A Modern Nemo 9

The video conference was underway. Eric was seated before a large computer screen. On the screen different windows were opened and he could see Christopher Lau, Makoto Ishida and Kojiro Miyata. At Eric's left was Leon; at his right, Maximilian. Behind him were Linus and Cyrus.

"Increase the security complement on my ships?" asked Chris. "I don't think we need to do that, Eric. I may not like Konstantiniadis but I don't see any reason why my ships should beef up their security teams. They're well-prepared for possible pirate attacks and the waters of Southeast Asia and China, Korea, Taiwan and Japan are under control, thanks to Operation Marmara."

Operation Marmara was an ongoing joint effort to protect the South China Sea as well as the western Pacific from piracy. Its main participants were the navies of the EOGC, Australia, New Zealand, China, South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Vietnam, Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore and Thailand. It was named Marmara after the sea on the southern side of the Bosphorus, the narrow strait connecting the Aegean to the Black Sea. 

"It's not pirates I'm worried about, Chris," said Eric, "It's Konstantiniadis."

"He's not a pirate, Eric."

"No, not a pirate," repeated Eric. "But something else."

"Something else?"

Beginning with Leon, everyone looked at Eric more intently.

Eric put his hands together, brooding.

"I am also feeling uneasy about this man," Makoto noted. He was the president of Tensai Technologies, a member company of the EOGC. "He's buying too many ships. It doesn't make sense that a shipping tycoon would buy too many ships."

"Ordinarily, more ships in a fleet would give his competitors a run for their money," stated Maximilian. "But contracts for the building of large ships in the tens from Japan, China and South Korea is alarming."

"We're talking about ships the size of tankers and freighters," added Cyrus. "In China alone, Konstantiniadis has signed a contract to build forty of them."

"Who of you has read Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea?" Eric asked.

"I have," replied Kojiro. He was Tensai's vice-president.

"Captain Nemo."

Kojiro started. "No," he gasped, "it can't be!"

"Only it gets more interesting as you read Konstantiniadis' book," Eric continued.

"Chris," Kojiro concluded. "We are looking at something dangerous about to unfold."

"I'll start making preparations," said Leon.

"Do we inform the other Marmara participants?" asked Linus.

"Not yet," replied Eric. "They won't believe it until they see something major."

"I've never read that book," remarked Chris.

"I'll send you a copy," said Eric. "Meeting adjourned."

A Modern Nemo 8

Shoji Kawamura headed for downtown Tokyo, to the five-star hotel where Konstantiniadis was booked. He carried his backpack. In it were Konstantiniadis' book, some clothes and a few belongings. He did not tell his family where he was going.

"Excuse me," he asked the concierge, "what's the room number or Mr. Anthony Konstantiniadis? It's urgent."

"I'm sorry, sir," the concierge replied, "we can't just give the room numbers of our guests to strangers. It's company policy."

"Please, I need to speak to him!" Shoji insisted.

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't do that."

Shoji wouldn't take it. He ran down the hallway but was grabbed by two bellboys.

"Let go of me!" Shoji  cried as he struggled with the bellboys.

"Take him out, now!" said the concierge, coming up behind him.

Presently, Konstantiniadis came out of the elevator with several of his associates. He walked past Shoji, toward the coffee shop on the other side of the lobby.

"Mr. Konstantiniadis!" cried Shoji, "wait! I have to speak with you!"

Konstantiniadis stopped and turned. "Let him go," he said, motioning at Shoji.

The bellboys released Shoji. The young man ran to Konstantiniadis and bowed.

"You wanted to see me?" the businessman asked.

"Yes sir," Shoji panted. "Your book, I understand it."

The look on Konstantiniadis' face brightened. He put an arm around Shoji's shoulders. "Come with me," he said. "We'll discuss this over a cup of coffee."

Shoji nodded. "Thank you, sir," he said as accompanied the American and his associates to the coffee shop.

Maximilian entered his father's study and found seated near the window, reading Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. At the table in front of him was Konstantiniadis' book.

Maximilian picked up the book and flipped through its pages.

"You have to read Jules Verne before you go into that," remarked Eric.

"Captain Nemo?" asked Maximilian. "Yes, I've read it."

"We have to be wary of this Konstantiniadis character," continued his father. "He's about to unleash a catastrophe on maritime commerce."

"That would cause worldwide panic."

"Exactly," said Eric as he put his book down. "It looks like Chris will need some more protection for his ships. Tell your Uncle Leon to reinforce Chris' maritime security complement."

A Modern Nemo 7

Shoji Kawamura dropped to his bed and continued reading. The book was far too arresting in its message for him to just set aside. He was already halfway through the book. The first ten chapters, which he had read the night before, talked about Konstantiniadis' questions about life and the details of his realization. Now Shoji was entering the second part of the book.

In the first half, Konstantiniadis talked of the daily struggle necessary to simply fit in to life's daily routines; that keeping to one's daily rituals was the true source of everyone's daily struggle. The cause of suffering, according to Konstantiniadis therefore, was the constant struggle to "fit in" with the rest of society.

It's amazing, Shoji thought as he went through the pages. Eric Ong never wrote a book and he never even spoke about freedom. Maybe it's because he also is a victim of life's daily grind. He attained so much success but never looked up, only around.

Now I will share with you a dream, a vision. the book went on. What if you decided to really use your freedom? Let me show you a way. What if you used that freedom of yours to create something new? Would that not give more meaning to your life? That was what drove pioneering men and women to form the United States of America. It was the same thing that powered the voyages of discovery. I will share with you a new frontier to conquer: the sea itself!

I'm not talking about sailing across the sea. I'm talking about making a new country founded upon the sea!

A new country founded upon the sea?

Eric Ong was in his study back in the manor. He put down the book The Dream of the Oceans and leaned back on his chair. Gazing out at the night sky through the window, her murmured, "We're in for trouble."

A Modern Nemo 6

Eric Ong was eating lunch at one of the many upper-level restaurants in Great South Tower. His eyes were on the TV as it was showing the news. Apparently that Konstantiniadis character was entering into contracts with several Japanese, Korean and Chinese shipbuilding companies for the purchase of new ships. The expansion of Green Oceans' fleet was causing concern among the other shipping companies, Lau Ka Lok Shipping under Eric's friend Chris Lau in Singapore was no exception.

Lau Ka Lok Shipping, a member-company of the EOGC was the largest shipping company in South East Asia. It was headed by Christopher Lau and based in Malaysia and Singapore.

On the table was tea, rice, roast chicken and vegetables. As Eric ate and watched the news, Maximilian arrived and sat in front of him, placing a newspaper on the table. The younger Ong looked at the TV, hissed slightly and turned to his father.

"That Konstantiniadis is starting to become a pain in the neck," Maximilian muttered, "have you heard what Uncle Chris has been saying?"

"I know," replied Eric as a waitress approached and handed Maximilian the menu.

Maximilian ordered coffee, roast beef and mashed potatoes. "You know," he continued, "sooner or later we have to do something about him."

"We can't take any rash actions yet," said Eric. "Besides, taking out a competitor with force is bad for business."

"So we wait, then?"

Eric nodded. "Wait and watch his every move," he said.

Meanwhile in Japan, Shoji returned home, locked himself in his room and returned to reading Konstantiniadis' book. It was far too impossible to simply put down.

A Modern Nemo 5

Shoji opened the book to the first page.

Are you tired of this life? was the first sentence of the first chapter of the book. Intrigued, Shoji read further. Why would a businessman, one of the richest in the world, say this? This life?

Maybe you ought to take a look outside the four walls of your room; there's a bigger world out there.

