Joey Leveriza’s Angel of the Lord Novel Blog Post Number Twenty-Six (26)

Below is the image at: profiles.friendster.com/56004985
































Below is the image at: www.pinayshare.com/.../222/





















































































































After the gunfire tapered off, only the shuffling footsteps of Ellebana Sey trying to give cover in Jason Burke’s trail echoed from the hospital staircase. Mike Arcanghel rolled free from the bullet studded wall nursing an ugly bump on the head care of Jason Burke and his flying dive from behind thrown like a free safety in the NFL. The impact against the wall tore away the Belgian automatic Mike grabbed from the fallen assassin and sent it sliding onto the far hallway to prop with stark gruesomeness the screams of the terrorized inmates.

Mike staggered in a daze towards the room and his wobbly feet tripped on the dead body sprawled by the entrance. Raw nerves impinged on him to give a start. Doing so spooked everybody else in the room who were all jumpy from the travails of the blistering episode just past. Lassel, Mike’s sweetheart, who was cowering by the right wall near the door shrieked in unison with Mike’s bumbling. Marita Dalit flashed again with rapid grace, drew swiftly on one bended knee, and aimed her snub nosed .38 caliber Smith and Wesson in Mike’s direction.

The nurse lifeless form clattered back to the floor with a woeful thud and more morbid bloodletting as Marita who was cuddling her head let go in panic. Marita hissed a sigh of relief and put away the gun grudgingly under her knit sweater. The grip of panic eased when she recognized Mike’s stumblebum appearance who tottered over the back of the unmoving stiff to regain his footing. “Mike, you gave me a real scare!” Marita sniffed over two tiny blobs of tears which dribbled down each cheek. She looked so vulnerable and not like the amazon beauty she puposely strove to radiate. Her karate posturing totally washed away by the benumbing clash, she looked like a wounded fairy princess who needed tender loving attention.

Angela Arcanghel, Mike’s mother and Yna, Mike’s hysterical teen sister, had balled back into a protective cocoon after sounding off with bloodcurdling yells in tandem earlier. Their sobs were muffed in the entwinement. Their backs heaved like aftershocks. Mike took one step towards them then hesitated after remembering Lassel’s beleaguered encroachment by the wall. Flustered by his quandary to choose whose primacy mattered most in the instant, he relegated to an out of place curiousness about Marita, his former high school teacher, Karate master and guru, and the past forbidden love of his adolescent years. “I never knew you packed a piece after all these years. Why?”

Marita stomped to the phone to evade the question. She dialed with perky fingers and blew hotly into the mouthpiece. “Get a team up here real quick! There’s two mortally wounded victims.” She couldn’t bring herself to mutter the word dead after all the steeliness inculcated by years of martial arts discipline. “What room number? You of all should know, you’re the operator, what’s the matter with you, woman?” She shook her head testily. “Room 912”, Mike sheepishly volunteered in the background.

In the middle of the drama, through the silent doorway, Nobuo Abe came rushing forward with a wide eyed look. Marita cringed at the sight of her covert operator from the Kempetai, the Japanese CIA but also felt reinforced by his trustworthiness to fly to her aid during every trying moment of her undercover career as a secret agent which was unknown to all even her close family circle. Dressed in nondescript togs as a harassed sushi chef from Ermita Hotel which was his perpetual cover, Nobuo tried to blurt out something over the heavy breathing. “Daijobu deska? Are you ok?”

Marita shushed him up and looked askance at Mike who looked up from his huddle with Lassel after hastily comforting his mother and Yna and making sure they were okay. “Atode ne, kocherai dozo.” Marita led Nobuo with a tight clutching at the arm to the hallway outside. They were met on their way out by the flustered doctors and nurses who bamboozled past them through the middle and unhinged Marita’s trembling grasp on Nobuo’s left arm.

“I saw what happened in my GPS beamed by the satellite. I ran as fast as I could over ten blocks! Muskashi ne!” Nobuo’s breathing still labored slightly.

“Onegai, dozo, you have to help the American Preacher who’s chasing the gunman, c’mon go go, do something, get on your radio. There’s an armed lady government lawyer with them!” Marita Dalit gave a little nudge to spur her mole to the direction of the exit.

“That Jason Burke, he doesn’t need help. He can take care of himself very well. He’s the cockroach.” Nobuo smiled knowingly.

“Cockroach? You know the American?” Marita Dalit searched Nobuo’s face

“He’s hard to find and hard to kill. Hai, hai, he only thinks he is a cockroach but I see him in my viewfinder all the time!” Nobuo basked in his astuteness as a senior spymaster.

Subarashi, that was excellent shooting by the way!” He waxed with compliments but came across sounding ironical in the light of the events.

“Excellent you say, I missed all my shots and pulverized the wall!” Marita crowed with astonishment over the remark.

