Brogan's Bella: The Brogan Series, #2

By Kev Richardson

Bella and Brogan's journey takes not the few weeks planned, but incarceration and intimidation, the fears, suffering and trepidation that only a hijack visits on one.

At the end of World War 2, US forces hold Indo-China until the French return, ensuring Ho Chi Minh cannot take it down the communist path. Yet the French fail miserably in preventing the swell of resistance; it smoulders until bursting into bloody conflagration with Bella and Brogan innocent pawns in this cauldron of political intrigue.

The 'catch-twenty-two' of their situation demands they become embroiled in guerrilla warfare or face the cutting of their own throats for even knowing the truths behind the hijack.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597051880

Book preview

Wings ePress, Inc.

Edited by: Karen Babcock

Copy Edited by: Rosalie Franklin

Senior Editor: Dianne Hamilton

Managing Editor: Leslie Hodges

Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Cover Artist: CitecAsia

All rights reserved

NAMES, CHARACTERS AND incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

http://www.wings-press.com

Copyright © 2008 by Kevin V. Richardson

ISBN  978-1-59705-188-0

Published by Wings ePress, Inc. at Smashwords

Published In the United States Of America

March 2008

Wings ePress Inc.

403 Wallace Court

Richmond, KY 40475

One

Isabella Maldonado had been there before.

And it was no déjà vu for the ache in her wrists and back, having been now bound some four or five hours, the pressures that riddled her body for having lain in the dark on bare concrete, thirst and hunger pains wrenching at her throat and guts, all contributed to shock and fear.

Brogan was no less uncomfortable, conscious of her doubtlessly reliving the drama of her abduction in Lima, what was it, four years ago?

It seemed a lifetime had passed since.

TWO DAYS AGO THEY HAD been cock-a-hoop with excitement as they flew out of Honolulu en-route to Australia. They were taking a leisurely several days, even weeks, they had agreed, if their loose plans for the journey found them somewhere that they felt they might enjoy staying on for a time. They had had an over-night in Gilbert Island’s Kiribati, where their flight picked up six more passengers, and had been in the air no more than thirty minutes when the hijackers announced their presence with considerable brutality.

Both bounded from seats as if spring-loaded, startling all six ‘legitimate’ passengers, pistol whipping the one who dared ask what the hell is all this about?

The hijackers were Asian, attired as if on business; fawn tropical suits with open-necked shirts. And they had no English.

Bella and Brogan’s fellow travellers comprised a middle-aged Australian, now with blood flowing from the cut above his ear from the pistol-whipping, his wife, and two French servicemen. The Australian couple were phosphate miners on Kiribati; the two servicemen, one obviously a senior officer and the other his aide, were en-route to Noumea. All six were as completely in the dark as to the why of the hijack as they were in the dark over where they might now be headed.

Bella and Brogan knew the pilot and navigator, Howard and Athol, because they had shared company on the Honolulu to Kiribati leg, but the airmen had not even had time to introduce themselves to the six new passengers since taking off on the Noumea leg before finding themselves threatened with pistols pressed into the napes of their necks. One of the two hijackers was, within seconds of declaring their presence, holding a map only inches from Howard’s face, loudly insisting the direction he should now take.

Brogan’s sixth sense, himself a pilot although only of lighter aircraft than the PBY they now flew in, kept him better informed than most, as to the direction they now headed. He had kept track of the angle and number of seconds of each turn as well as monitoring the moving shadows inside, at each change.

Their aircraft was a Catalina flying-boat, one of the many cast off to anxious buyers when the Pacific war finished and which now, fitted with passenger seats, flew—albeit at what Brogan considered ‘snail’s pace’—whatever routes charter passengers could afford.

Many such services that were partly charter, partly emerging commercial routes, had sprung up seemingly overnight throughout the Pacific vastness once World War Two was over. Already the more adventurous of those wishing to travel, now the shelling had stopped, were taking ad-hoc advantage of getting from here to there by air instead of long sea journeys, as had been the only option prior to the war.

When it seemed pilot and navigator had the aircraft flying what Brogan estimated a west-nor-westerly direction, one hijacker turned his attention to the passengers. From a satchel under what had been his own seat he extricated pairs of handcuffs. He then proceeded to manacle each passenger, answering the first to protest, the French officer’s aide, with a pistol-whip across the mouth to draw torrents of blood from lips and nose—harsh illustration indeed that they would tolerate no talking by anyone.

So already, two of the other three male passengers had blood running from facial wounds.

Bella flinched yet couldn’t but notice how the Australian couple simply blinked.