Hey, Shoji thought, he's right! There's more than just school and work.

What if I told you that you can be a part of something greater than yourself, a glory that you can share in? And no, I'm not talking about some cult where you have to surrender your freedom and possessions to some guru in India. No, I'm talking about something else.

Shoji went on to read about how Konstantiniadis' dream came about; that when he was just sixteen and in the midst of his rebellious phase, an idea came to him: people were so engrossed in keeping up with the world's standard of living that they failed to look around and see that there was more to life than just mere existence.

On one of his trips at sea aboard one of his father's container ships in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, Konstantiniadis had an epiphany. He saw nothing but water for miles around and if something were to happen to the ship, he would perish. Then it dawned upon him that to live, not just merely exist, he would have to be an active participant in this unscripted opera called life. The day-to-day things like working, sending kids to school, getting married and paying the rent were nothing more than routines in life's game. One would never be noticed. To be noticed meant to navigate through the great ocean called life, and this was what true freedom meant.

Freedom meant getting out of life's normal routines and taking charge.

"Shoji!" called his mother from downstairs, "it's time for dinner!"

"Just a minute," he replied and continued reading.

True freedom means to conquer, the book continued. True freedom means to explore. True freedom means to be your own self.

As Shoji continued reading, he discovered that Konstantiniadis came to love the sea and was angered by the pollution, over-fishing and dumping of waste worldwide. For freedom to be exercised, Konstantiniadis was saying, it had to be given meaning and he found it in the protection of the environment. Such a profound insight was mind-blowing for Shoji.

Of course, he thought. I just can't work, play and eat. That's all just meaningless!

"Shoji," said another voice. It was his father, who had just come back from work. He was a manager in a supermarket. "What are you doing in there? It's time for dinner."

"Onii-chan," it was his younger sister. "It's time to eat. Your food will get cold."

Shoji irritably put the book aside, stood up and opened the door. Before him stood his father and sister.

"Let's go," said Mr. Kawamura as he turned, "don't keep your mother waiting."

Shoji's sister, Haruko, took him by the hand. She was twelve years old and had a rather playful personality. "Let's go, onii-chan," she said and led him to the dining room.

As the family ate dinner Shoji seemed oblivious to everybody. He barely spoke and ate little. The ideas from Konstantiniadis' book were swirling around in his head. Everyone else's attention was on Haruko, who was talking about what happened in school.

Upon finishing, Shoji put his chopsticks and bowl down. "Thanks for the meal," he mumbled as he rose and proceeded to return to his room.

"You haven't eaten much, Shoji," remarked Mrs. Kawamura. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," he replied. "I've got a class project to work on."

"Do your best, onii-chan!" said Haruko with a raised fist.

"Do your best, son," said Mr. Kawamura. "We're looking forward to see you working in the EOGC Territories."

Shoji smiled wryly, waved a hand and went upstairs. The power of the book's message was impossible for him to ignore and he spent the whole night reading it. By morning he looked haggard, having had only thirty minutes of sleep. His mother noticed but before she could ask him what happened he had already walked out of the house and hopped on his bicycle.

As he was pedaling, keeping the bike balanced was quite a challenge as he was still drowsy and he nearly crashed into other people several times.

A Modern Nemo 4

The first time Shoji saw Konstantiniadis was several months ago. The American businessman was giving a talk at the university auditorium about the importance of shipbuilding and shipping companies to cease dependence on conventional fossil fuels in favor of environmentally friendly ones like biodiesel. He had already taken the liberty by entering into contracts with South American farmers to grow jathropa for processing into biodiesel to fuel his ships. He even made mention that in the Philippines, Eric Ong was already mass-producing biofuels from jathropa, palm, corn and coconut oil as well as sugarcane for public consumption and that that country -not just the EOGC Territories- was already almost completely independent from crude oil.

That momentarily rekindled Shoji's admiration for Eric Ong until he heard the end of Konstantiniadis' speech.

"But I have a greater dream," said the American, "A dream that even Eric Ong will never be able to achieve."

Something that surpasses Eric Ong's achievements?

"Eric Ong's dream began as a struggle against oppression," continued Konstantiniadis. "He ended up creating his own quasi-nation. I admire the man because he built the EOGC Territories when I was only dreaming of my visions. But he limited himself to his insular ambitions and didn't look further. I offer something bigger: freedom! I offer the freedom to chart your own destiny. I offer you the freedom that only those with the determination, resourcefulness and the pioneering spirit possess! That sort of freedom is the freedom to lay the foundations of something greater than a mere business empire! That something greater will make you prosper truly and live your life to the most full!"

The crowd applauded him. Afterwards at the pictorials, Shoji was able to shake Konstantiniadis' hand. 

The American businessman's appearance was imposing. He was a large man with a strong build, standing six foot-two, Mediterranean tanned, long black hair and a goatee. There was a bright sparkle in his eyes and he exuded an aura of confidence and power.

Konstantiniadis shook several hands, signed a few autographs and posed for a couple of shots before Shoji could approach him. Upon reaching the American, Shoji clasped his hand with both of his own hands excitedly.

"Mr. Konstantiniadis," he exclaimed, "I really like your speech. You inspire me!"

"Thank you," Konstantiniadis replied, "I'm glad I've got another person motivated."

Shoji took out his cell phone and asked another student to snap a photo of him and Konstantiniadis. Shaking hands with the American again, he left as the rest of the crowd pushed forward to have their own photo ops.

That was the first time Shoji met Konstantiniadis. He never forgot that moment. When the American businessman returned, it was learned that he would be in Japan for a month. Part of his schedule would include selling his book and participating in discussions over the purchase of new ships.

At a very prominent bookstore a book signing was being held for the businessman's work, which was titled The Dream of the Oceans and Konstantiniadis was sitting at a desk, signing copies of his book for customers.

Shoji snatched a copy from the shelf and went in line, a rather long one, to get an autograph. When his turn arrived, it seemed that the businessman recognized him and was glad to sign his copy quickly. Shoji wanted to say a few words of thanks but the crowd was pushing so he had to leave. of course, Konstantiniadis did give him a wave as he left.

After the book signing, it was back to school then home afterwards. He couldn't contain his excitement any longer when he rode back home on his bike. After taking off his jacket and dumping himself into bed, he took the book out of the shopping bag and began to read. 

A Modern Nemo 3

Anthony Konstantiniadis was a third-generation Greek American who inherited a vast shipping fleet from his father. His grandfather had been a ship captain who started a small shipping company which plied the routes along the east coast of the United States and Canada. 

Beginning with only two vessels, the fleet steadily grew under the leadership of Konstantiniadis' father and expanded its operations. By the time Konstantiniadis finally assumed control, the fleet had tankers, container ships, ferries and luxury liners and had a global reach.

What awakened Shoji's interest in Konstantiniadis was that the man was a sort of rebel. Like Eric Ong, Konstantiniadis was not the type who could be cowed into submission. What markedly differentiated him from Eric Ong was that the latter was an unwilling participant in a showdown with the Philippine government and only conceived the idea of achieving autonomy while fighting his battles while Konstantiniadis held an idea from the very beginning. 

Even their ideas were different. The idea behind the EOGC was an old one; several institutions in history were its inspiration, the most important being the British East India Company and the Hanseatic League.

Konstantiniadis, on the other hand, had an idea that went beyond Eric Ong's ambitions. Konstantiniadis was born wealthy unlike Eric Ong, who came from a middle-class family. He had the luxury of developing his ideas in school. Meanwhile, Eric Ong was hard at work building his empire; he had some ideas but did not think of anything greater than turning his hometown of Cagayan de Oro into the Busan of the Philippines.