“Sometimes you have to miss to hit the mark, beautiful assistant. Your volley threw the enemy back from dishing out the coup de grace to the downed American. That’s better than hitting them and make them fall below him to squeeze off a last round to his unprotected underbelly!”

Angel of the Lord Novel by Jose Roxas Leveriza Part 25

Angel of the Lord Novel by Jose Roxas Leveriza Part 25

PLEASE SCROLL DOWN FOR THE PREVIOUS EPISODES.

WHEN YOU REACH THE BOTTOM OF THE PAGE MAKE SURE TO CLICK OLDER POSTS.


Up ahead at the busy crossing of Quirino with Taft Avenue, exasperated commuters poured out in droves from the elevated platforms of the rail system. They streamed out in a flood to swamp and swirl around the jammed vehicles caught under the stations. The traffic could only knot tighter because of the invasion that spilled into every inch of open space between the car bumpers and the curbs. Shuffling feet danced their helter-skelter steps on the sidewalks egged on by the shoulder to shoulder plastering into a formless mob.

The traffic light was a contraption ignored by all. Red to green grew irrelevant like wasted cycles failing to connect with reality. The intersection rang true to its meaning as all manner of locomotion converged on a middle ground from opposing directions then locked with no inch or quarter to spare. The lanes of the avenue winding under the shadow of the ribbed overpass grew darker ominously with the sea of bobbing humanity overtaking the stalled procession on wheels.

The vendors hawked their wares with urgency and delighted abandon. The cigarette sellers and the bottled water merchants celebrated with the sell-out bonanza. Even the peanuts, chips, and candy mints hanging on erect walking racks got torn off in a hurry. The clustering around mobile hamburger stands and fish ball carts grew three deep. Only the roofs of the idling jeepneys and buses were spared in the mad rush to find an alternative means of transportation.

The racing group from Malacanang Palace drew up to the gridlock. The throttling was ear splitting as the police sirens of the President’s crew blended hoarsely with the spasmodic horn blaring from the furious drivers. “Yeah, why don’t you guys levitate and take off vertically like British Harrier jets over our heads, goof offs!” Tempers flared and nobody stood blameless in the face of the catcalling. “Turn to the sides and park in diagonal order.” The Commander of the mounted troop tried to impose his tall black boots with blue helmeted authority figure to sort out the loggerhead. “Or else what, you’ll bring your tow truck to tow us away?” That retort stumped him in his tracks.

It seemed stopping the train backfired on President Harry Sey. The safety of the passengers plus his overriding concern for Ellebana’s plight dictated it so he felt no regret about his order. Getting to the bottom of the mystery of Ellebana engaging in a shootout under the rails on a busy afternoon with strange characters rankled more in his mind than the impulse to restore peace and order as the Chief Executive of the land. He squirmed impatiently in the clutch of the thick Captain’s bucket seat and tucked away his sidearm under his mussed native Barong shirt which bore the emblem of the Presidency on the front lapel.

“No way can we get through that unless we can ride stunts like Evel Knievel over the cars.” The harried President turned to Ben, his driver, but mumbled more to himself.“Harry no, please don’t open that window!” Ben had been his driver since his college days and the first name basis settled in the closeness of growing and advancing in years together and remained undisturbed by Harry’s election to the highest position in the country. The President ignored Ben’s warning and rolled down the glass only to catch three security aides from the van behind block his view to shield him with cocked Glock sub machine guns at the ready.

“Put away your cannons, these people will be intimidated unnecessarily. They are not a lynch mob out to get me, C’mon!” The Rambos balked and hesitated to comply immediately. “That’s an order!” The popular President stepped out of the Suburban and unsmilingly nodded to the watchers in the sidelines. Three more close in guards came running forward armed to the teeth with an armory of long weapons. One fussed all over the President and fitted him with the bullet proof vest. “Stow the heavy artillery and revert to your sidearm!” The detachment leader executed flawlessly in line with the head honcho’s instruction.

The crowd surged around the stuck entourage. “It’s the President and he brought his yellow army with him, look!” The outer reaches of the protective circle around the President were manned by Kevlar helmeted Presidential battalion infantrymen. The close in layer was all made up of Chinese looking fighters and carried on like safari jacketed black ninjas. Their boss in fact came across like a heroic Jackie Chan and his cohorts behaved like ashen faced Jet Li’s who exuded Kung Fu deadliness with their martial arts movements.

The official wagon train drawn in Spartan formation like the unyielding hub of General Custer’s last stand throbbed with dazzling blue strobe lights. The sirens were muzzled into mute silence and only the epileptic pin lights kept up the glow of officialdom. The steel belted black Chevy truck with the number one plate of the highest official sat like a center yolk surrounded by a defense perimeter. “There must be a coup in the offing, where is the enemy?” The rabble craned their necks as they waved half wittedly to their leader. “I can hear the rumble of tanks from the seaside boulevard!” One tried to heighten the drama with his imagination. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. The closest army camp is via the highway from the north.” Another political pundit amongst the crowd made his salient point.