Living through years of Japanese occupation exposed them to worse on countless occasions, no doubt, is what flashed through her mind.

And none were simply manacled one wrist to the other, or even to an armrest. One arm was looped uncomfortably under a thigh before wrists were joined so that either the heel of that leg must be perched awkwardly on the edge of the seat, or the spine permanently stooped.

They flew on that course for hour after painful hour through the night, straining to hear what was exchanged by way of conversation, or rather argument, ‘up-front’.

All passengers had been further intimidated into silence since the French officer, Jean-Claude, was answered with only a prod from a pistol when pleading a toilet break.

He was left manacled to his seat, to piss himself where he sat.

Bella’s ear, entirely comfortable with either her native Spanish or English, and to a considerable degree, French, had never heard an Asian language so with no indication of anything the hijackers were trying to tell Howard, she strained only to hear what was then exchanged between Howard and Athol. They were from the United States and had been buddies during the war years in the Pacific.

Their big dilemma now, she realised, seemed a serious one. Athol was retorting with considerable impatience, despite it was clear the hijacker understood not a word, that ...we ain’t got gas enough to get there without refuelling!

He was emphasising his point by jabbing his finger elsewhere on the map, then to a dial on his instrument panel.

The unfamiliar names ‘Carolinas’ and ‘Truk’ came out in the argument that continued and when Bella then glanced at Brogan, he nodded.

At least he seems to know in which direction we’re heading.

It was scant comfort that her man knew, however, for even to him it still gave no indication of either their destination or why the hijack, a question that undoubtedly filled the minds of all who had no option but to sit in cowed silence while the plane droned on—and on—and on.

She was quite amazed when realising that the softening of the night sky was in fact the emerging dawn, that the rising sun was literally overtaking them. It was her first realisation that they had, since the hijack, been flying due west instead of the southerly route that had been their intended course.

And the day was to prove a long one to not only add to her amazement that any aeroplane could actually fly so far without stopping for refuelling but to the growing discomfort of all in not even being allowed toilet trips. Everyone aboard except only the hijackers had by then both wet and shat themselves. The hijackers had also found the conditions unpleasant to the nostrils for they opened windows so fresh air could blow out the tainted.

All right for them, she thought, wishing she could also say it to Brogan without earning herself a beating. They’ve been able to use the chemical toilet.

So crew and passengers were suffering severe discomfort indeed, to say nothing of hunger. After the first several agonising hours, however, each had been able to stretch body and limbs when released from their tortuous cramps in order to eat.

Will this also hopefully mean we will also be released, from now on, to use the toilet?

Food taken aboard at Kiribati comprised sandwiches, cold savouries and cakes with soft drinks and bottles of potable water, so at least for a time they were saved the gnawing discomfort of hunger. But having been resecured in their uncomfortable pose, Bella was to discover that her hopes of being then able to use the toilet, had been wishful thinking indeed.

So as the day progressed, not only did they further have to wet and defecate in their clothes, but find hunger pains again beginning to gnaw.

Brogan every now and again nudged her, and when she turned to face him he would wink and smile, sometimes to nod at one or another of the passengers to indicate that they were nodding off to sleep or direct her attention to the lengthening shadows with the sun now having fully overtaken them. Already, she then realised, they were following it rather than leading it.

Her mind again returned to wondering about how many hours they could remain aloft. It was not easy to look down from a Catalina for side windows were large bubbles that projected outside the walls so when literally tied in the sitting position one couldn’t see downwards.

But every indication is that for all day we have flown over this vast Pacific and continue to do so. Surely we must be getting close to having been in the air an entire twenty-four hours.

Then even as these thoughts meandered through her mind she was snatched from her reverie by a sudden change in the sound from the engines, and a slight lurch. She glanced again at Brogan who in turn nodded, slowly lowering his eyebrows. So yes, they were coming down.

She couldn’t know that coursing through his mind in the moment was that from the position of the by now setting sun and the size of whatever island they were landing on, and from his estimate of how long they’d been flying, this was likely the Philippines.

Once they’d hit the river, or bay, or inlet, for land seemed to exist both sides of them as slight turns were made that she could get glimpses through the windows, all hostages were again cautioned to make no sound. They were released from their handcuffs long enough only that their arms were pulled, passenger by passenger, behind their backs, to be then reapplied before being pushed to the floor.

She wondered if this might be so they couldn’t be seen from outside the aircraft once landed.

At least it is a blessing that we all are relieved the pain of having for so many hours been perched so uncomfortably.