Shoji had a vague idea of what Konstantiniadis wanted: freedom to travel the world, unhampered by international treaties and conventions, as well as protection of the environment. 

Konstantiniadis' company, Green Oceans,  had set up shop in Japan. It shipped cars and electronics from Japan to other parts of the world, particularly to the United States, Canada, Mexico, South America, Australia and New Zealand.

The next few weeks would be decisive for Shoji. Anthony Konstantiniadis was coming to Japan.

A Modern Nemo 2

Four years ago. Tokyo, Japan.

A young architecture student was driving his bicycle back to his home from school at sunset. After parking his bicycle outside the door of the house he went inside, dropped his shoes instead of arranging them and climbed upstairs to his room. He said not a word to his mother fixing supper in the kitchen, which was behind the stairs.

She was startled by the noise he made. "Shoji," she asked, "is that you?"

The sound of a door slamming shut was her answer.

"Oh that boy," she remarked as she returned to her cooking. She was worried that he had become increasingly withdrawn ever since he entered college. But there was something else she did not know of.

Shoji Kawamura took off his jacket and threw himself on the bed. He chose architecture in his childhood because he wanted to work in the EOGC Territories; this, his parents knew.

As a child, Shoji admired Eric Ong. The Chinese-Filipino businessman turned the world upside down by seizing control of the central Philippines and much of its big southern island and turned his conquests into a success-story. While the rest of the Philippines remained the same unchanging backwardness, the territories under EOGC control experienced a gigantic leap forward in development. Gone were the rebels, politicians and crooked government workers. The economy was on an upswing and even the attitude of the people in the EOGC Territories changed drastically. An EOGC Filipino hated politics and fatalism and loved work (but also appreciated vacations and days off.) An EOGC Filipino also respected money and was consequently not a big spender (and was either into saving money or looking for ways to invest it,) in contrast to a non-EOGC Filipino.

In addition to the political stability -albeit due to apathy and occasional contempt toward the Manila government- and prosperity which the EOGC had brought to the territories under its control, the same organization also brought about international recognition. The EOGC Territories enjoyed an autonomy comparable to that of Hong Kong and Macau. A dual system was in force; the EOGC Territories had their own money, foreign service (including embassies,) government institutions, flag, laws, anthem, passport, stock exchange and even -unlike Hong Kong and Macau- its own armed forces. Manila did maintain a token presence in the EOGC Territories; there were policemen, civil servants and elected mayors and congressmen. But much of their power was nominal and they couldn't attempt to cross paths with the EOGC. Those who foolishly attempted to do so suffered retaliation from the populace and not from the EOGC. Many a congressman, mayor, governor and kagawad who took measures against the EOGC would find the city hall or provincial capitol stormed by angry mobs that would occupy the buildings and throw them out... and even follow them to their homes. Nobody wanted the Manila government to mess with the EOGC, for the latter had brought economic benefits and opportunities that the former promised but did not deliver. And for members of certain government agencies, like the Bureau of Internal Revenue, to be assigned to the EOGC Territories was a virtual death sentence. The Manila government could not dictate its terms to the EOGC and any attempt to enforce certain laws considered by the inhabitants of the EOGC Territories as unacceptable was an invitation to face the EOGC's wrath.

Unlike non-EOGC Filipinos, EOGC Filipinos were more independent and tolerated government activity only in terms of law enforcement, civil law (very specific,) public health and education. When it came to matters like politics and taxation, EOGC Filipinos hated the taxmen and looked down on elected officials. Any attempt to collect more than the unilaterally-declared income tax of five percent, which the government didn't agree to but was unable to refuse because of Eric Ong's style of dealing with the government -a predatory peace at gunpoint, would raise the government employee's greatest fear: the lynch mob. Already, lynching of government officials had become so commonplace that it almost became an EOGC pastime. Nobody wanted to go to the courts to complain of abuses made by government people because the judges were themselves employees of the government. Despite the lynching, the EOGC Territories were surprisingly stable. The message was clear to the international community: we don't just want honest officials, we also want good laws. And the international community didn't mind; it was easier to do business with Eric Ong than with the Manila government.

It came as no surprise, therefore, that EOGC Filipinos neither registered for, nor reported, value-added tax. As far as the EOGC was concerned the only taxes to be paid were income tax, estate tax, real property tax, final taxes on dividend income, community tax and import tariffs. Income, estate and dividend taxes were unilaterally placed at five percent while real property tax was put at one percent. Only import tariffs and community taxes remained unchanged. Needless to say, EOGC Filipinos were able to retain more of their hard-earned money than non-EOGC Filipinos. 

Working in the EOGC Territories was not as stressful as in Japan, but it was also highly rewarding because talent and skill were highly prized. Shoji wanted to work in the EOGC Territories; this was something his parents knew and they were proud of him for it. Ever since the Takeover, the EOGC Territories attracted investors, companies and jobseekers the world over. But the years in university, with all the stress, deadlines and examinations, dampened Shoji's spirits. He ended up living from one exam to the next and one project to the next; things started to look dull. The thought of working in the EOGC Territories was still there but it was slowly pushed aside by the dreary, routine, life at school.

But this was what Shoji's parent's didn't know: someone else had gotten their son's attention only a few months ago. It was another businessman from the other side of the world, a Greek American named Anthony Konstantiniadis.

A Modern Nemo 1

Shoji Kawamura clung to the floating wreckage as he watched his ship, the 350,000-deadweight ton former ULCC supertanker Green Voyager go slowly beneath the waves amid fire and smoke. Many of the other ships in the convoy, too, were burning. All this happened because he and everyone else had been held in thrall by a madman.

Looking east, he could see the American warships. Some were still firing on the convoy, the ones that had not entered the Philippine Exclusive Economic Zone. Turning west, he could see the EOGC warships, the destroyers and two battlecruisers, also firing upon the convoy -those that had entered the EEZ.

Only four years ago, this vast fleet of ships had been built up, drawing people from many nations to it with the hopes of living a brighter future, free from the conventions and traditions that shackled them. This fleet of ships was supposed to pave the way to a new concept of nationhood: a nation not limited by borders and natural resources, one free to move about the world, physically avoiding those countries that didn't like it and being free to travel anywhere in the world. It would be a nation that would have freedom of movement throughout the world, but at the same time, those who lived in it would have to have the spirit of pioneers: adventurous and hardworking It would also be safeguarding the world's ecosystems and pioneering in the use of green energy.

A strange new concept indeed and yet in only a few years the dream descended into madness. Their leader, a shipping tycoon who inherited the nucleus of the fleet from his forbears, had made war upon the world. How did it all begin?

Shourinka/Bad Apple English Subbed

Anslemo: Hi everybody! As promised, here it is Shourinka with english subs. Although the beat's modern, the words are kinda scary. Only someone with the willpower of Eric Ong could sing this.

【Hetalia MMD】 傷林果 - Shourinka / BadApple!! 【Japan】

Anselmo: Hi everybody! Here's another one of Eric's favorite songs. It's kinda deep. Don't worry; an english version will follow.

More of You Know You're From The EOGC Territories If...

Hey guys! Anselmo here! I got more stuff to tell you about what makes an EOGC Filipino and EOGC Filipino. So here's the sequel to  "You Know You're From The EOGC Territories If..."