Ellebana Sey felt like a wide receiver who got tackled mercilessly by Jason Burke. She felt her bones creak as she strove to stretch upright and dust off her crumpled blue pinstriped blazer. Her flowing silky black tresses fluttered with the wind to smother her face randomly. Her chink eyes blazed with emotion and became more unnerving in their loveliness. She flicked open her pistol’s chamber and replaced the clip. “Is that piece licensed Prosecutor?” The first cop on the spot joked and holstered his weapon while he inspected Ellebana all over for stains of blood. Finding none he mouthed off to the radio to report back to the precinct around the corner at United Nations Ave.

“There is a shooting going on!” A fat woman crowed beyond the cordon of policemen. “That’s finished, didn’t we all hear that earlier, lady, and your reaction is retarded!” A man tried to douse cold water on her belated exuberance. “No, I meant it’s all a movie shoot, look there’s the star,” and pointed to Ellebana Sey. Angel Locsin is so much prettier in person than her pictures!” she gushed almost out of breath from the thrill of seeing an actual celluloid celebrity although a mistaken identity. The man then turned open mouthed with the snap of recognition to eye Ellebana Sey with an admiring countenance mixed with pained uncertainty.

The light exchange contrasted sharply with the specter of a bullet riddled gleaming new auto only a short distance away. There a nervous throng cringed at the gory sight like buzzards not knowing what to do next. The corpses lying strewn and lifeless upon the immediate scene drew a gawking troupe who strained to watch each other for unsympathetic pilferers who might cart away the unguarded possessions that remain uselessly in the pockets of the inutile cadavers. The beat cops arrived at the scene of the crime and shooed away the curious. They helped out the hysterical young man from the back of the sedan and pinned his arms to his body as he shook and raged with savage twitching.

A wailing police cruiser with blinking lights rolled on top of the sidewalk chasing off the people gathered there. It skirted the blocked right lane and wedged to a stop right in front of the hospital gate. Four doors flew open and disgorged thick bodied lawmen with officer bars on their uniforms. The beat cops saluted their precinct commander at the head. He trudged directly towards the lady attorney who at that exact moment got buried in the wake of a medical team that descended from the driveway.

“I’m Dr. Paraiso, call me Steve, I’m the resident on duty. Do you feel pain anywhere, Ma’m?” The bespectacled swarthy faced with curly hair general practitioner automatically held Ellebana’s wrist to check her pulse rate. Dr. Paraiso pried wider the opening by her neckline to unhinge the top button revealing puritan skin and probed with the nose of his stethoscope. “Better check the insides of her clothing for signs of a wound Doctor, “the regal Pershing cap of the Police Captain pressed closer for an assessment. “I have to report to your Uncle that you are unscratched or else I could lose my job with this incident happening during my watch 100 odd yards from my office.” The handsome Capt. Vince Singson beamed his most becoming smile at the unfocused patient.

“Move that crowd back. Establish your Police line!” The Captain barked at his men and flexed his command to impress Ellebana with his born to rule stance. The Doctor continued to frisk Ellebana’s blouse and skirt for any sign of a bullet scratch. “I didn’t get hit Cap,” Ellebana recognized the police Officer from several hearings past. “What were you doing chasing bad men, leave that to us cops.” The area commander didn’t really expect an answer. It could be the weirdest long story what with a gun toting American Preacher still running the pursuit. But he needed a backgrounder to key his men to intercept Bader out there somewhere. So he pressed on with, “Who shot at you, Counselor?”

Dr. Paraiso beckoned to the nurses at the fringe to tend to Ellebana. “We have to bring her in for a closer examination; you can come in with us to get answers along the way, Captain.” The medical squad surrounded Ellebana and ushered her gingerly towards the emergency landing. “I’m quite alright. I have to go to the room on the ninth floor to check on Mike’s family. Are they alright?” The Department of Justice female fiscal made a move to detour towards the main entrance. :”A guard got shot at the stairway. I’m afraid he expired, that’s all I know Ma’m,” the nurse on her right pulled her back on a course to the left.

We have to pass you through the trauma routine check up. We can call the ninth floor from the emergency section.” Dr. Paraiso sounded persuasive so Ellebana decided to meekly comply. “I can’t help you with the gunman’s identity.” She looked back at the Police Officer who was now talking on the radio with a crestfallen face. It was then that the team bearing the stretchers filled with the dead bodies of Abe and his son came running past them. The whole group froze with the sight of blood dripping dots in a long trail as they swept past like a funeral cortege. A young man convulsed with grief and howling on his cellular dogged the likely pall bearers closely behind.

