Igorot Country
Rick and Scotty awoke the next morning with a feeling of well-being. After the heat of Manila the cool air of Baguio had caused them to sleep like logs. Also, things appeared to be going well, and Chahda finally had contacted them.
The contact had been a brief one. Chahda had gone, promising to keep in touch with them as best he could. The Hindu boy was on the trail of James Nast, hoping that by keeping close watch he could anticipate, and perhaps prevent, any action Nast might try to take against the Spindrift party.
"Dog Meat," Rick said, grinning, as the two knocked on Tony Briotti's door. "It may be a fine old ceremonial name in this part of the world, but to me it's just a meal for Dismal."
Dismal was the Brant family pup. When Rick thought of the pagans eating dog, he always thought of Dismal served up as a roast, and the thought made him ill. He had decided that he might admire the fine qualities of the Igorot and Ifugao people, but the mental image of Dismal among the poor, beaten mongrels in the dog market would always keep him from being really fond of them.
Tony failed to answer the door. "Probably gone down to breakfast already," Scotty said. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Chahda won't have much trouble finding Nast. Baguio isn't very big and there aren't very many Americans. Wonder what Nast will try to do?"
Rick shrugged. "How can we guess? There are so many things about this part of the world we don't know. He might have two dozen slick tricks up his sleeve. The best thing we can do is be on guard all the time. I'm glad we sent Angel out to guard the plane."
As they passed the hotel desk, the clerk hailed them. "Mr. Brant? A message for you."
"Probably from Chahda," Rick said. But he was wrong. The note was from Tony, and it made Rick's eyes widen. He read it aloud:
"'Dear boys. Woke up at dawn with something nagging at me. It broke through my thick skull while I was having coffee. The Ifugao No Palate must be Nangolat. It's the name Okola mentioned—his prize student. I know of no other Ifugao with even a less remote connection. Also, the shape of Angel's face bothers me. I am going to the airport on a hunch. Be back about eight, with Angel.'"
Scotty pointed to a wall clock. It was nearly nine o'clock. They had slept late.
The two boys, without a word, ran for the door. Outside the hotel a Filipino taxi waited. They jumped in and gasped in one voice: "Baguio Airport!"
"The chucklehead," Scotty groaned. "Why didn't he wake us up? Why did he have to go alone?"
"Relax," Rick said, but he didn't really mean it. "It was just an idea he had that this Ifugao might be tied up with Angel. After all, Okola recommended Angel." He recognized the fallacy in his argument as soon as the words were out, but Scotty was already pointing to it.
"Yes. Angel is Okola's boy, and so is this Nangolat. What's more likely than their being close friends? Angel could be giving Nangolat a helping hand."
The taxi climbed the winding streets of Baguio, passed the American military rest camp and the Baguio residence of the American ambassador, and finally entered the airport.
One quick look around the field showed them that the truck was missing. The Sky Wagon was waiting by itself. On Rick's quick instructions the taxi raced to the plane. They got out and took a quick look.
"No sign of damage," Scotty said. "Let's ask at the airport office."
The office was closed. It was operated by Philippine Air Lines, and was only kept open during the day, starting one hour before the day's first flight to Manila or from the big city. The first flight on this day was not until ten thirty.
A pair of workmen with shovels were scratching listlessly at the gravel on the opposite side of the field. The boys jumped into the taxi and told the driver to cross the field.
Rick leaned out. "Did you see a truck?"
The men smiled and nodded.
"How long ago?" Rick called.
The men smiled some more, then shrugged.
The Filipino cab driver spoke to them in Ilokano, the Christian dialect of the province. They answered briefly, smiled at the boys again, and went back to scratching at the gravel. Apparently they were supposed to be leveling the shoulders of the runway. If so, the shoulders would be stooped with age before they were finished.
The Filipino cab driver turned to the boys. "Sir, these men not see truck. They be here since maybe two hours. No truck."
"But they said they did!" Scotty exclaimed.
Rick interrupted, "Ask them if they saw an American, alone."
The driver exchanged quick syllables with the workmen. "They see American. He get in sedan which waiting for him, and go off."
"Who was in the sedan?"
Again the driver translated. "They not see. It on other side of field. Only know maybe three men, maybe American, maybe Filipino. They not know."
"Take us back to the hotel," Rick commanded. "And thanks for interpreting for us."
"They said they saw the truck," Scotty insisted.