1.) You ask non-EOGC Filipinos to translate "Aray ko po" into English

2.) Your take on translating "Aray ko po" is "Ouch with all due respect"

3.) You take your office work home

4.) Non-EOGC Filipinos think you're weird

5.) Non-EOGC Filipinos want to work in the EOGC Territories even if they think you're weird

5.) Non-EOGC Filipinos who become EOGC Filipinos think you're just a regular guy next door

6.) You think a holder of a fake EOGC passport should be shot

7.) You like to take the train to work

8.) You hate being called a "probinsyano" by people from Manila

9.) You think politicians should quit office, get out and get a life

10.) "Politician" is another way for you to say "Parasite"

11.) You always check the gasoline station to see if they sell bio diesel or other eco-friendly fuels

12.) You have a set of solar panels in your house's basement (and you set them up whenever the electricity goes out)

13.) "Time" is one of the most important words in your vocabulary

14.) You go to bed in your work clothes

15.) You keep at least one weapon (not necessarily a gun) in your house

16.) A car is just a means of travel (unless it's an antique, then in becomes a priceless treasure)

17.) You give cookies, crackers or junk food to professional beggars instead of money

18.) Professional beggars avoid you because you don't give them money

19.) You give at least one EOGC peso to a real beggar (but since there are so few of them, most of the beggars you encounter are professional beggars)

20.) You think professional beggars should be deported (and shot if they ever come back)

21.) You can tell the difference between a real and a professional beggar

22.) You treat antiques either as investments or personal/family treasures

23.) You have your own wine collection

24.) You have your own tea collection

25.) You like to try different foods
26.) Being workaholic is a virtue
27.) Someone asks you if you're a Filipino and you answer, "What kind?"
28.) You insist on speaking in Visayan even outside the EOGC territories but you know what people are saying when you hear people mutter or whisper in Tagalog
29.) Tagalog speakers are shocked when they hear you snap, "Akala mo na hindi ako maka-intindi sa iyo?"
30.) You are the Philippine movie industry's biggest critic ("The plot's the same! Only the faces are different!")

A Crack at the Lottery

Something odd was going on in the taipan's office.

He was focused on rearranging numbers on a sheet of paper. There was nothing to do that day, anyway. Eventually, he became tired.

Bored. Eric thought. So boring.

He looked at the numbers for a while. Slowly, a thought was forming; it was something he did very often a long time ago. His gaze became even more intent. Suddenly, he had an idea. 

He looked at the day's news and checked the lottery results. In a few minutes, he rose from his seat and dashed out of his office.

"Don't mind me, Denise," he called to his secretary. "I'll be right back!"

He leaped into the elevator, which was nearly filled to capacity, and told the operator to take him to the ground floor. Everyone else in the elevator was wonder what the taipan was up to with this sudden burst of energy.

He ran across the great lobby of Great South Tower, past Maximilian who was returning to his office from a meeting. The younger Ong was talking to somebody on the phone when he saw his father heading in his direction.

Maximilian noticed a mischievous twinkle in his father's eyes as the latter dashed past him. "Dad?" he asked.

Eric didn't answer. He continued running to the entrance and kicking up dust. "Get me my car," said Eric to the doorman, "quick! It's urgent!"

The doorman hurriedly picked up the intercom and called Eric's driver. Within minutes, the black limousine appeared at the main entrance of GST. "Get me to the nearest lottery booth, George," said the taipan as he hopped into the car and slammed the door.

It didn't take long to find a lottery booth, and the attendant was speechless when she beheld Eric Ong step out of a limousine that had stopped outside the booth. The taipan made his way to the booth, in front of all the astonished people, snatched a fistful of lottery cards and ran back into his car.

Up next was an ATM. The taipan fell in line with other people who were withdrawing money. All were nervous and surprised to see him queue in with them. When his turn came, he withdrew twenty thousand (Philippine) pesos and ran back into his car.

It didn't take more than twenty minutes from the time Maximilian saw his father run out of the building to see him run back in.

"Out of my way! Out of my way!" yelled the taipan excitedly as he rushed past everybody, kicking up dust as usual.

Maximilian paused for a moment and put his cellphone back in his coat pocket. He then decided to find out what his father was up to and made his way to the latter's office. 

Inside he saw his father hunched over his desk, snickering mischievously to himself and scribbling on several sheets of paper. Also on the desk were a stack of lottery cards and pile of money.

"Dad, what are you doing?" asked Maximilian.

Eric made no reply and continued scribbling and snickering. Maximilian walked away, shaking his head.

That night at Ong manor, everyone noticed that Eric barely ate or spoke to anybody. Even at the dinner table, he was scribbling on paper.

"Honey," said Christine, "what are you doing?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," said Eric.

"You're up to something, aren't you, dad?" remarked Linus. "C'mon, say something."

Eric snickered and paid no attention.

"Dad?" asked Cyrus, waving a hand in front of him. "Hello? Hello?"

"Don't bother him," said Maximilian after taking a spoonful of soup.

"Why not?"

"It's moments like these that something pretty unexpected is going to come out. Let it pass, or he might snap."

"Snap? What're you talking about?"

Only Justine kept quiet.

Later, Christine woke up to notice that Eric was out of bed and making his way downstairs. He was still snickering to himself and scribbling. She closed the door and went back to sleep.

Linus woke up and made his way to the kitchen for a midnight snack. As he walked across the corridors, he caught sight of his father in one of the halls, sitting in front of the fireplace and scribbling.

Squinting through his glasses, Linus tried to approach. Maximilian appeared from behind, grabbed him and put a hand over his mouth.

"What are you doing here?" Maximilian whispered.

"Me? asked Linus, turning to his brother. "What are you doing here?"

"He's up to something," replied Maximilian, pointing to Eric. "I'm not sure what."

"What, are you spying on him?"

"Ahem!" another voice whispered.

Both turned around to see their sister, Justine. Without a second thought, she grabbed the both of them by the ear and pulled/led them away.

"What are you two doing?" she whispered loudly after bringing them outside her room.

"Dad's up to something and I want to know what!" Linus replied.

"You're supposed to be in bed!" said Maximilian.

"Look, Maximilian," Justine snapped, pointing at him. "You may be my big brother and you and daddy can boss me around but I am not going to let you give him a headache over something as tiny as this."

"But-"

"Go to your rooms, the both of you!" she threatened. "Or I'll scream!"

"Sheesh, what a pain," Linus grumbled and the two of them trudged back to their rooms.

That morning, Eric was still scribbling and snickering to himself, even at breakfast. As everybody, except Christine, drove off to work (school in Justine's case) Christine, baffled by her husband's behavior pulled out her cellphone and rang the cardinal up.

"Hello Peter, hi," she said. "Can you check on Eric today? He's been acting pretty strange lately. He'll be in his office. Thank you."

Peter arrived at GST later that morning at around ten. Reaching Eric's office, he discovered that the taipan had postponed all his appointments for the day and was at his desk, scribbling and snickering to himself. "Eric," he asked. "You busy?"

"Nyee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee."

"Christine says you've been acting weird lately."

"Nyee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee."

As he approached the desk, Peter noticed a pile of lottery cards and a stack of money lying on it. He made a slight chuckle. This was something they used to do often in college.

"Go get 'em, tiger," he said, patting Eric's back. "Let me know if you win the jackpot."

Eric nodded and continued snickering and scribbling as Peter left. Later everybody was at the door, wondering what the taipan was up to. But when he raised his head, they all panicked and hid themselves. By eleven-thirty he was finished and he walked out of his office, clutching a stack of filled-up cards after first stuffing the money into his coat pocket.