“Shu fu, Ellebana’s fine, the doctors are attending to her now. She’s not wounded or anything.” A familiar voice sputtered over the President’s private cell phone. “Wheeze, I’m relieved to know that for sure. Thanks Chris.” Harry shot back. The President knew how much underground Intel his young nephew was capable of dishing out ever since the campaign. That young man definitely had his ear to the ground at anytime and anywhere.The mall tycoon, his own father didn’t grow rich in gigantic strides being the last to know in such a political minefield as the Philippines. “Err, Chris what’s this shootout all about?” President Harry Sey dared to know and took a chance that his reliable family sleuth, Chris Chu may have a scoop. “And what’s this business with a firearm for Ellebana of all people?”

“I haven’t verified it but there’s talk in the grapevine that she’s an undercover agent for the Kuomintang.” The reply came back laconically for what it was worth in many tiered ramifications for the political health and leanings of the first Philippine President of Chinese descent, one generation removed. The same goes for the indefatigable Jason Burke embattled up in some remote skyway.




























The Promise - Philippines Filipino Tagalog DVD Movie Starring Angel Locsin









.

Angel of the Lord Novel by Jose R. Leveriza Part 24

Below is the image at: de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mass_Rapid_Transit_Manila

Below is the image at: philippinesfunwall.wordpress.com/.../

Below is the image at: https:/.../celebs/article.aspx?id=211032

Angel of the Lord Novel by Jose R. Leveriza Part 24

(For the previous episodes please scroll down to the older posts)

Bader kicked the security guard sprawled on the steps as the latter tried to grapple Bader’s legs. He fired once into the watchman’s chest when the poor bloke tried to draw his pistol as he rolled over like a log. The women shrieked in horror. Pandemonium ensued as everybody fled in all directions.

To discourage would be heroes and troublesome meddlers Bader squeezed off two more warning shots in the air then broke in a hasty run for the gates. Another uniformed security agent came sliding forward from the idled leviathan and fired at Bader from a genuflecting position. Bader ducked instinctively behind the rotating turnstiles.

Bader quickly surfaced and propped his aim on top of the electronic reader. The guard was an easy target out in the open hallway. Two well placed shots from Bader’s Glock pistol downed him backwards to the floor. Bader slid over the pinwheel and rested a bit with his back pressed to the steel gate. He checked if the coast is clear then headed to the right corridor where the front caboose was.

Bader deduced rightly that the electric commuter was immobilized from the darkened lights and the locked doors. He didn’t think he could break into the front cabin to commander the controls and hold hostage the engineer. Stragglers in the crowd caught in the corridor with Bader raised up their hands and cowered in the sides to let him breeze past. A third uniformed security with an ashen face laid his weapon in slow motion to the floor to clearly signal his capitulation to Bader who let him live and waved him to the side with his gun.

With no other way to turn, Bader ran forward to the middle of the tracks in the open air above the buzz of the street below. He bowed his head in fear of the hanging cables. He kept his gaze on steel plates running the length of the tracks marked with a warning in red, “Danger High Voltage.” He launched on a steeplechase cadence and held it unerringly as he plowed forward with urgency to build the biggest distance between him and Jason Burke.

Midway, the usual rubberneck retinue swarmed around Jason Burke and slowed his progress under the cavernous alcove. The bright side was they made Jason Burke a difficult target because of their crisscrossing. The other downside was that they gave away his location and announced his approach with loud rabble rousing.

Jason Burke worried that the unruly groupies dogging his every step would open him up like a sitting duck ready to be waylaid. The upside was the motley crew carried on like a pack of sniffing hounds which could telegraph back in an instant thru their cantankerous frenzy the sighting of elusive prey.

The pesky street urchins clung to Jason Burke like barnacles and tugged at his arm and clothing with star struck agitation. Their giggles and screeching chatter made the otherwise unflappable covert operative squirm and try to wedge his way with outstretched forearms serving as outriggers to clear the path ahead.

The whole coterie gasped in alarm and stepped back momentarily when Jason Burke pulled out his gun to begin his ascent on the sharply angled staircase leading up to the Pedro Gil Station. Like a cheering section egging on a competitor with reassuring catcalls, the bystanders crowed almost in unison,” he’s not up there; your quarry is running on ahead on the empty tracks!”

Jason Burke felt grateful for the unsolicited tip but played it safe and hugged the wall closely with his gun aimed forward leading the foray. He dashed and leaped over the tills in one swift motion while keeping a sharp eye for possible resistance, friendly or hostile. He stayed low according to the de rigueur of training manuals and traveled on nimble feet all along darting closely to the safety of the walls.

The panicked horde scooting nervously the reverse way tipped him off where Bader must be headed. He picked up the loose firearm abandoned by the wasted guard on the floor and tucked it in his waistband. He didn’t really want it because it could be a nuisance when he had to sprint with gusto. But thought he should get it out of the way lest shuffling feet trip over it and trigger a misfire.