It was indeed wonderful relief to now stretch the leg that had been suffering cramp for so long. The thirty minutes or so while they had eaten had been their only respite from that distress.

However the sudden realisation that they were down, when the thud of touching water suddenly slowed them and they cruised to a virtual halt and were taxiing, began a whole new chain of thoughts on what was going on in their world, what their captors, now having reached their goal, would demand of them.

Yet further surprises were in store, for there was no joyful greeting awaiting their captors. In fact their reception, although she could still understand not a word, seemed not only hardly affable but argumentative.

There had been a bump so they were obviously now arrived at some jetty or pontoon and arguments were loud and vehement.

Yet thankfully short of hostile, it would seem.

She would love to have now talked with Brogan but despite both their hijackers being involved in animated conversation with the locals, all passengers seemed of the opinion that it was yet not worth risking breaking the rule of silence.

The Australian woman was now crying softly.

Maybe further discomforted by needs of relieving the body again? Or from having done so again?

Such bodily demands had also returned Bella’s mind to her previous hijack, in that case, personal abduction, when she was left in absolute darkness in a room, but not bound. There she could, over the several days detained, at least feel her way to a corner to relieve herself and then clean up with shreds of clothing.

After having waited what seemed hours of having been moored, although was more likely less than one, for with her hands behind her back she could see no wrist-watch, there was some action. Enough time had elapsed since arriving, however, that daylight had quite given way to darkness and maybe that was what their captors had been awaiting, for all were now hustled to their feet, which enabled them to at least now look about them. There was no electric lighting but a glow from further off illustrated that there were buildings clustered about, none large, the biggest of them only two-storeyed.

They were hustled across a boarding plank onto a pontoon and from there up steps to a wooden jetty. Many small motorboats were moored by it and several small eastern junks bobbed in the swell of what seemed the mouth of a large inlet. At the end of the jetty was an ancient bus that sputtered to a stop, and all eight, the six passengers, pilot and navigator, were hurried aboard it.

They had time only to gauge that the nearest lights were some hundred metres off, through forest, where vehicular traffic moved.

The hijackers were last aboard, standing in the only doorway, intimidating pistols at the ready. The pilot and navigator were sat on bench seats that ranged either side while passengers were pushed in turn to the floor where they could see nothing of outside, or be seen. So Bella had no idea what sort of community, large or small, they had arrived into, or anything to indicate if this might indeed be the Philippines. That was the only land that she knew was due west of Kiribati so it was entirely conjecture that that particular country had come to mind. All she could surmise, however, was that from the sounds of considerable traffic, it was a large town they passed through.

At least if this is the Philippines they’ve brought us to, I may understand some of what is said to us if here any time. She recalled having heard somewhere, sometime, that it had once been a Spanish colony as had her own Peru and that Spanish was still widely understood there.

Once into the traffic area, electric lighting cast momentary flashes through the dirty windows, enough that she could gaze about at the state of fellow prisoners. She could only guess that she must appear as dirty and dishevelled as each had become, especially her hair which she wore long but which by now, she knew, was matted and straggly.

And they wouldn’t even let me bring my hold-all!

Brogan had insisted when leaving home, that she use a hold-all as her only cabin baggage, a single piece that held not only her purse but everything she would need during every day when unable to get to her ‘checked’ luggage. But even with her things having been so close she was now obliged to leave them on the plane rather than to offer promise that soon she might be able to repair her ‘dishabille’.

Having left the lit area of whatever the town was, and travelled maybe a kilometre beyond it, they stopped. They were made wait aboard while the hijackers engaged in a heated debate with whoever was outside.

Whatever can they be arguing about? Surely they’re expected here, or why else would they have driven here?

It was again, an unknown that only the future could answer.

Yet some agreement was obviously reached for the hijackers returned aboard to roughly haul their prisoners to their feet and off the bus. Bella stared about in the dim light. It seemed an isolated building, comprised, it appeared at first sight, entirely of corrugated iron. But there was little time to inspect further, for all were hustled inside as if the hijackers were worried that others might see them, to be ushered along a dark corridor, to be locked in a room, again of corrugated iron, and left in the dark.

But at least, unlike their treatment of us so far, they have not left us manacled. And I saw no other people, so maybe this is an isolated building.

The aches of hunger had become serious indeed by their second night since the hijack and she realised how every one of them must now be desperately hoping to be fed. It would be nice, she then thought, if this were indeed the semi-Spanish Philippines they had arrived in, if they were given some tasty empanada.

They were free to move about and after a time, by which her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she realised that dim moonlight entered through dormer windows, too high to see through, but enough for her to make out the forms of others. She and Brogan held hands tightly as they cast about. And every couple was now in whispered conversation though no one, yet, it seemed, prepared to speak out loudly.