He was driven to the same lottery booth only to discover that it was closed for lunch. Undeterred, he stood outside waiting eagerly while the driver bought him his lunch of a cheeseburger and fries (and the latter had to feed it to him as Eric wasn't letting go of the cards)

When the booth reopened at one-thirty, Eric was first in line and he dropped his bets without a second thought. Scooping up the tickets, he went back to his car. For the rest of the day, he continued snickering to himself and shuffling the tickets like a deck of cards. The attendant couldn't believe her eyes; the tapian had just placed twenty thousand Philippine pesos worth of bets.

The next morning, word got out in Manila that Eric Ong was in town. Indeed, Manila was still the capital even though its population had shrunk to only one million.

Everybody was wondering what the whole commotion was about, as the taipan's armored escort -tanks and armored limousines- were unloaded from the EOGC aircraft that landed on a special runway. Even the president was notified. Strangely, the EOGC entourage never went to any of the usual VIP spots.

The director of the government lottery office was astonished that Eric Ong appeared at his office's doorstep, so he had to make himself look good. He donned his barong and, together with other officials, came to meet the taipan at the gate.

As Eric Ong approached him, the director extended his hand in welcome. Eric, in turn, put a hand into his pocket and pulled out... the winning ticket.

Some fifty-four million Philippine pesos were claimed that day.

A week later, a letter arrived at the cardinal's office. It was from Eric. Opening the envelope, the cardinal pulled out a check for twelve million Philippine pesos. He collapsed to his chair, laughing.

Justine returned home from school to discover a large pile of money on her bed, some ten million Philippine pesos. She almost fainted. Cyrus found a key to a brand new car on his bed. Christine found two tickets to Hong Kong Disneyland on her dresser.

As for Maximilian and Linus, they each got a one (EOGC) peso coin.

"He knew we were snooping on him," murmured Maximilian as Linus repeatedly hit himself on the head with a large book. 

For the Love of the Guru 8

That morning, Maximilian sat in the back seat of the cardinal's car, the cardinal sat next to him. Father Lorenzo was in the driver's seat. They were heading for Ong Manor, the residence of Eric Ong.

It was huge and awe-inspiring. Even those who had been there before were still daunted by the vast Victorian-style structure upon each visit. As the car drove past the great gate, Maximilian huddled himself back in his seat, nervous. "I don't know what to say to him," he murmured.

The cardinal smiled. "Just be yourself," he said.

"That's a challenge," said Maximilian. "For four years I've been denying who I was and now I'm not sure if I should put up a facade or-"

"Just let go."

The car stopped at the main entrance of the building and the cardinal alighted first. Maximilian remained inside as the cardinal climbed the steps to the main door. Out of the door stepped Eric, who shook hands with the cardinal. Without further hesitation, Maximilian stepped out and climbed the steps to meet his father.

Eric wasted no time throwing his arms around his son. Both father and son burst into tears at the reunion.

"You stupid boy!," Eric sobbed. "You stupid, stupid boy! Don't you ever leave me again!"

Maximilian held his father tight. "I won't, dad," he said, also sobbing. "I'm home."

Out came his mother and she, too, put her arms around her son. Following her were Maximilian's brothers and sister.

At the end of the day, the cardinal returned to his office after a happy reunion and caught sight of the gun lying on his desk. Apparently, they had forgotten all about it. Oh silly me. he thought.

Taking the gun to the garden behind the chancery, he threw it into the Cagayan River.

For the Love of the Guru 7

The young man ran out of the Atrium, tears in his eyes. All those memories came back to him, connecting in a long chain from the past to the present. He was given a new name by Swamiji. He was told to sever himself from the vestiges of the past. He threw away his old clothes and belongings, except his glasses. He immersed himself in the mind-numbing meditations and rituals, eventually attaching himself to Swamiji and his teachings. He performed duties without question. As the years went by, he became thoughtless and ruthless; only his belief that his guru and the order's teaching would liberate him from the cycle of reincarnation. He carried out orders, threatened, and expelled members. Eventually, he graduated to maltreating those beneath him for their own spiritual good as well as for the glory of the order and Swamiji. And then he committed murder.

Murder?

Yes. He had killed several people already, all under Swamiji's orders. A female sannyasin who maintained her purity only to discover later that receiving an energy transmission meant being ravished by the master, a long-time member who was already starting to doubt the order's teachings... there were at least three, he remembered.

And now Swamiji ordered him to kill his own father? 

If by the transformation of Manila into a ghost town, Swamiji was referring to Operation Trebizond -also known as the Takeover- that would mean that he had lied to the young man. The Takeover had transformed the Philippines. In those areas that weren't under EOGC control, everything was the same: corrupt officials, poverty and backwardness. In those areas under EOGC control, it was different: the old political dynasties were overthrown, unemployment virtually disappeared, the economy was booming and people were apathetic to the government and the government in turn was fearful of corruption from within and the people from without. Traditional politicians were virtually extinct. Those elected to office were more afraid of the people who elected them rather than their political patrons and the voters were not gullible. Even the employees of the government were unable to commit abuses. All this was made possible because of the Takeover. The EOGC stood over the whole system, making it work -at times with force. But the benefits exceeded the negative side-effects. And overseeing this gigantic system was the young man's father.

The young man ran, not looking for a place, not thinking of where he was going. By late afternoon, he collapsed face down from exhaustion on the grass in a park.

He awakened to the sound of bells ringing. Looking up, he saw the cathedral's tower. It was early evening now and the bells were announcing the last masses for the day.

The young man got up and stumbled toward the Archbishop's Palace. He was trembling and panting. The guard at the gate seemed to recognize him and let him in without a moment's hesitation. He was crying again, and he could not control the tears.

He entered the chancery. There, too, the secretary seemed to recognize him and didn't ask him any questions.

Cardinal Zhang had just completed a meeting with a group of foreign priests and opened the door of his office to usher them out. When the last priest had left, the cardinal found himself staring face to face with Maximilian Ong. "Uncle," the young man sobbed and sank to his knees.

Immediately, the cardinal caught him by the arms to stop him from falling. "Maximilian!" he exclaimed.

The cardinal led the young man into his office and seated him on one of the chairs before his desk. He called for Sister Cathy and had her bring in some coffee for Maximilian to drink. The cardinal listened patiently as the young man related everything that had happened to him ever since he left his family. Maximilian even pulled out the gun that had been given to him and placed it on the cardinal's desk and told him of the plan.

The cardinal looked at the gun, then at Maximilian. He smiled warmly and leaned back down on his chair. "Do you still want to return to your family?" he asked.

"I do," replied Maximilian. "But I don't know what's going to happen. I'm ashamed to face my father."

"Your father has never given up on you," said the cardinal. "Sure, he's still angry at that group, but that doesn't mean he loves you any less."

He took out his cellphone and dialed a number. "Hello Eric," he said. "Your son's here. Yes, he's back. And he wants to come home."

Eric lowered the cellphone. He was in his study in the manor. Sinking to his chair, he leaned back an closed his eyes. He sighed.

For the Love of the Guru 6

Chela Mahananda was seated in a cubicle of the mens' comfort room at the back of the stage in the Limketkai Atrium. At any moment now, Eric Ong would make his appearance. The gun was ready. When the time was right it would dispatch the despot so hated by the holy order. He wouldn't mind being felled by a hail of bullets from the EOGC security forces. He would die gloriously for the order and be reborn as an ascended master.

But something was amiss. Ever since he saw the face of Maximilian Ong online, he didn't sleep well that night. He couldn't even meditate. Visions filled his mind. They were memories of family life: his mother, two brothers and a sister. But what disturbed him was the image of his father. The images of his father he saw in his mind had the face of Eric Ong. And it didn't seem natural to visualize another face.