Jason Burke ducked forward to the edge of the platform and caught his momentum with his right shoulder flushed against the last pillar that led to the tracks beyond in the open air. He waved back to the train engineer in the canopy of the stalled train who smiled ruefully and watched Jason’s every move while talking on a handheld radio.

A fast diminishing figure in the distance was rushing to make a clean getaway. But where in the world could Bader be headed? Jason Burke thought to follow suit and plunge right in onto the empty tracks in the blistering heat. But first he flipped on his phone and beeped Richard.

“He’s out there in the open Richard hopping like a rabbit over the high voltage rods.”

“Yup, I see him. Buzzard’s fit as a fireman. His legs are not missing a beat.”

“Think he’ll head all the way to the next stop?”

“Why not, he’s chugging along like a real locomotive plus that’s the only place with a convenient descent to street level.”

“I’m going in after him Richard. Keep me posted what gives.”

“Don’t get your ass toasted rookie.”

Jason Burke took off in a repeating rhythm of hops, skips, and jumps as he jogged with unbroken sequence over the railway gaps. The searing heat gave him a scorching welcome aboard. The humidity invaded into his nostrils and ears. The hazy diesel fumes enveloped his hunched form with a cloak of smog.

Lobo Vol 6 Co-Starring RYAN EIGENMANN

The Twenty-third Episode of Angel of the Lord Novel by Jose R. Leveriza II

(For previous episodes please scroll down to older posts)

A swarming crowd warms up to an unruly scene real quickly. It seems easy with their gut instinct to smell who the good guys are in a fluid confrontation. The wary onlookers cringing for cover under the arcs in the bowels of the overhead transit ushered Jason Burke through the labyrinth with cluing waves of their hands. “He went that way!” They chorused with abandon aided by exaggerated body English.

The public utility jeeps plying the outside lanes of the viaduct echoed with cheers from the passengers. The golden haired preacher with marine cut and lanky stature which highlighted his wholesome boyish appeal drew the instant empathy of the spectators. His unobtrusive get-up of ruffled short sleeved white shirt with matching black preppie tie and pants cloaked him with stereotyped hero vestments. The jeepney drivers peppered their horns like trumpets of Jericho to herald Jason Burke as he waltzed towards the fray.

Jason Burke crouched low but kept his line of vision up as he galloped with rapid tiny steps that danced the jig of the Special Forces obstacle course. His alert eyes panned back and forth 180 degrees sizing up the nooks and crevices for any sign of snipers. By reflex he repeatedly pressed on the reassuring feel of his HK 9 mm tucked at the back. The grueling pace dissuaded him from reaching for the smart mobile to flip on to Richard with his eye in the sky. Wouldn’t work deep in this dark tunnel anyway, he thought.












































To get a download of the entire complete version of the Angel of the Lord novel by Jose Roxas Leveriza from start to finish please send a token contribution no matter how small the amount to the Internet Ministry of the God Particle of the Abba Krishna.

You can arrange for the details by sending snail mail to Jose Roxas Leveriza via the following street address:

Unit A405 Bella Villa Condos, No. 5 Hamburg St., Merville Park, Paranaque City, Metro Manila, Philippines (Zip Code) 1709













(Twenty-third episode continued)



The dashboard speaker phone crackled with another running update.

“Gunman bounding up the wrong set of stairs. Exiting throng in an uproar. Private sentry moved to accost him but lost footing and was shoved down the steps.Gunshots, two, three!”

“Stop the trains right this minute! Get on the national security channel pronto and give the Palace code!” President Harry Sey fumbled the safety catch of his .45 caliber Gold Cup in a nervous twitch as he fiercely barked the order to the matted transceiver. The barreling convoy swept the curve that flowed into the Quirino Highway with fly-by precision. The screaming big bikes of the blue helmets blinked with lighthouse beams in the distance as their flight path caromed near vanishing point.

The President as was his daily habit when he felt overwhelmed by a crisis flicked on the built-in MP3 and played the Maha Mantras to the Abba Krishna. In unison both he and his driver bodyguard began the chant. “Hare Krishna, Hare Rama,” they fervently intoned.

The LRT (light rail transit) control center was sound proofed and looked unperturbed by the tumult in the street below. The cozy official looking blue padding over wooden vinyl tops and surfaces with matching braided upholstery blended smoothly with the soothing whirr of the ultra efficient air-conditioning console. Isolation and insulation from the turmoil of the landscape outside offered an ideal workplace that was keyed for a more highly responsive and unobstructed vantage position in the running of a railway system.

The panoramic wide angle screen spanned the entire far wall from floor to ceiling like an outsized home theater. The kaleidoscope throbbed with periodic pin lights that merrily ebbed their way towards square pegs brightly marked with numbers corresponding to way stations. The dispatcher rooted to the front seat at the center of the digital marsh conducted the intersecting array with virtuoso synchronization. Buttons in lieu of a baton vented the beat and the rhythm that made the electronic maze fall in with a systematic order akin to a symphony of the railway tracks.

