captors when it all
kicked off. Dindo unwittingly obliged, drawn to the group by the allure
of Vick's beauty. He stood off to one side of her, glancing her way now
and again, and both Grant and Vick knew that he was trying to get a glimpse
down the front of her tattered T-shirt. Vick did nothing to obscure his
view, lest he become embarrassed or angry. The last thing she needed was
to lose her only real supply of nourishment, so she leaned forward a little,
giving Dindo a better view of her cleavage while she chatted to Moore.
Grant judged the time to be about
midday, which meant it would be another few hours before Sonny and Len were
likely to turn up. With that thought still in his head, his heart sank as
he saw a large banca appear at the mouth of the cove and throw out its anchor.
Bong ordered everyone to prepare to move out and the guards starting packing
everything away. The rice which was bubbling away in the pot was dumped
unceremoniously onto the fire, extinguishing the flames while at the same time
dealing yet another blow to the hostages' morale.
Grant frantically sought a way to avoid
boarding the boat, but the only way he saw that happening was if he was dead,
so he stood when ordered to and took his place in the line as they marched the
last few hundred yards to the beach. A small motorised inflatable had
been dropped over the side and was chugging towards the shore when they reached
the sand and the first of the hostages were ordered to climb aboard, which they
did awkwardly with their legs tied together. When the first four were in
they were joined by two guards who ferried them to the banca, then they
returned to escort the next lot across. Grant, Vick, Moore and Halton
were the last hostages to climb into the dinghy and Sam wondered if it would be
possible to overpower the crew once onboard, but again his idea was dashed as
he climbed onto the larger vessel and saw four more armed men watching over the
group of hostages already aboard.
Resigned to the journey, he sat down
next to Halton and prayed they had a well-stocked galley on board.
Chapter 8
Wednesday 18th
April 2012
Sonny gazed out of the tiny window at
the sea far below and wondered what the fishing would be like in those
waters. The island of Jolo was just a few minutes away and yet another
glance at his watch told him that it was approaching seven in the
evening. The return journey from Farrar's office to the airport had been
as torturous as the initial drive over, and once they'd passed through the
diplomatic channel the news had been broken that the plane was suffering a
technical fault in the avionics. The resulting delay meant they didn't
arrive in Zamboanga City until five in the afternoon, by which time Farrar had
been in touch with the latest developments.
“I got the call from Abu Sayyaf but they
didn't use Sam's phone, so we have no way of updating his current
position. However, he did manage to tell me he was on a boat heading
south-west, which means his most likely destination is Jolo.” He'd
pronounced it 'Ho-lo' just as the locals did. “Once you touch down in
Zamboanga you can catch a connecting flight to Jolo. Be warned, though:
there is a U.S. base close to the airstrip and I don't think they'd take kindly
to you turning up armed to the teeth. Once you arrive, flash your new
credentials, bribe them, do whatever you have to, just get the hell out of
there before the military take an interest in you.”
With that advice ringing in his ears,
Sonny had booked them two seats on an AirPhilExpress DHC-8 for the thirty-five
minute flight.
The plane touched down on the single
airstrip and taxied to the gate, where any concerns they had about customs
inspections proved unfounded. Once outside they flagged down a battered
taxi and asked to be taken to the Bud Dajo trail.
Bud Dajo is a volcano rising out of the
centre of the island to a height of just over two thousand feet. Its
kicked off. Dindo unwittingly obliged, drawn to the group by the allure
of Vick's beauty. He stood off to one side of her, glancing her way now
and again, and both Grant and Vick knew that he was trying to get a glimpse
down the front of her tattered T-shirt. Vick did nothing to obscure his
view, lest he become embarrassed or angry. The last thing she needed was
to lose her only real supply of nourishment, so she leaned forward a little,
giving Dindo a better view of her cleavage while she chatted to Moore.
Grant judged the time to be about
midday, which meant it would be another few hours before Sonny and Len were
likely to turn up. With that thought still in his head, his heart sank as
he saw a large banca appear at the mouth of the cove and throw out its anchor.
Bong ordered everyone to prepare to move out and the guards starting packing
everything away. The rice which was bubbling away in the pot was dumped
unceremoniously onto the fire, extinguishing the flames while at the same time
dealing yet another blow to the hostages' morale.
Grant frantically sought a way to avoid
boarding the boat, but the only way he saw that happening was if he was dead,
so he stood when ordered to and took his place in the line as they marched the
last few hundred yards to the beach. A small motorised inflatable had
been dropped over the side and was chugging towards the shore when they reached
the sand and the first of the hostages were ordered to climb aboard, which they
did awkwardly with their legs tied together. When the first four were in
they were joined by two guards who ferried them to the banca, then they
returned to escort the next lot across. Grant, Vick, Moore and Halton
were the last hostages to climb into the dinghy and Sam wondered if it would be
possible to overpower the crew once onboard, but again his idea was dashed as
he climbed onto the larger vessel and saw four more armed men watching over the
group of hostages already aboard.
Resigned to the journey, he sat down
next to Halton and prayed they had a well-stocked galley on board.
Chapter 8
Wednesday 18th
April 2012
Sonny gazed out of the tiny window at
the sea far below and wondered what the fishing would be like in those
waters. The island of Jolo was just a few minutes away and yet another
glance at his watch told him that it was approaching seven in the
evening. The return journey from Farrar's office to the airport had been
as torturous as the initial drive over, and once they'd passed through the
diplomatic channel the news had been broken that the plane was suffering a
technical fault in the avionics. The resulting delay meant they didn't
arrive in Zamboanga City until five in the afternoon, by which time Farrar had
been in touch with the latest developments.
“I got the call from Abu Sayyaf but they
didn't use Sam's phone, so we have no way of updating his current
position. However, he did manage to tell me he was on a boat heading
south-west, which means his most likely destination is Jolo.” He'd
pronounced it 'Ho-lo' just as the locals did. “Once you touch down in
Zamboanga you can catch a connecting flight to Jolo. Be warned, though:
there is a U.S. base close to the airstrip and I don't think they'd take kindly
to you turning up armed to the teeth. Once you arrive, flash your new
credentials, bribe them, do whatever you have to, just get the hell out of
there before the military take an interest in you.”
With that advice ringing in his ears,
Sonny had booked them two seats on an AirPhilExpress DHC-8 for the thirty-five
minute flight.
The plane touched down on the single
airstrip and taxied to the gate, where any concerns they had about customs
inspections proved unfounded. Once outside they flagged down a battered
taxi and asked to be taken to the Bud Dajo trail.
Bud Dajo is a volcano rising out of the
centre of the island to a height of just over two thousand feet. Its
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