In the Presence of My Enemies (2 page)

Conclusion: Released June 2, 2001, in order to arrange ransom for her husband

Name: Janice

Captivity: 7 days

Description: Coworker of Chito; 20s; full of life

Conclusion: Released June 2, 2001, in order to arrange ransom for Chito

Name: Rizza

Captivity: 7 days

Description: Girlfriend of Reggie

Conclusion: Released June 2, 2001, after ransom was paid

Name: Divine

Captivity: 7 days

Description: Wife of Buddy, mother of R. J.

Conclusion: Abandoned June 2, 2001, after being wounded

Name: Angie

Captivity: 5½ months

Description: Sister of Divine; early 30s; single; worked in the family business (travel magazine)

Conclusion: Ransomed in late August but not released until November 15, 2001

Name: Letty

Captivity: 7 days

Description: Chinese-Filipino businesswoman

Conclusion: Released June 2, 2001, in order to arrange ransoms for her daughter and niece

Name: Kim

Captivity: 20 days

Description: Daughter of Letty; early teens

Conclusion: Released June 15, 2001, after ransom was paid

Name: Lalaine

Captivity: 38 days

Description: Niece of Letty; early teens

Conclusion: Released July 3, 2001, after ransom was paid

Name: Fe

Captivity: 5½ months

Description: Fisherman’s daughter from Palawan; age 20; fiancée of Guillermo

Conclusion: Ransomed in late August but not released until November 15, 2001

Captured at Lamitan hospital on June 2, 2001

Name: Sheila

Captivity: 5½ months

Description: Nurse; married, mother of one son

Conclusion: Released November 15, 2001

Name: Reina

Captivity: 4 months

Description: Nurse; early 20s; single

Conclusion: Released in September due to pregnancy

Name: Ediborah Yap

Captivity: 1 year, 5 days

Description: Head nurse; mother of four

Conclusion: Killed by gunshot June 7, 2002

Name: Joel

Captivity: 4½ months

Description: Hospital orderly; early 20s; single

Conclusion: Escaped during firefight October 14, 2001

Surnames of surviving Filipino hostages are withheld out of respect for their privacy.

All dates in this chart, and throughout the book, are local time. Central time zone in the United States (e.g., Kansas, Arkansas) is 13 hours behind Philippine time in the summer, 14 hours behind in the winter. (The Philippines, being close to the equator, has no need for a daylight saving time arrangement.)

Foreign Terms

Abu Sayyaf:
“father of the swordsman”

Al-Harakatul Islamia:
the Islamic movement

alimatok:
leeches

“Allah akbar!”:
“Allah is the greatest!”

apam:
Muslim version of a pancake

banana-cue:
ripe banana pieces rolled in brown sugar and fried

banca:
a small boat

bianbons:
roasted banana mush

bolo:
knife; Filipino equivalent of a machete

CAFGU:
civilian deputized to help the Philippine troops

carabao:
water buffalo

Cebuano:
Filipino language

CR:
“comfort room” (Filipino abbreviation for bathroom)

hajj:
pilgrimage to Mecca prescribed as a religious duty to Muslims

halo-halo:
crushed ice with sweetened condensed milk and mixed-in fruit

Ilocano:
Filipino language

kalaw:
duckbills—beautiful, big birds with bright red bills

langaw:
from Tagalog for housefly—obligation to share something with others if they want it and ask for it

malong:
wraparound skirt made of batik material

mujaheed (pl., mujahideen):
fighter in Islamic holy war

pantos:
pants (like pajama bottoms)

Sabaya:
“booty of war”

sabaya
ed: when a captive is “wedded” to a captor

“Salam!”:
“Peace!”

“Salam alaikom!”:
“Peace to you!”; standard greeting among Abu Sayyaf

sindol:
hot coconut milk that can be mixed with fruit

sundalo:
soldiers

Tagalog:
Filipino language

terong:
head covering, head shawl

tolda:
multistriped plastic awning thrown over a rope between two trees for shade

tsinelas:
flip-flops

viand:
anything that goes on top of rice, such as a sauce

Maps of the Philippines

Introduction

This is my story, but it’s not my whole story. The whole story would take too long to write and would be too cumbersome to read. My coauthor, Dean Merrill, and I wrote and revised the manuscript and made cuts and more cuts. Unfortunately some of those cuts involved people who are near and dear to my heart, who worked incredibly hard to support me during and after my ordeal in the jungle. To these people I say, you were not left out because you aren’t important. I hope you know what a special place you hold in my heart.

My goal in writing this has been to tell Martin’s story. I hope we’ve done it well.

1

Seized at Dawn

(May 27–28, 2001)

Bang, bang, bang!

Martin and I woke with a start. It was still dark outside and we couldn’t see a thing. We could only hear the pounding on the wooden door of the beach cabin where we were celebrating our eighteenth wedding anniversary.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!