Suddenly the bright graphic glow darkened ominously to a shade of purple. Digital neon embers marched across the top of the monitor baring the words: National Security Override. Code 210 Office of the President.

Alarm beeping sounded off in sensurround cacophony making the once peaceful threshold jump with an alacrity. The Director in disheveled pose came barging past the security door to plop unceremoniously beside the open mouthed dispatcher who initially turned to the Director with alarm but was drawn back by the big bold letters that emblazoned over everything.

“National Emergency Top Priority. National Security Headquarters Camp Crame. Official Channel 719. Shut Down The Entire System Immediately By Order of the Office of the President.”

The Director keyed away on the keyboard with dazzling dexterity. The whole system hunkered down to a dead stop. Trains between and inside stations jammed to a complete stop in the middle of the tracks. “Damn another brownout!” The commuters began to wail.

Twenty-Second Sequel of Angel of the Lord Novel by Jose Roxas Leveriza

The armored Chevy Suburban blaring high pitched alarm tones and glittering with circling blue rays levitated with breakneck velocity like a wayward UFO. With gnashing gears it roared up the ramp to Nagtahan bridge. The back-up posse of growling black SUV behemoths of the Presidential security detail struggled to keep abreast with the blistering pace.

“Gunman in business suit streaking through mid island divider beneath columns of elevated rail. Closing in by 50 meters towards stairs of Pedro Gil Station. He fired warning shots to ward off pedestrians out his way.”

V’8’s blazing maximum RPM, the President’s bullet proofed 4WD custom truck lurched forward to land with a groaning thud on the crest of the bridge bearing the full weight of the double thick protective steel plates. President Harry Sey knuckled the heavy tinted windshield with vehemence. “C’mon let’s fly, give it all you got,” he contorted with his shoulders to drive it on.

Jason Burke unhinged himself from the rumpled entanglement with Ellebana’s coiffed form.” Stay down, don’t move Counselor. I’ll break after Bader and see if I will draw rear guard fire. Keep your gun handy then pull back to the safety of the hospital. Check if anybody got hurt in the room!” Jason Burke coiled to spring up to his feet and affectionately brushed back Ellebana’s fine hair

Jason Burke bolted quickly for the underbelly of the elevated rail. He crouched low and darted sideways to offer a hard target for hidden ambushers. He tucked his automatic at the back and smoothed the ends of his white shirt to slide under his belt as he ran. He heard the trailing voice of Ellebana call out with concern. “Be careful, Reverend!”

“Ellebana down on the ground by the curb twenty meters from hospital gate. Missionary up on his feet and giving chase under the LRT. Beat patrolmen approaching the scene from Faura. Thirty meters!”

“Scramble 911 ambulance. Whip it out to Ellebana right now. Get people from hospital emergency to run out to assist Ellebana in front!” President depressed the control on his side window and stuck his arm out to flail at the slow moving cars in front. The driver turned to him with alarm. “Mr. President, get back in. You could be a target!” He warned.

The acrobatic Presidential squadron of SUV’s oddly trailed by motorcycle escorts clawing to catch up went airborne on the descent from top of the bridge. The wave looked like volcanic flow rampaging down to engulf everything at the bottom. The sea of bumper to bumper traffic that straddled the avenue from end to end like a huge parking lot got convulsed to scamper away like jumpy tropical fish.

The Harley type choppers of the mounted troopers seesawed left to right menacingly. They sideswiped the stubborn and the slow moving laggards to the sides and like hulking brutes bullied their way to the front of the mad caravan. The lead escort crunched to a stop directly under the traffic signals, got down and overrode the red lights to purge the directional flow of vehicles in the path of the caterwauling formation. All other points converging on the corner came to a standstill as the lumbering giants stampeded across like a herd of spooked battle tanks.

The President made the sign of the cross as a Christian then started to chant Hare Krishna Hare Rama to the Abba Krishna Almighty Father God.

Americana for an Oath Taking Under God

My son Regis quipped absent mindedly that he wanted to join the Internal Revenue Service or the Customs Collection Authority after graduation from college so he could partake of the fat payoffs from corruption. He wanted to inquire about taking the Philippine civil service exams so he could qualify for a position.

What brought this on was the sight of a Honda sports coupe Type R that zoomed past our non air-conditioned 17 year old Honda Civic hatchback that sputtered to fall behind lackadaisically. I guess the yawning gap in luster and horsepower rubbed salt on his angst. He wishfully recounted how his classmate acquired such a car last year as an advanced graduation gift from his Dad who worked as a Revenue agent.

I was flabbergasted to hear him talk that way. I could have bought a nicer car for myself if I didn’t spend my entire fortune sending him to an ivy school like De La Salle University to give him a head start in life. Never mind that. What does he learn in that school anyway to even talk like the men of my generation? Damn paradigm shift never happened.

