Trail of the "Sampaguita"
The PAL plane droned westward, over the incredible swamps of the Pulangi
River, toward Cotabato. Rick watched the sweltering marshland unfold
below and caught glimpses of the winding brown river that turned the
countryside into a morass. From Colonel Rojas' briefing he knew that the
countryside was alive with crocodiles and less pleasant creatures.
In the seat next to Rick, Scotty catnapped. Zircon, across the aisle,
was apparently deep in thought.
Rick hoped fervently that they weren't on a wild-goose chase. At Davao
they had learned that Briotti, Shannon, and their guide had been
kidnaped by some group the Bagobos feared. The reason for the kidnaping
could not be guessed. No requests for ransom had been made, and the
scientists had no known personal enemies.
Instead of clearing up the mystery, Rick thought, the little they had
found had only deepened it. His concern for his missing friends had
turned to a deep fear that they might not be found until too late. He
was very conscious of the passage of time. Nearly three weeks had
elapsed since the scientists had been forcefully taken from the Bagobo
village.
"Think they were taken away on the boat?" Scotty asked suddenly.
Rick turned quickly. Scotty hadn't been napping after all. "We can't be
sure, but doesn't it seem likely?"
"It does to me. Of course the kidnapers might have carried them into the
interior, but I can't imagine anyone carrying prisoners over those
jungle trails. Besides, the boat is missing."
"There are no roads where they could have been taken by car," Rick
agreed. "Lacson will try to find the cars that brought them into Davao,
but even if he succeeds, it won't tell us much." He changed the subject.
"Who could those men have been? They must have been pretty fierce to
frighten the Bagobos. That headman doesn't look like a man who scares
easily."
"I haven't the glimmer of an idea. Kidnaping two scientists makes no
sense at all."
"True. But it must have made sense to the kidnapers."
Scotty didn't comment further. After a while Rick reached under the seat
and drew out Shannon's quiver. He had wrapped it in a plastic bag in
which his trousers had been returned by the dry cleaner.
The quiver was of soft leather, and made to be slung on the back. It was
compartmented for three kinds of arrows. Rick drew one out and saw that
it was a blunt type for hunting small game. Next to the blunt ones were
razor-sharp broadhead arrows. The third variety was smaller broadheads.
There were a dozen of each.
On the back of the quiver were two zippered pouches. In the first Rick
found four new bowstrings and beeswax for waxing them, plus a small file
and a whetstone for keeping the broadheads sharp. In the other
compartment were two sets of finger cots, or protectors, and a stiff
leather arm guard. He slipped a protector, made like sections of glove
fingers, on the first three fingers of his right hand. A size too large,
but it would do. The arm guard would be all right when he adjusted it.
The bow was in its own special compartment. Rick checked and saw that it
was undamaged. It was in two sections, the upper limb made to be fitted
into the handle, which was permanently attached to the lower limb. It
was an excellent bow, not as heavy as some, but a deadly weapon in the
hands of a good shot. It pulled fifty pounds at twenty-eight inches
draw.
Rick slipped the quiver back under the seat. He planned to carry it when
necessary, so that he, too, would be armed. He was a better than average
bowman. It was one of the few sports in which he could nearly always
beat Scotty, thanks to his own aptitude and Shannon's teaching. He
noticed suddenly that the seat belt light had flashed on. He tightened
his belt as the plane descended into Cotabato.
He watched as the city came into view. It was a community of small
houses located on a series of rivers or canals. The surrounding
countryside was given over to rice paddies and occasional coconut
groves.
This was the first step in the backward trail. Rick had no idea what
they might find, but lacking any other course of action they had decided
to go back along the _Sampaguita's_ route hoping to pick up a clue. They
would stay in Cotabato only as long as the plane stopped, just time
enough to meet Tony Briotti's friend, Father Murray, an American
missionary priest.
As the plane swept in for a landing across the unpaved runway Rick saw
the white robes of a priest and knew that Major Lacson's message to the
Cotabato constabulary detachment asking that the priest meet the plane
had been received.
Father Murray, a lean, tanned, sun-helmeted man of youthful appearance,
greeted them as they stepped from the plane. Zircon introduced himself
and the boys, and the four retired to the shade of a royal palm to talk.
"Tony and Howard's disappearance was shocking news," Father Murray
commented. "You have no new information about what happened to them?"
Zircon told him the little they knew. "We stopped by to see you, hoping
you could shed some light on the kidnaping."
The priest shook his head. "I haven't the remotest idea. Their visit
here was without incident, except for a robbery attempt. I don't even
recall any conversation that might be helpful. We talked mostly about
their research project."
"You mentioned a robbery?" Rick asked.
"Yes, the first night they were here. Thieves broke into the _convento_,
but by good luck, some of my Christian parishioners who live next door
were awake. They hurried to the rescue with guns, and the thieves fled
before they found where we were sleeping. My people said they were
Moros."
Zircon gestured at a group of Moros lounging in the shade of the wooden
airport building. "You seem to have quite a few of them here."
Father Murray chuckled. "Indeed we do. This is a Moro province. Both the
mayor and governor are Moros. Christians are few."
Rick noted the tight trousers and bolero-type vests that exposed
muscular chests. Two of the Moros wore purple velvet caps. The others
wore straw hats of intricately woven design that reminded him of
helmets.
"Was a Moro guide with our friends?" Zircon asked.
"Yes. He seemed like a respectable young man. I saw little of him,
however. He stayed with us, but kept to himself, probably bored with our
talk. Did you know that Tony and I were classmates in high school?"
The three hadn't known it. No wonder Tony and Shannon had gone so far
out of their way to visit Cotabato.
"That robbery attempt interests me," Scotty said. "Have you ever had
such an incident before?"
"Never. The Moros let us alone. Besides, the proverbial church mice
would seem rich compared with us. We have literally nothing worth
robbing."
The flight was called and the Spindrifters shook hands with Father
Murray. He waved as they boarded the plane and prepared to take off.
"Not very helpful," Professor Zircon remarked, "although I'm glad we had
a chance to meet Father Murray."
Rick agreed, but added, "Doesn't it strike you as pretty strange
coincidence that thieves should try to rob him for the first time, on
the night Briotti and Shannon arrived?"
Scotty saw at once what Rick meant. "You think they might not have been
thieves? That it might have been a kidnap attempt that failed?"
"It's a possibility," Rick pointed out.
Zircon leaned across the aisle. "Consider the implications of what
you're saying, Rick. Cotabato is a long way from Davao. Why would a gang
chase our friends across Mindanao?"
"Why were they kidnaped?" Rick retorted.
"Obviously, we don't know. If we accept your idea, do we assume it was
the same gang that traveled from Cotabato to Davao? Or, were both groups
local people?"
Scotty swallowed. "If they were local people, that has to mean some kind
of well-organized syndicate with members in just about every port!"
Rick nodded. He had seen at once the implications of his idea. "It could
mean that."
Scotty sank back into his seat. "But whatever it means, it gives no
explanation of why Tony and Shannon were kidnaped."
"We'll find the explanation somehow," Rick said, with more assurance
than he felt. He added grimly, "We've got to!"