Rick shook his head. "Remember what Tony once told us. Never ask a question that can be answered yes or no, or the answer will be yes whether that's the answer or not. That's as true in the Philippines as it is in China or anywhere else in the Orient. I don't think they saw the truck, but I'm sure they did see Tony go off in a sedan. I'm worried, Scotty."
"Same. Of course the men in the sedan could just have offered Tony a lift back to the hotel."
"What were they doing at the airport? The sign on the office door said the first flight from Manila was at ten thirty. No one uses the field but PAL, a few travelers like us, and maybe military planes."
"I don't believe he just got a lift. But it's a possibility."
"We'll soon know," Rick said. "Driver, please hurry."
The Filipino grinned. "Sor, would like to please customer. But hurry on these roads is break the necks, I think so."
"He's right," Scotty agreed. "We'll get there soon enough."
Within a few moments they were back at the hotel. Rick paid the driver and thanked him for the help, then they ran in and confronted the clerk. "Is Dr. Briotti back?"
"I haven't seen him, gentlemen. Just a moment please." The clerk looked in Tony's box. "His key is not here. Have you called his room?"
"Not yet. Would you have seen him if he came in?" Rick asked.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I've been doing some paper work, and unless he came to the desk, I might not notice him."
The boys nodded their thanks and hurried up the stairs to Tony's room. They tried the door, then knocked loudly. There was no answer. They knocked again, waited, then stared at each other bleakly.
"Now what?" Rick had a feeling that Tony was in danger. He didn't know why he felt that way when the only news they had was that he had gone off in a sedan with three men. The workmen hadn't said that he had fought, or that he had been pulled into the car. He voiced his thoughts as he followed Scotty to their room.
"That means nothing," Scotty pointed out. "He probably wouldn't argue with a gun pointing out the window at him. The workmen probably wouldn't have noticed a pistol barrel."
"You're right, as usual. Well, what now?"
"Call the cops?"
"What would we say? Tony hasn't been gone more than an hour or two, so far as we know. That's not reason enough to call the cops. We couldn't tell them about Chahda and what he said. They wouldn't believe any such stories about their Assistant Secretary of the Interior, and if they did, they'd probably be afraid to do much about it. If Tony doesn't show up in another hour or two, we probably ought to call the police. But not yet."
Scotty had worn a jacket because the morning was cool. But now the room was warm, and he went to the closet to hang it up.
"Hey, Tony must have taken the earth scanner with him."
Rick was in the act of sitting down on his bed. He bounced up like a rubber ball. "What? He couldn't have!"
"Well, it's gone. And who else would have taken it?"
"Tony didn't. He hasn't been in this room, except last night when Chahda was here, and he didn't take the scanner then."
Scotty snapped his fingers. "You gave Angel your key and told him to clean up!"
Rick slumped down on the bed again. That was it, of course. It had to be. No one else had had the chance to get the equipment, barring the possibility that the hotel personnel were dishonest, and there was no reason to suspect them.
"Then the equipment went with him last night. And we didn't notice until now. But we would have noticed if it had been gone, wouldn't we? I've been to the closet a dozen times and so have you."
"Means nothing. I don't know why I noticed just now that the stuff was gone. But there was nothing to call our attention to it last night or this morning. Anyway, it was behind my big suitcase—I know. I knocked the suitcase over when I closed the closet door this morning, and I didn't stop to pick it up. It's still on its side. That's why I noticed that the earth scanner wasn't there."
"If we needed any proof that Angel is a bad one, probably in cahoots with Nangolat, we have it. Scotty, what are we going to do?"
"Call the cops," Scotty said grimly. "Now we have a theft to report." He strode for the phone, but before he could pick it up there was a sharp ring. Scotty answered. "Yes?" He listened, hung up hastily, and turned to Rick.
"The clerk says there's a Filipino in the lobby who wants to see us. Says he knows us."
"Chahda! It must be. He's posing as a pagan of some kind, and we don't know any other Filipinos."
Rick's thoughts were expressed as he and Scotty ran down the hall, then took the stairs four at a time.
"That's not Chahda!" Scotty pointed to a big Filipino who was striding back and forth in front of the desk. The man was Scotty's size, and built in about the same proportions. Around his head was what at first glance appeared to be a kind of turban. At second glance the boys saw that it was a thick bandage.
The Filipino saw them and came toward them with quick strides. His face probably was pleasant most of the time, but now it was grim, his mouth creased in lines of pain.
"Mr. Brant and Mr. Scott?"
"Yes," Rick said. "And you...."
"I am Angel Manotok!" the Filipino said.