Free Section 8 by Robert Doherty

coming toward the end, and throughout his life as the leader of the Abu Sayef, Abayon had always wanted to meet face-to-face with subordinates before they went to do tasks he had assigned them. He always wanted to look his men in the eyes and get a feel for their state of mind and emotion, while at the same time letting them know that he was taking full responsibility for their orders. He never delegated responsibility. It was a lesson he had learned during the Second World War fighting the Japanese.

The second man who entered was Abayon's age but in much better physical condition, although he was missing three fingers from his right hand—the result of a machete blow from a Japanese officer during World War II. The two had known each other since childhood.

"My old friend," Abayon said.

Alfons Moreno walked up to Abayon, took his hand and kissed the back of it before sitting down. "Is it time?" Moreno asked.

Abayon nodded. "The dark ones are stirring the nest to see what comes out. We must make sure our sting is much worse than they ever feared."

"The man was from the Yakuza, and the assault was pushed by the Americans," Moreno pointed out. "Two different directions."

"Yes, but we know someone was pulling the strings in the background, just as they've been since—who knows how far back they go? We have never been able to determine that."

"We have not been able to determine much at all about our enemies." Moreno frowned. "But the raid failed and the envoy did not succeed."

Abayon shook his head. "But I don't think either was designed to succeed. Whoever is behind all this plays games with people. To see how they react. They are trying to draw me out so they can have their Golden Lily back. They have tried before and they are patient, but now they rightfully fear me, so they are taking action first."

Moreno sighed. "It is all too complicated. This game."

Abayon knew that Moreno considered him a bit of a paranoid. To survive this long, he'd had to be paranoid. "Yes, it is complicated, but it is necessary because our opponents also are complicated and shift identities. And it is no game. Much is at stake. The future of everyone. Most people around the planet are living as slaves and don't even see their shackles or who controls their lives."

"I know it is not a game," Moreno said. "But remember that there are good and evil people on both sides. The Americans helped liberate us in World War Two. Colonel Volckman taught us much of the tactics we still use."

"Volckman was a great man," Abayon agreed, "but he is long dead and the new world is much different. The Americans seek to crush all who do not believe as they do, and that seems to be in our enemy's interest. So perhaps they are one and the same."

The two had had many similar discussions. Moreno had long ago accepted that Abayon had a much larger vision than he did. Moreno had always been the practical one, while Abayon was the great thinker. They had made a formidable team over the years, surviving despite large bounties being put on their heads. They'd also survived several attempted coups by younger members of the Abu Sayef.

It bothered Moreno at times that his old friend did not simply concern himself with their goal of an independent Muslim state among the islands surrounding Jolo. Abayon's vision had always extended far beyond the borders of the Philippines and beyond the stretch of the immediate future.

"You are ready?" Abayon asked.

Moreno nodded even though the question was mainly rhetorical. "The last repairs were completed three days ago. I would have liked to do a practice cruise, but it is too dangerous." He smiled. "Let us hope everything works, or I might submerge and never come back up."

"You will come back up, my old friend. And when you do, our enemies will howl from the pain you will inflict." Abayon lifted his hand, gesturing for Moreno to come close. When Moreno did so, Abayon half lifted himself out of the wheelchair, wrapping his still