He saw memories of being scolded by his father for offenses he had committed as well as being embraced by him. There were memories of him talking about a lot of things to his father, as well as those of his father talking to him. But he could not erase the face of Eric Ong from his father's image.

Outside, he could hear the sound systems being turned on and workmen setting up the stage. People were gathering in the Atrium. When all was ready, the music went on. There were live performances on the stage as well as lectures on various aspects of business.

As Chela Mahananda waited, those images became even more intense. He saw how he joined the order. He could see his parents, particularly his father, in opposition to his joining the holy order. He saw his father furious when he made the decision to become a sannyasin. He saw his mother coming down with tears. He saw himself leaving Cagayan de Oro. He saw himself being received by Swamiji, being ordered to renounce everything and being given a new name. All those memories were falling into place: from life outside the order to life in the order. The past was connecting to the present.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of military boots. He peered over the door and saw EOGC security personnel taking their positions at the entrance of the comfort room. Then in stepped the figure of Eric Ong.

Mahananda readied the pistol. One shot and that would be it. It wouldn't matter if the security forces killed him afterwards as long as Eric Ong fell.

Eric Ong was at a urinal. His back was turned to Mahananda. A guard stood at the entrance and another stood near the cubicle. There were other guards standing outside.

He peered over and lifted the gun. Suddenly, the smell of burning tobacco hit his nose. It was a familiar smell. This particular brand of cigarette was his father's favorite. It was not an expensive brand. He hesitated.

Eric Ong stepped back, holding a lighted cigarette to his mouth. He turned around.

Mahananda saw the taipan's face. It was not an evil face. It was a plain face. It was also the face of a father. It was so familiar and Mahananda felt heavy in the chest.

"Any moment now," Eric Ong said.

That voice struck a chord in Mahananda. There was no doubt about it now. Tears erupted in his eyes.

"No!" he sobbed. He burst out of the cubicle, past the startled guards and taipan and ran out.

"After him!" cried a guard. The guards ran, except for two who posted themselves at the entrance of the comfort room.

That voice was familiar. thought Eric. Could it be?

Immediately, he ran out. "Stop!" he cried. "Stop! I'm okay!"

"I'm okay," he repeated quietly.

The guards stopped, their quarry disappearing into the crowd.

For the Love of the Guru 5

Chela Mahananda decided to go sightseeing around Cagayan. It was morning. The hit would be on the next day, anyway. And he had seen the place where he would make the hit, the comfort room behind the Atrium stage.

He took off before any of the other chelas could come to his hotel and decided to take a walk around Divisoria. As he walked down the long segmented park that divided the city in olden days, a feeling came over him. It was as if he had been here before countless times.

Maybe in an earlier reincarnation. he thought as he neared Xavier University. He felt somewhat hungry and remembered that he hadn't eaten breakfast, so he entered a small restaurant managed by a fat middle-aged man who was seated near the door. The man looked and smiled at him with a certain familiarity.

As Mahananda seated himself and ordered coffee, as he hadn't made up his mind on what to eat, the man got up and approached him.

"Glad to see you back," he said. "Where have you been all these years?"

"I'm sorry," said Mahananda, puzzled. "I don't understand."

The man chuckled, shaking his head. "You don't remember me?" he asked. "You used to come here a lot and hang out, get some coffee and read newspapers."

"I think you must've mistaken me for another person," said Mahananda. "This is my first time here. You don't know who I am."

The man was taken aback. "Sure I do," he said after a moment's pausing. "You're Maximilian Ong."

Mahananda was annoyed, but he didn't want to offend this gentleman who obviously meant no harm. He rose and put the money for the coffee down on the table.

"Keep the change," he said. "Sorry to bother you."

He walked out the door, leaving the man puzzled and wide-eyed.

As he walked in the direction of the Philippine Veterans' Bank (yes, it was still there and functioning properly,) he ran into two younger men who were aghast to see him.

"Maximilian!" one gasped.

"You're back!" said the other.

Mahananda was even more irked. He took a step back. "What?" he said. "What are you talking about?"

"Where have you been?" asked the first.

"What will your dad say when he hears about this?"

"It's not what you think!" Mahananda blurted. He turned around and saw the man coming out of the restaurant. He turned again, elbowed the two boys aside and dashed past them.

"We have to tell Uncle Eric," said the second.

"No," said the first. "Let's go to Uncle Peter."

Maximilian Ong? Mahananda thought. No way! He's in another ashram! What, do I look like him?

He ran into his hotel and straight into his room. He locked the door and flung himself into bed.

What are they talking about? he thought. It was getting tense. Do I look like Maximilian Ong? I know he became a sannyasin, bit I don't know where he is. We were all required to forget who we were and leave our pasts behind so I have no way of knowing where he could be or if we met, I wouldn't recognize him.

He decided to go out later. The idea of being called Maximilian Ong intrigued him so he decided to look it up in an internet cafe.

A knock was heard on the door of the cardinal's office. "Uncle Peter!" said a familiar voice excitedly.

The cardinal rose, put down his teacup, walked across the room and opened the door. In came his two nephews Paul and Andrew, sons of his younger brother Oliver.

"What is it, boys?" the cardinal asked, noticing the excited and astonished looks on their faces.

"Uncle Peter," said Paul, "you're not going to believe this!"

"It's Maximilian," added Andrew. "He's back!"

"What?" the cardinal started.

Late in the afternoon, Mahananda walked into an internet cafe after making sure nobody was around to mistake him for Maximilian Ong. But some people in the internet cafe looked at him as though he was somebody popular.

As he looked at the computer screen to look for an image of Maximilian Ong on the search engine, he was met with a shock. The face of Maximilian Ong was his.

Am I?

For the Love of the Guru 4

The taxi arrived at the hotel, which was located in Divisoria, and the bespectacled young man disembarked. As he entered the hotel's lobby, he was met by two sannaysins, one male, one female, and three non-sannyasin members of the holy order. They greeted him warmly and some of the members of the welcoming committee looked at him with a certain degree of familiarity. They checked him in as Adaggio P. Conti and accompanied him to his room. They avoided talking about the order until the bellboy left.

"How are things going on here, Chela Kriya?" asked the new arrival as he closed the door behind the departing bellboy.

"Very bad, Chela Mahananda," the male sannyasin replied. "No new members. Our free seminars turn up zero attendance. There are fewer and fewer members attending our convocations. Many are going over to the Buddhists and Daoists."

"It's very bad indeed," concluded Mahananda, setting his bag on the bed to open it. "So, you have the weapon?"

He didn't bring any weapons, obviously, because he would be seized by airport officials if he did. Instead, it was arranged  that the ashram of Cagayan would provide the weapon.

One of the non-sannyasin members, an elderly individual, approached and dropped a handbag onto the bed. Mahananda opened it. Inside was a .45 cal. pistol and silencer. "We hope that you will be able to save us from the evil monster Eric Ong, Chela Mahananda," he said.

Mahananda pulled the gun out and inspected it as the non-sannyasin member continued, "We have constantly prayed, meditated and radiated over this gun. The Cosmic will strike down Eric Ong with this weapon and you will be the agent of its vengeance."

Mahananda inspected the two clips that came with the gun. "This is the only way we can show compassion to our enemy," he murmured.

Not far away, at the cathedral, Cardinal Zhang was in his office. The work for the day had been done and there was now plenty of free time. The cardinal thought, then, that some calligraphy, which was one of his passions, was in order. Accordingly, he took a large sheet of paper and set it on his desk together with his personal jade seal. He used this seal when doing watercolor paintings and calligraphy and, occasionally, when he wrote documents in Chinese.

