
Domingo drew the .45 in one practiced move and centered the muzzle on the lieutenant’s chest. “Now would be a good time to move, Lieutenant. Face to the wall, hands on top of your head, and lean in and touch your forehead to the wall. Now, or I’ll shoot you dead.”
Slowly the man complied. Domingo went behind the desk, picked up the phone. He dialed information. “Yes, operator, I need the number for the Davao Air Base in Davao. Yes, in Davao.” He waited. A moment later he wrote the number down on a pad of paper on the desk.
“Could you dial it for me, operator? My phone isn’t working well.” He paused. “Yes, thank you.” He waited for it to ring. The policeman edged toward the door. “Not another inch, or you’re dead, you rebel. Stay right there.
“Yes, I want the base commander,” Domingo said into the phone. It took a few moments; as he waited, a knock came on the door.
“No, no messages, wait outside,” Domingo called loudly.
“This is Colonel Romano,” said the voice on the phone.
“Colonel, Nofrando Domingo. We need two CH-46’s to fly at once to a rock house on the west coast about thirty miles north of Lebak. Get them off for a round trip within ten minutes. You’ll have thirty-one return passengers.” He paused, listening.
“Yes, I’m fine, the other bird did go down. No casualties. Get those birds over there as quickly as possible.”
He hung up, and had started to turn when a shot blasted into the room from the room’s back door and he felt a searing, knife-sharp pain in his right shoulder. He dropped the .45 and grabbed his arm.
“Now, Mr. Domingo, or should I say General Domingo, we have a bit of a turn of events, no?” Rosales said. “I have some questions for you. Thanks, Pepe. I can handle the general for now. Check out those other two men in the Toyota out front.”
Just as he said it, the door to the front of the office burst open and Franklin stormed in, the Colt Carbine out in front. He saw the man holding the pistol near the back door and before the rebel could move, Franklin took him down with three rounds in the chest. The sound of the three cartridges going off filled the room with a bouncing thundering sound that kept going from wall to wall.
Right behind Franklin came Canzoneri, and just as Franklin shot, Canzoneri put a single round in Lieutenant Rosales’s chest where his heart was supposed to be. He went down like a brain-shot steer in a slaughterhouse.
When the sound faded, Domingo bent and grabbed his .45 off the deck. Canzoneri looked at the general’s right shoulder, and used a kerchief from around his neck as a bandage and a wad of tissue from a box on the desk for a pad, wrapping the entry wound tightly to stop the bleeding.
“Just a tad late, guys,” Domingo said. “When did you figure them for ringers?”
“When the woman out front listened to your talk on the telephone,” Franklin said. “The woman had a tap on the line at the desk. The other one vanished out the back and we tied her up, then came in, as you say, a tad too late.”