I was so irritated that I turned on him and frowned,” I didn’t send you to La Salle to learn to steal money. If I knew that’s what you wanted to do I could have sent you to one of the diploma mills downtown which come cheap. You don’t need an expensive education to be corrupt.”

He knew my sermon was coming so he dug in quietly and regretted his flippancy. I said money is good but that doesn’t mean you have to sell your principles down the river. You go to an excellent school like La Salle so you can learn how to strive for excellence and expertise and get ahead in life in an honorable way. Not only for yourself but you have to scale the heights of achievement to contribute something to society.

Don’t make money the end all and be all. The prime example is that Parisian billionaire who committed suicide because he lost his family’s entire fortune to Bernard Madoff. He probably had enough dregs left in his barrel to allow him to live a pretty comfortable life without the mansions, the yachts, and the limos. But because he was blinded by the sacredness of riches in his life, he chose to end his life than live in the suburbs and drive a Citroen.

And you know what’s ironic, I said. A lot of depraved people will kill their own relatives just for the chance to own the kind of money that he couldn’t stomach to fall back to. What’s wrong with driving your own car and eating at a one Michelin star restaurant? The problem is he is shamed by the losing of an entire fortune. It came under his watch while it was earned by the craftiest of shenanigans by his forebears.

I told my son if we are to follow your line of reasoning that money is more important than principle why do beautiful girls go through a lot of pain earning a nursing degree? Why don’t they cut to the chase real quickly by becoming high class call girls or by joining show business to pose nude or make bold movies?

Then since he is an American citizen, I told him about how America grew rich and strong because of the principle of doing what is right. I said China worked its way up from communism to embrace a mutant capitalism to grow to become the third biggest economy in the world. How? On the backs of its exploited and underpaid workers.

I said that did you realize that there was a time in America when they didn’t even have to pay their workers because they were slaves? Do you think the America you now know grew rich and fat because they allowed such injustice to continue unchallenged because it brought them economic benefit?

In the name of principle and doing right at any price of sacrifice, they brought catastrophic ruin and devastation to their country, their families, and their homes to free the slaves. By such catharsis they were made strong as a country and as a people and became a world power not by the dictates of money or by any crisis stemming from its dearth, loss or disjuncture but by an uncompromising adherence and faithfulness to ideals.

And so on such a heartwarming occasion in history when a descendant of the very slaves that America freed rises to assume the highest office of the land to help it and lead it through one of the most perilous times in its existence, let us recall the words of an Abe Lincoln.

“that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain – that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom – and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

One Christmas Birth and Twice the Dying. A Holy Christmas Message.

Below is the image at:http://www.caconline.org/gallery.asp?artist=patrankin



































































Below is the image at: www.panoramio.com/photo/6421170






























Below is the image at: askville.amazon.com/SimilarQuestions.do?req=p...





























Below is the image at: www.ironwulf.net/.../







































Below is the image at: www.haircutsfashion.com/2008/09/leighton-mees...


















































Below is the image at: www.injuryattorneysutah.com/































A Krishna Guru once asked me why I revere Mary in the pantheon of the Gods. I said I don’t worship Mary but I love her and adore her. He laughed and said,” How can you love Mary when you don’t even know what she really looks like?” I said Mary is everything good and beautiful and I see her manifestations around me everyday. She colors my world that otherwise would be so dreary. Mary inspires me to write from the heart.

The Guru then said you must be hypocritical because you write about the Krishna while you remain steadfast in your Catholic beliefs. I said I write about the Krishna in the internet with the hope that I could capture the attention of the millions of agnostics in the United States. If I can draw them with a merging of modern Physics and Krishna, then that would be better than no religion at all. The hook is the innovation. They are highly intelligent and Catholic dogmas and Krishna themes have become staid for them.

The Guru scoffed at my motivation. He said you are doing it for money. I said yes but money is secondary. If I can turn one million agnostics around to embrace the knowledge of God without making a single cent, I would still go through with the whole process. If they each send me one (1) dollar and end up with a windfall of one (1) million, I will give half to the poor and keep half for myself.

The Guru laughed and said you are virtually a scam artist because you are pandering a religion that is worthless. It may be better than having no religion at all like you say but these people will not be saved because what you advocate is no better than a sham. “Do you think they can be saved and be reunited with the Krishna when they die?”

I replied that the novel religious themes I write in the internet are not geared to convert those with religious faiths to transfer to the Krishna. They are meant to convey knowledge of God to the atheists and the agnostics. I have no desire to compare Krishna to Christianity or Buddhism and try to harp the merits of the former as the truer form.