She had found it surprising to realise that it had been an entire day and a half that they had been confined to silence.

Howard and Athol were afoot, inspecting their prison.

Let’s gather close, Howard whispered when their short tour was ended, squatting in the centre of the unfurnished room.

So all gathered about.

My name is Howard and my navigator friend is Athol. Neither of us has a clue why we’ve been hijacked. Certainly if they think I, for one, have assets enough to make them rich, they’re in for disappointment, he tossed off with a grin, sop to everyone’s failed confidence.

Maybe one of you is rich, eh?

The Frenchmen looked askance, obviously understanding nothing of the American’s language.

Brogan picked up Howard’s offered thread.

Well it’s certainly not Bella or me, mate.

Bella coughed and was given the nod. She turned to the Frenchmen to translate the essence of the discourse to date. They smiled. Even Henri who still suffered the pain of his pistol-whipping, grinned and held up his hands as much as to say, And not me either.

Howard twisted about, the dim light sufficient that Bella could see the trace of a smile on his lips.

We’re in the Philippines, near Davao. I guess the locals want more money than our captors have, but maybe overnight they will come to some understanding.

But Davao is a city, Howard, Brogan pleaded, with regulation procedures for foreign aircraft arriving...

Howard held up a hand.

This is also South East Asia, Brogan, where laws are flexible. Even before the war they were still getting structures in place and certainly after four years of Japanese occupation they are still floundering around trying to reorganise their lives and structures. Maybe in Manila controls are getting re-established, but this is a provincial area.

Davao? Jean-Claude, the French officer, seemed familiar with the name.

Howard nodded.

Henri addressed Bella, who then explained to the others.

M’sieur Jean-Claude knows that before the war, Davao was a home port for sea pirates. It has a history of lawlessness.

I’m amazed we could make the Philippines, said Brogan, I’d have thought it beyond our range.

Howard again smiled. We thought so too until Athol did his sums. The hijackers, it seems, had done their homework on that point. The PBY has a range of near two thousand five hundred miles and maintaining a crawl, could just make it with our light load. But all tanks were nail-bitingly empty as we landed, I can assure you.

Bella studied Brogan. She knew his brain was reeling, trying to make numbers add up. But he grimaced at Howard with a shrug of shoulders.

The Australians from Kiribati then introduced themselves.

We are Peter and Dorothy, he explained. We mine phosphate, y’know, been there since before the war and through the occupation. We’re on a trip home for holiday, y’know."

Dorothy was redressing Peter’s wound as he spoke, best she could with strips torn from her slip.

And soon all were brought food and water.

Bella shrugged shoulders and told Brogan how she had hoped for some familiar food. What they were given, however, was native fare that all found so spicy they had difficulty eating it. Yet all persisted for none could be sure when they might see food again. It had been made clear there would be no attempt to answer questions. And it was likely it would only mean more beatings should any be asked. And the water tasted none too fresh, but again, it was all they had.

Bella and Brogan lay close once all had settled, trying to snatch minutes of sleep. Many things combined to make it difficult: physical pain; the mental stress of not knowing what, now having arrived, was to befall them; the bodily discomfort for all, lying on naked concrete, of being so soiled and smelly, unable to even splash face or hands let alone bathe and change clothing.

And for the women in particular, Brogan thought, unable to comb frayed and dishevelled hair.

All personal items had been left on the aircraft so apart from each still wondering about the ‘why’ of the hijack they also wondered if they would be lucky enough, now having arrived, to have their luggage returned.

Yet in another sense Bella felt somewhat less discomfort than others because of her previous experience. She alone among them, felt there was at least some consolation to be enjoyed, that of having company to share the fears. The fears were no less real of course but she found the shock of it all somewhat tempered, not only because of company, but because she had suffered the experience before.

Yet the humidity was now getting to her.

Not so bad for Brogan, she mused, being four years in the Amazon.

But despite here being still in the familiar environment of salted air all around them, she was severely missing the comforts of the sea breezes they always had on the heights of Lima’s Miraflores.

And other familiar fears kept returning as she tried to settle into sleep, fears of personal safety, rather than simply discomfort...

Will I this time be raped?

She couldn’t get the Lima episode out of her mind. There were simply so many of the same fears now re-emerging.

But at least, this time, I have Brogan with me, am saved the helplessness of being alone.

She forced her mind to concentrate on being relieved that she wasn’t alone in her dilemmas and that because she had been there before, there was less shock