He ground an ink stick on his inkstone and poured water to prepare the ink. Outside, in the garden behind the archbishop's office, Father Lorenzo Guevarra was heard with his violin playing Soirees a Saint Petersburg. He was usually there in the afternoons if he didn't have anything to do.

From the kitchen came Sister Catherine Hayashi with a tray bearing the cardinal's afternoon tea.

The cardinal thought for a moment, closed his eyes and cleared his mind. Opening his eyes, he took his brush and dipped it into the ink and began to write. He was working on the word "Tian" (Heaven) when he suddenly made a mistake.

At the same time, Father Lorenzo hit a wrong note. At the same time, Sister Cathy tripped, spilling the tea.

"Oh my," she remarked, getting on her knees to clean the mess. "It's a good thing Cardinal Zhang's never seen this tea set before. I'll just get him the usual one, then."

Father Lorenzo stared at his violin, wondering how he came to hit that note.

The cardinal felt a strange chill. He shuddered. "Suddenly, I feel the approach of a murderous intent," he said to himself.

For the Love of the Guru 3

The young man picked his luggage from the conveyor and fell in line with the rest of the arrivals. As he approached the immigration booth, he handed his passport over to the officer in charge. It was mandatory for filipinos from the non-EOGC territories to bring their passports and pass through immigration. The EOGC was very suspicious of people coming in from the non-EOGC territories that it subjected them to international standard checks upon arrival. Once in, a non-EOGC Filipino was permitted to stay for thirty days. Any period longer required the issuance of the EOGC's very own visa.

The immigration officer took the passport and opened it. She read the name Adaggio Pineco Conti. "So, Mr. Conti," she asked pleasantly, "what brings you to the EOGC territories?"

"Oh, I'm here to perform," he replied with a smile. "It'll be at the Limketkai Atrium during the convention."

Indeed, Cagayan de Oro was hosting the All-Asian Businessmens' Convention. It would be a month long with numerous activities taking place in the city's malls, school campuses, parks and convention centers. Eric Ong himself would be delivering a keynote speech at the Limketkai Atrium and preside over several activities at his own Mindanao Financial Center.

She looked at him from head to toe. He seemed harmless enough: gray and red baseball cap, black jacket, while t-shirt, blue shorts, glasses and sneakers. He carried a backpack, a bag and what looked like a case for a musical instrument. Perhaps he was one of those contestants at the talent show that would be held at Limketkai in four days' time.

Satisfied, she stamped his passport and returned it to him. "Welcome to the City of Golden Friendship, sir," she said with a smile.

Adaggio P. Conti walked out of the arrivals area to the taxi lane. He would meet his contact in a designated hotel. Now he needed a taxi to get there. The clouds were gathering and a slight drizzle was to be expected. 

"What?!" shrieked the man in front of him. This man was screaming himself hoarse at his cellphone, complaining that his company's driver had not yet arrived. He looked like a corporate person; trench coat, briefcase and all. 

"What do you expect me to do?!" the man railed. "I gotta hurry! I don't wanna take a taxi. I-" he paused to listen for a few seconds.

"What am I gonna do?" he continued. "It's gonna rain here any moment!"

He slowly turned around. "I can't just call one of the janitorial vehicles; what do I look like to you, Maximilian Ong?"

The moment he turned to face Adaggio he shrieked again, this time startled. "S-s-s-s-sorry, sir," he mumbled. "I-i-i-i-i'll just take a taxi, okay?"

He leaped into the first cab that stopped by.

As a frightened Anselmo Sanchez slammed the back door of the taxi, told the driver to take him to his boarding house and breathed a sight of relief, a thought coursed through his mind. Was that who I thought it was?

He glanced around and saw the bespectacled man who was standing behind him take the next cab.

For the Love of the Guru 2

Getting to Cagayan would be a challenge. Sure, there were members of the holy order there, but they were a wavering lot. Eric Ong was once a member but he left. His son, Maximilian, had also joined, although he became a member independently of his father.

Mahananda learned that the younger Ong became successful and was now in an ashram in another part of the country. The father, on the other hand, became bent on destroying the holy order and worked in collusion with the city's resident Buddhists and Daoists as well as the Catholic Church to thin the order's ranks. 

Peter Cardinal Zhang Mingshi, the archbishop, was a friend of Eric Ong and committed his preaching against the holy order, denouncing it as a brainwashing cult. The Buddhists, too, didn't like the order. In their eyes, Swamiji had no right to do as he pleased because, as the city's Zen temple abbot claimed, being enlightened meant being more responsible and that true freedom didn't mean the freedom to do whatever one wanted. The Daoists despised the order and openly branded it as a money-making scam. What was most insidious was that they were even using former members against the holy order

Yes, coming to Cagayan would be a challenge. There were also the practical matters, such as the passport. Getting an EOGC passport for a person unknown in the controlled territories was impossible because every passport went through a check at every port of entry. The data in every passport was matched with the EOGC's massive database and consequently fakes could be spotted outright. A Philippine passport, then, would be required. It was easier to forge documents in the territories not under EOGC control.

A fake birth certificate was drawn up, along with other documents, as the holy order was very well-connected. The forgeries were necessary; after all, they were needed to accomplish a greater good: to eliminate the evil Eric Ong. With him out of the way, the cardinal, the Buddhists and Daoists would not be united and the order would be saved.

On the day the passport, procured through fraudulent documents, arrived, Chela Mahananda sang the praises of Swamiji, the cosmic and the masters. He now had a new identity. After picking up his luggage at the arrivals section in the airport, he handed his passport to the immigration officer. The officer opened the passport and read the name: Adaggio Pineco Conti.

For the Love of the Guru 1

"Only the guru can lead the sincere follower to God."

"The guru is that point on earth where God manifests."

"To attain God is to surrender to the guru."

"The guru has no ego."

"When you find the guru, serve him with total devotion."

"To love the guru is to experience true freedom."

"Only the guru has attained God, so it is only through him that God can be encountered."

The young sannyasin had already cast aside what had defined him. How long had it been? He had already forgotten. He had cast aside himself; he no longer knew who he once was. So much renunciation for someone so young; he didn't even remember how old he was. Even his name, he had forgotten. The only vestige of his past was his pair of glasses. These, he could not discard because their absence would hamper his eyesight.

Since the guru decreed that even keeping a diary was forbidden because living in the moment was more important that dwelling in the past, the sannyasin had already forgotten how long he had been in the ashram.

And as he surrendered his very identity, he experienced inexplicable bliss. His days were spent laboring in the most menial of tasks, swooning in happiness and bliss in his meditations and sitting as close as possible to the guru during the latter's satsangs. He even endured harsh words and treatment from the guru and the senior sannyasins.

Later, he graduated to collecting the donations from members who were not sannyasins, scolding errant members and even, treating those beneath him harshly in an effort to make them grow in love for the guru. As he progressed, he became one of the guru's trusted enforcers. He expelled those who fell short as those who were suspected of disloyalty. The guru could not be criticized. And even comments about his private life were dealt with harshly.

The sannyasin later, on the guru's orders or his own initiative, beat roughed up members -including other sannyasins further down the pecking order to help the grow, instill discipline and absolute obedience.

"If the guru tells you to steal, you must steal."

"If the guru tells you to kill, you must kill."

"The guru's morality is different from, and higher than, that of an ordinary human."

Yes, the guru was absolute. Swamiji, as he was called, made an announcement that Taijiquan was the property of the holy ashram. Therefore, those who wanted to learn in were prohibited from approaching any wushu instructor and required to come only to the ashramas.