Which leads to the question are the Catholics going to be saved if they don’t know the Krishna? Of course not, but they will be saved in the name of Jesus Christ if they are true to their covenant with Him. Will the millions of Muslims be saved if they don’t know Jesus? Of course not, but they will be saved in the name of Allah if they are true to the Koran.

There is only One True God. He is known by many Names and many forms of worship stemming from the spawning of cultures, civilizations, and traditions among different races and nations throughout the history of man. Those who know Him by Yahweh will be saved if they remain faithful to the Gospel Truths embodied in the Ark of the Covenant bequeathed through Moses.

The above discourse prompted the Guru to take another tack. He said Christ refers to the Almighty God the Father and not Jesus Christ, the Nazarene who is man. “How can your God suffer like a man on the cross?” I said our Lord Jesus was a real man with real flesh and blood and was born of the Blessed Virgin Mary. In the same way as the Second Person in the Holy Trinity, He is the real Son of God and sits at His right Hand. Just like what you know in the Krishna as the expansions of God, Jesus Christ is God Himself.

The Guru said that this mouthful of isms is all too easy to say but quite rhetorical and hypothetical, and at best confusing with no practical bearing on everyday living. He taunted me by saying your Jesus of Nazarene figured in history 2,000 years ago and never showed His face hence. Maybe He is greater than Napoleon or Hitler but just like them He remained fixed in His episode in history.

I said I have a personal experience that our Lord Jesus Christ is present amongst us in the present time. In fact, He died for me twice. I saw the Guru get stumped by what I just said and stood there with his mouth agape. I unraveled the story to him as he stood dumbfounded.

It was in 1983 and I was the General Manager of Archers Travel in Ermita. The board appointed a new assistant manager to assist me with the rigors of the deployment of what was to be the beginning of a long exodus of Filipino contract workers to Saudi Arabia. There were limited flights to the Middle East back then as the Filipino Diaspora through overseas employment was just starting.

The first target was Dammam. There was a long list that showed we needed to capture airline seats at the rate of 80 a day with various airline flights. The capacity was in such short supply because no charters were mobilized yet and PAL was still scrambling to lease additional aircraft. There were desperate times when at prohibitive fares we had no recourse but to connect via European hubs as far as London only to backtrack from there to Saudi Arabia.

His name was JC. He had a biblical aura. His eyes were deep-set and poignant. He was of medium build, dusky with an athletic wiry frame. He grew up in Jolo among the Tausugs and so developed a habit which was the most stupefying of all his quirks. He prayed to both the Christian God and the Muslim God.

Back then we made extra commission by filling up seats of some airlines. They remained in the minority as most rode the high demand as their opportunity to maximize revenue and to be courted for the valuable limited inventory. The snotty European carriers thumbed their noses on the crass contract worker market where passengers tended to be ruggedly attired.

To line our own personal pockets with the incentive commission we naturally favored the airlines that gave such. When they get fully booked we made the groups scheduled for deployment to wait for the following week giving the guise that all the rest of the airlines had no more seats. To my chagrin, JC put his foot down and refused to play along even if he stood to get the second biggest share after myself.

“Joey “he said, “these people hocked their farms and their implements to the usurers just so they can get out to get better paying jobs abroad. They pay usurious interest rates and the quicker they can start earning in Saudi Arabia, the faster they can pay back their debts. The longer you keep them waiting in Manila where they have to spend extra for board and lodging, the more their families will get burrowed in ballooning borrowings and fall prey to the depredations of the money lenders.”

“You make money from certain flights a week anyway. We must all be content with that and not seek more over the anguish and suffering of our countrymen.”

I had no choice but to go with him. He could expose the whole rigmarole to the board if I persisted to ram it past him. For lack of an option to set him up to be booted out from the company at that early stage, I let the matter go begrudgingly.

It was that fateful summer day back in 1983 when I learned who He really was. We had to drive to Ilocos eight hours north of Manila to attend the funeral of the mother of our President of the company. On the drive back, as we tried to overtake a jeepney at a fast clip, it swerved and sideswiped us off the highway to crash into a tree head on. The car was a total wreck.

I stirred to a fleeting consciousness only to hear JC mumble weakly to the rescuers to cut me free first. “Get him out first, he has two children” were the exact words he said which are forever emblazoned in my psyche. For lack of the equipment available in the States which they use to cut through crumpled metal, it took a long time to get me out and whisk me by tricycle to a hospital in Pangasinan. By the time they got back to JC He had bled to death trapped in the twisted steel which became his deathbed.

And so I remember Him up to this day and never forget His example every single day and live my life each day to the best of my ability to emulate Him. I have done all I can to make Him come alive in the hearts of my children and will do the same if given an extension in longevity to do the same for my granddaughter, Sophia Leveriza Lina.

I love money and wish I had more of it. I envy those with the trappings of wealth. But because of His example it’s not the top priority in my life.

As for the Abba Krishna, I pray to Him too by His example just the same.

Merry Christmas.