Frank shrugged. "Okay, so you read Forbes. I guess it could be worse; you could get your information from People, or worse yet, the Inquirer." He lifted his cell phone, dialed, and then hesitated. "Tonio? Pick us up in front of Jollibee." He put the phone away, and turned back to David. "All right, Colonel, your name has bought you some of my time. Come along."
Without waiting to see if David followed, Frank got up and headed for the door, just as a small SUV pulled to a stop in the middle of the street. David picked up his laptop case and followed. Frank opened the back door, and they got in. The door closed with a heavy thunk. David raised an eyebrow. "Bulletproof?"
Frank shrugged and nodded. "There are still NPA in the area, as well as the usual assortment of creeps and thugs. I'm a good target for a kidnap. So I have to take precautions. It's one reason I wanted to get out of Jollibee so quickly."
David looked puzzled. "I thought the Philippine government had that stuff under control here."
"For the most part, they do. But I'm a very tempting target for a criminal gang that can claim to be a 'peoples' army' long enough to collect a fat ransom." He leaned forward. "Take us to the compound, Tonio."
He turned back to David as the SUV pulled away. "I'm pretty well covered, here. My wife's family is from this area. Besides, not many people know what I look like. Still, I'm a Kano, so I stick out. That means I have to take precautions, and not just from NPA. The damned reporters and photographers are even worse. I can buy off the NPA for a few hundred pesos and a bag of rice. But some of the reporters think they're on a holy mission, or something."
David's mind was only half on what Frank was saying. The rest of his mind was devoted to watching Tonio force the SUV through the traffic of Subic City. It was amazing. There did not appear to be any traffic laws at all. People moved from lane to lane, and if there was no lane, they created one by squeezing between two vehicles careless enough to leave an inch of clearance. The congestion was worse than rush hour in Houston, and they would creep along for a few minutes, bumper to bumper. Then, suddenly, for no apparent reason, the traffic would suddenly clear, and they would roar down the street for a block or two, until they encountered another jam.
Finally, though, the traffic began to thin somewhat as they left the city. The road became a narrow two-lane, with stalls and houses running right up to the pavement and people and animals walking on it. Most of the traffic now was motorcycles, tricycles and jeepneys, and even here, the tricycles and jeepneys would simply stop in the traffic lane to pick up or drop off passengers.
Finally, not far past a weathered sign proclaiming "Mabuhay ang Barangay Santa Rosa," they slowed and pulled into a driveway leading to the only opening in a grim, gray concrete wall. The wall looked to be some ten feet high, and its top was festooned with razor wire. The gate was stainless steel, and solid. Tonio pressed a button on the dash, and the gate swung open, swinging closed as soon as the SUV passed inside.
David looked around, surprised at the difference. From the outside, this place was a grim, walled enclosure that could have been a fortress or a prison. But inside, it was almost a different world. The SUV pulled across a concrete pad in front of a three-car garage, and stopped at the door of a home that would have looked almost at home in Mexico, or any other place where the Spanish influence had been strong. The style was "Spanish Colonial," but instead of adobe, the house was built of concrete, painted a blinding white. Graceful arches framed a portico running along the front of the house, and formed the floor of an equally spacious porch for the second floor. A red tile roof and large windows with detailed wrought-iron grilles continued the Spanish colonial theme.
As he turned from the car, he caught sight of the inside of that forbidding gray prison wall. The difference was night and day. On this side, the wall was painted a cheerful yellow, and adorned with multicolored circles, triangles, squares, and stars. On either side of the gate were common sliding doors, appearing to open on surprisingly lifelike beach scenes. From this distance, it seemed you could simply slide open the door and step onto the painted walk leading to the beach, instead of bumping your nose on a concrete wall.
At the corner, the wall appeared to crumble away, becoming a line of the bamboo and palm frond shacks called Bahay Kubo in Tagalog, or "nipa hut" in English. David couldn't be certain from this distance, but it appeared that the front of the palm-frond "nipa" roofs actually protruded from the wall, adding additional realism.
In front of the line of "nipa huts" was a lovely garden with a variety of trees and flowers ranging from palm trees to dozens of orchids. In all, there was no sign of the fortress or prison the outside promised. David was impressed by the beautiful work of an expert artist and landscaper.
Frank led him into the cool, comparative dimness of the house. The large, screened windows were open, and a soft breeze made air conditioning unnecessary. Frank led him through a large open living room featuring comfortable overstuffed furniture, and through a door opposite the entrance.
Obviously, this was Frank's office. Everything was spotless, but somehow it seemed vacant, as though it had been unused for some time. Frank waved him toward a comfortable chair, and took another for himself, ignoring the desk. "I hardly ever come here anymore," Frank confided. "Since Yoli died, well, I'm not comfortable here. It's mostly my decoy, now."
David's eyebrows rose. "Decoy?"
"Yeah," Frank replied. "Marco and Inday live here now. They're the caretakers. And Tonio, of course. Once a week or so, Tonio drives me out here, and we have a cup of coffee. Then we leave, with me lying down in the back seat so I can't be seen. The reporters and photographers will all swear Tonio drops me off and I live here. Actually, though, I have a much smaller place a few kilometers up the road, in the hills. Kind of a 'bachelor pad'.
"But enough about my living arrangements," he continued. "I assume you have some kind of wild-haired idea that will use my money to make us both millionaires."
David grinned. "But you're already a multibillionaire."
"Exactly," Frank replied.
That brought a laugh from David. "Well," he said, "I'm not going to guarantee to make you another billion, and I won't guarantee you won't lose a billion, either. I don't know a damned thing about high finance or business. I just want to get back into space. You know about these plans to bring icebergs down to LA for fresh water, of course," he paused.
Frank nodded. "It's a good idea," he replied, "but the water problem isn't bad enough yet. In a few years, though . . . I've already got some preliminaries under way. If that's your great idea . . ."
David shook his head violently. "No, No. the concept is similar, that's all. Look, sir," he continued. "In a few months I'll have twenty years in the Air Force, and I'll be eligible for retirement. I'm divorced, and money is not a big motivator for me. I'm at a turning point in my life. What I want to do is get back into space. Hell, I want to get man back into space. I think it's barely possible that you and I together can do it."
"Don't most military officers go for thirty years?"
David nodded. "Yeah. A thirty-year retirement pays almost double a twenty. But I'm not sure I could stand spending the next ten years watching a few men go into space, knowing I can never go again. And frankly, what I'm seeing is mankind retreating from space. Are you familiar with the 'window' theory of species development?"