Swamiji is absolute because he is God.

Because Swamiji is God, he can do whatever he wants.

If God is angry, Swamiji can save you.

If Swamiji is angry, not even God can save you.

Swamiji holds the key to liberation; you must trust only him.

A knock was heard on the door of the sannyasin's room. He stopped meditating and opened it. It was Pinkie, another sannyasin. That was a nickname that stuck.

"Chela," said Pinkie, "Swamiji wants to see you."

The sannyasin obediently stepped out, closed the door and followed Pinkie down the hall and up a flight of stairs to a room with a large door. Standing guard were two other sannyasins. Inside, one could make out the sounds of loud breathing, panting and moaning. One voice was a man's, the other, a woman's.

"Swamiji," said Pinkie in a subdued, somewhat pleading tone. "Chela Mahananda is here, as you requested."

Chela Mahananda... That was the new name Swamiji had given him. His old name had been cast aside for an unknown period of time.

The breathing and panting stopped. "Bring him in," said a raspy voice.

The door was opened and the sannyasin stepped into a large room that had a great canopied bed. Bottles of beer and gin lay on the floor; most were full while others still had their contents in them in varying degrees. Several pictures depicting Indian gurus with halos surrounding their heads. The room smelled of alcohol and highly pungent incense.

Chela Mahananda beheld a female sannyasin naked and lying face down on the bed. Like him, her head was shaved. Next to her, also naked and all covered in sweat, was seated the overweight figure of the master. He held a newly-lighted cigarette in his left hand while his right hand stroked the female sannyasi's bottom.

Chela Mahananda approached the bed, paid obeisance by putting his hands together as if in prayer and bowing his head and then sat on the floor

"Chela," said the master in a voice that reminded one of a duck's quacking. "You have proven yourself well. I remember how you helped that errant follower Padrino make his transition to a better life."

'Transition' was the ashram's way of saying 'death,' Indeed, Mahananda had helped several followers make transit already.

"Thank you, swamiji."

"Now, I have a new duty for you," the master continued. "You will go to Cagayan. There is someone outside our holy order whose transition must be made."

Cagayan. That place sounded familiar.

"He is the reason why Manila is a ghost town, with only a few people living in it. He destroyed many buildings. He has killed many people. He has destroyed the Philippines. He has insulted me, your beloved guru-"

That stung Chela Mahananda. His blood stirred and the thought of exterminating this horrid insignificant worm who dared tarnish his master's name welled up in him.

"And so, I tell you," said the master with his eyes fixed upward and his hands spread out. "You must send this evil man into transition so that in the next life, he shall have to work on the karma he has accumulated."

"I will send him through the cycle of death and rebirth to be reprimanded by the masters," declared Mahananda. "Who is this miserable wretch?"

The masted leaned to his left and picked up a brown envelope and tossed it to the floor.

Mahananda picked up the envelope and opened it. Out came a picture of Eric Ong.

"It shall be done, master."

The Bar Files 2.2

Anselmo and JT led the girls to a table, as sitting near the bartender was turning into a crowded affair. The conversation was getting warmer and it became necessary to find a place where there was more privacy. As the four of them were getting to know each other a little more intimately, Celine put her right hand on JT's left shoulder and her left hand on his chest. He, in turn, put his left arm around her waist. 

Liza wrapped herself around Anselmo's right arm. He, on the other hand, drew her close.

"So," asked Celine. "What does a lawyer do at night when he's not working on a case?"

"A lot of things," replied JT. "Sometimes I go out to meet people. It takes away a lot of the stress."

"What kind of people?"

"I don't know... Interesting people."

Their faces drew closer to each other. "Like me?" she asked.

"Yeah... like you..."

Their lips met.

"I've been working really hard to get where I am right now," said Anselmo. "And one day, I'll take my place among the great families that rule the EOGC."

The great families were the EOGC's rulers. There were fourteen families, collectively known as the Great Houses, that owned the EOGC's corporations an a host of lesser families, known as the Minor Houses, who worked in the upper management echelons of the corporations. And towering over the great and minor houses was the Ong family headed by Eric, the supreme ruler of the EOGC, the Taipan.

Even though becoming one of the minor houses was the objective of many working in the EOGC's member companies, holding on to such a position was harder than remaining in the lower levels because of the success-oriented system. What was unusual, however, was that a culture of intrigue was almost totally absent among the great families because being a sycophant was branded as a weakness by the EOGC. This same attitude even carried itself into the other non-member corporations that set up business in the EOGC Territories.

"Ooh, I hope you'll get there," said Liza. Her hand went down and her fingers lightly touched something.

Anselmo was a bit taken aback. "Hey, slow down," he said to her. He turned and noticed JT was already In Celine's face. It was dark in the bar and people were enjoying themselves either at drinks or waiting for the curtains on the stage to part.

"Oh, well, why not?" he remarked after a moment's pause and wrapped his arms around Liza.

A little kissing here, a little hugging there, he thought. Then it's off to somewhere private where no one can see us. Just the two of us.

His lips touched hers. His hands were wandering. Her hands were wandering. Sugar and spice and everything nice. he thought.

Images were going through his head... strawberry sundae... champagne... mochi cakes... hardboiled eggs... sausages...

Sausages?

Anselmo started. He looked down and saw what his hand had been touching.

JT and Celine were rather busy. JT's mouth came down to her neck while his right hand ran through her hair and... net?

Something fell off, or rather came off. Hair... net... Hair? Net? Hair + Net = ?

JT gaped incredulously. He lifted his hand and noticed that the wig was stuck in his fingers. Trembling, he turned to look at the hand, then to Celine, who was smiling sheepishly.

In a fright, he turned to Anselmo. The latter did the same. They looked around and saw strange sights.

Anselmo went pale. "Hey..." he mumbled. "Don't tell me this is a-"

Presently, the curtains came up on on the stage appeared a handsome, skimpily-dressed... man.

"A gay bar?" Cardinal Zhang asked, wide-eyed in disbelief as he set his teacup onto its saucer.

"Yes," said Lorenzo, matter-of-factly, and sipped his tea.

They were in the cardinal's office, doing overtime examination of the cathedral's accounts.

"You did try to warn them, did you?" asked the cardinal.

"Of course I did," replied Lorenzo irritably.

"Don't worry," said a voice.

The two turned to see Sister Catherine Hayashi, who was also seated at the table. Sister Cathy, as she was called, also worked with the archdiocese and was almost always seen smiling. In fact, almost nobody saw her not smiling but nobody seemed interested in annoying her.

"By this time, I'm sure they'll find out," she continued. She then sipped her tea.

The cardinal felt as if the room went dark and smoky balls of blue-white light were hovering about.

JT and Anselmo crashed out of the bar, shrieking. Blindly, they dashed out into the street. They ran into a convenience store, collected a lighter, mouthwash, toothpaste, toothbrushes and several bottles of gin and continued running and screaming in the direction of Cagayan River.

On Isla de Oro, long abandoned since the Takeover, at the water's edge, they stuffed their mouths with copious amounts of toothpaste and mouthwash, took their clothes off -making sure none of their valuables were in the pockets- and doused them in gin and set them alight. 

"We're going home after this, alright?" said JT

"Yeah," agreed Anselmo.

"We don't talk about this to anyone."

"Uh-huh."

So at the banks of the Cagayan river, at the water's edge, were two men in briefs who had just escaped from one of the most horrifying experiences in a straight man's life.

"Well," declared JT. "That's that."

"Yeah," agreed Anselmo. "Let's get out of here before somebody sees us."

"Where's the car?"

They had parked it near the bar's entrance.