Typically, the Congress arranged for first class flights all the way to Brunei. From there it was a smaller, local airline that finished the trip to Mindanao and their final destination, Labason. Arny was more than pleased to discover that there were hotels with amenities after the gruelling trip over the crappy road system Gretta had described. They showered, changed and ordered a meal for the room; Gretta wanted to start immediately, arranging for a guide and transport.

"Pete? What kind of a name is that for a- a Filipino?"

"He's Bangsamoro, Arny. Mother was white and father was Arab."

"What's Bangsamoro?"

"They're Muslim tribes. There's all kinds of them in these islands, mostly here and further south. They're a mix of basic Malayan with some Chinese, Arab and white, and they speak their own dialects. Not too sociable with non Muslims."

"I thought we were a mosaic back home." He shook his head.

"You have to remember your history, Arny. Many different countries operated in this part of the world long before they went west."

"So what do we know about this Pete guy?"

"You mean his religion? He's Muslim."

"I mean his credentials, Gretta. What the hell do I care about his religion?"

"Makes a difference when the information you want has a resonance with the people you're dealing with."

"A resonance? What, you think he has special knowledge of where to look or something?"

"These people have lived with this legend for over sixty years, they will have some valid opinions and since this is the approximate area of our information, local advice should be very helpful."

He opened the door to the tiny balcony and looked out over the waters of the Sulu Sea. "What are those stilt houses along the shore down there?"

Gretta joined him, standing very close because of the limited space. "Moro homes. They do a lot of fishing."

"That their livelihood?"

"That and manufacturing with some cloth and a few metals."

"Looks kind of primitive."

"By our standards. They used to be a polygamous society that practised slavery. They raided the whole neighbourhood to satisfy both." She waved a hand to encompass the entire archipelago.

"You're sure they 'used to be' slavers?"

"Yes Arny. This is the twenty-first century... although tribal rulers still practice polygamy."

"Ruler's, plural? There's more than one?"

"Yep. And they have a supreme ruler too. The Sultan of Sulu. Doesn't count for that much any more, except among his own followers. They swore allegiance to the Republic a long time ago."

He made a sucking sound with his teeth and went back inside the room.

"You seem to know an amazing amount of trivia for someone who just 'passed through' on the way to Borneo."

"A small fib. I was here for about a week," she put a finger on his lips to stay his comment. "It was to do a little research that's all."

His face registered his weary patience. "So when do we start out with this Pete?"

"Tomorrow morning, first light. I arranged for a Land Rover through the hotel; we'll head straight for the coordinates the Congress provided.

"How much is all this costing?"

"You? Nothing. The Congress picks up the tab on all these missions, you know that."

"Just being curious, dear."

"Well it's not expensive. The local peso is only worth about three cents or so, US. These people work very hard for their crops. They raise a lot of corn, cassava, sweet potatoes and of course, rice. It's tough going here. Luckily they can export stuff like copra, bananas, pineapple, sugarcane, oranges mangoes and papayas."

"Sounds pretty good to me. What about rice?"

"Some, but that's what they live on... mainly. There's very little livestock on the farms."

"Speaking of livestock, are we going to eat somewhere soon?"

"We just had room service!"

"That was it? That was dinner?"
"Help me get this stuff packed for the morning, and I'll take you out for some local delicacies."

"I don't want any of those snake or sheep's eyes or stuff like that." He warned.

"Promise."

                                                           ><><><><

Pete was a thin, brown, happy looking character with big teeth and ears. He spoke passable English and was more than enthusiastic with helping to lift and carry. Gretta poked Arny when she found him handing the heavier bags to Pete.

"Slavery ended, remember?"

"He's happy to do it." Arny said, ducking another swat and relieving Pete of one of the bags.

"I'm going to put in a call to Cheesy before we leave. Check all the gear and make sure everything is as it should be."

"Aye, aye." Arny saluted and Pete giggled, covering his mouth.

Gretta had the hotel operator place her call, and she waited briefly while it connected across the world.

"Gretta! How are you, my dear?"