Ugh—they want us to move to the next cabin,
I thought. During dinner the night before, a member of the resort staff had said something vague about wanting us to change rooms but then had dropped the subject. I yelled to the person pounding on the door, “It’s too early to move!”

Bang, bang, bang!

Martin yelled this time: “What?”

“It’s a guard,” came the reply.

I’ll bet he’s drunk,
I thought, thinking that maybe the guard had been drinking during his overnight shift and was now out raising a ruckus. Once again, the banging resumed.

“Martin, I think the guard is drunk.”

“No, I think something’s wrong,” he replied. He got up and started to head for the door.

“Honey, wait—you need to put some pants on first!”

Martin grabbed some knee-length khaki shorts, the kind with baggy cargo pockets, from beside the bed. Meanwhile, I sat up and began to gather my clothes as well—a pair of shorts and a gray T-shirt I had worn the night before.

Just as Martin reached the door, it burst open. Three guys holding M16s charged into the room. All were short, and one was very young—probably in his teens. Another was perhaps twenty-three or twenty-four, with long black hair. I could tell the third man was somewhat older. All wore long-sleeved black shirts; two had camouflage pants. But there were no uniforms, no masks or sunglasses; we could see their faces.

Immediately, they swept Martin out the door, while the older man began yelling at me, “Go, go, go!”

“No, no, no!” I replied, clutching the sheet up around me. “I’m not dressed.” I didn’t know how much English he knew, but I was not about to obey him in my present state regardless. Shaking, I began pulling on my shorts.

“Okay, okay,” he answered. I continued dressing.

One man had taken Martin outside, while the third one began to rifle through our belongings. He found our camera and our cell phone.

“Move, move, move!” came the order again. As I was hurried out the door, I grabbed our thong
tsinelas,
the common flip-flops that everyone wears in the Philippines. There wasn’t time for me to grab my purse or anything else.

The young guy who followed me out wanted me to walk faster, even run. I knew from previous training that in the first few moments of a kidnapping, you’re supposed to comply with orders in every way you can, until everybody’s adrenaline calms down. But I was just so mad at this kid—I was
not
going to run!

“Faster, faster!” he said, jabbing me in the back with the barrel of his weapon.

With a calm voice I replied through clenched teeth, “I’m walking fast enough.” I kept my pace. He jabbed me again, and it did hurt, but I was determined to exercise my will.

Once I got to the dock, a speedboat maybe thirty-five feet long with three massive outboard engines—the kind of boat used for drug running—was waiting. Four or five frightened hostages were already sitting on the floor of the boat. Martin, still shirtless, let out a sigh of relief to see me, having been forced to leave me in the room not fully clothed. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you,” he said. “Did anybody hurt you?”

“No, no—I just had to get dressed.”

Naturally, he was without his contact lenses, which made his vision a blur. Fortunately for me, he had encouraged me a couple of years earlier to have laser surgery on my eyes in Manila. So I was in good shape to see distances, even if he was not.

As I sat next to Martin in the boat, we watched as others began to arrive from the various cabins. Dawn was just starting to paint the eastern sky.

Some of the people started showing up with suitcases! One rather chic-looking couple came not only with suitcases but also with a big cooler of water.
My goodness,
I thought to myself,
I really didn’t have to run out of the room so fast. I could have dragged my feet a little more and gotten some stuff together.

I stood up and announced, “I’m going to go get Martin a shirt!”

“Sit down,” barked one of the captors. “We’ll get him a shirt.”

I promptly obeyed. But I took notice of the fact that his English was quite good.
At least we can communicate with this one,
I thought. We later learned his name was Solaiman.

“I have our
tsinelas
here,” I said to Martin, holding them up. I was really proud of myself.

“Yeah,” he said. We didn’t put them on our feet, however; we just held them. Martin was quiet as he looked around the boat, first at the men with guns and then at the other hostages. I could tell that he was trying to size up the situation, trying to figure it all out. This wasn’t easy, however, since nearly everyone else on the boat was speaking languages we didn’t understand. Occasionally, someone would throw an English word into the conversation and we’d be able to piece together some meaning. For the most part, however, we simply had to watch faces and listen to a person’s tone of voice to figure out what he was saying.

I glanced down and the shine of my wedding ring caught my eye.
These guys are
not
going to get my ring!
I vowed. I pulled it off, along with a turquoise ring I was wearing on the other hand, and slipped them into my shorts pocket when no one was looking.

“Don’t you think you should give me your wedding ring?” I asked Martin.

“Oh, no, we’ll be fine,” he answered, ever the optimist.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’ll be okay.”

* * *

This whole romantic getaway at Dos Palmas Resort had been my idea, a fact that weighed heavily on my mind as I sat there shivering in the boat. It came about after Martin was offered a promotion with New Tribes Mission, the group with whom we had served in mission aviation for more than fifteen years. The agency wanted him to become chief pilot for the entire organization, which would mean moving back to Arizona and overseeing all flight programs worldwide.