"Good, Cheesy. We are about to leave for the mountains so I thought I'd better check in. I don't know what the reception will be like up there." She told him everything they had discovered from Walter Gervais and about Pete, along with the expected time of her next communication. Cheesy told her about Ned Basker's suicide, as reported by Marion Basker in a distressed call. He also informed her of rumblings the Congress had picked up regarding other interests in the Philippines, but no details.

"Keep that to yourself, Cheesy. You know what Arny is like."

"More than I care to."

"C'mon now, he's a good man and he's good for me."

"I bow to your judgement, my dear. Just be careful. Oh, there's one other thing that you should be aware of. We put a watch on Walter Gervais to see if there was some way we might be of assistance to him in the uh- the end. Somebody else has been in touch with him as well. Our man thinks it might be one of our old mercenary friends but he has no facts. Just a heads-up, my dear."

She thanked him and rang off, joining the others in the Land Rover. Pete started the engine and waited while Gretta organized her maps and notes and then she gave a John Wayne forward signal that started Pete giggling with delight as he slipped the vehicle into gear and jerked away onto the road with a spurt of gas. Gretta pondered Cheesy's remark about, other interests, wondering just who they might be and what options she might have available.

                                                            ><><><><

Susan Duncan moved from her desk to the large filing cabinet beneath the picture window overlooking a sprawling green lawn behind the medical care facility. Outside, uniformed staff were administering therapies, or walking a number of the many residents and she heaved a satisfied sigh as she surveyed her domain. She closed the file she had been reading and put it back in the cabinet, closing the drawer with satisfaction. An expensively cared for hand tucked an errant strand of equally attended auburn hair behind her ear as she returned to her desk. As director of Balsam Grove, Susan enjoyed the contacts and opportunities she had exploited, lifting her to her present position. One of those contacts she had mounted a concentrated campaign against was Wayne Jenner, the president and CEO of Jenner Global Enterprises.

The file she had been reading was for Jenner's wife, a long term resident, to which she had been making incremental alterations to the medication for nearly a year, gloating over the desired, steady decline in her health. Susan smiled and picked up her telephone.

"Mr. Jenner, please. Tell him it's Susan." She turned her chair around to admire the view once again while she waited.

"Susan, what is it? I'm in the middle of something ver—"

"Nothing is more important than me, Wayne." Her voice was iron as she turned back and leaned on the desk. "Your wife is getting worse and I think you should consider any necessary arrangements you might want to make."

"My God, is it that serious?"

"Gloria is failing, Wayne. I think you should reflect on how fortunate she has been to last this long in her condition. I understand your shock but we have to face reality. Now if you like, I can make all the arrangements for you but I will need signing authority."

"Aaaah- I can't do this right now, Susan. I'm in the middle of a very delicate decision that needs all my attention; it just cannot wait. I'll call you as soon as the meeting is over and we can plan something suitable for Gloria."

"Very well." Susan drummed her nails on the desktop. Not getting her way—right away—stung her ego, and she quickly focused on the next step in her plan.

Two years earlier, Wayne Jenner had been shot by his daughter, who in turn was killed by another woman that Susan learned was in direct competition with some of Wayne's business dealings. The circumstances were not quite clear but coincidentally provided her the opportunity to launch an opportunistic campaign. With Wayne in critical care in the hospital, she made her move. Her unique position at Balsam Grove, with regard to Mrs. Jenner, gave her access to a number of documents and letters signed by Wayne Jenner when he admitted his wife. Susan boldly forged his signature onto power of attorney documents, giving her both financial and medical authority over him. As a result, Wayne Jenner's assets were available to her without question.

As he struggled to improve, he learned how much she had been doing toward his care, and with a modicum of gratitude and little choice in the matter in any event, he relied heavily upon her during his uncertain recovery. When he was well enough to be released, Susan had him moved to Balsam Grove and installed him in a private room, insisting it would be good for both he and his wife. Here she was free to assert even more control until, by the time his health fully returned; he discovered that he was no longer his own master. Susan Duncan was calling most of the shots both personally and at his company and it became apparent that unless he wanted a costly, time-consuming trip through the courts, he was forced to accept most of her actions without argument.