“Ah. He was the greatest salesman. He made it seem that one could find one’s way to financial gain through belief in God. If you were a true believer, you didn’t have to be poor. He gave value to the empty faith of the Filipinos, filling us all with hope.” Inchoy laughed. “And he’s an easier read than Lacan.” He thought for a moment, probably comparing Lacan to Mandino and finding Mandino lacking. “Is that all you found on Laird’s computer?”

“I looked at his master’s thesis or at least a draft of it. Did you know his thesis is on martial law under Batac?”

“No, but that’s not surprising.”

“What is surprising is that it wasn’t exactly critical. He does take issue with torturing students and journalists, but much of the paper is, weirdly, devoted to Caesar. He talks about how Caesar restored order to Rome, of how it was in complete chaos after the dissolution of the triumvirate and deaths of Pompey and Crassus, of how Caesar was correct to establish himself as dictator. That the people needed it and loved him for it. He goes on at length about Caesar’s building projects, about how all those roads and aqueducts and temples employed the poor and gave every Roman a stake in society. He says something about them literally building the state. Then there’s a predictable reference to gladiators and Bakhtin’s theory of carnival—bet his adviser made him put that in—and then it goes right back into how Rome again descended into chaos after Caesar’s assassination. And there’s some stuff about Machiavelli in this weird tone, as if we all love Machiavelli. And then he quotes a lot of ‘strongman’ philosophers that I’ve never heard of. Laird was a complete lunatic.”

“How was the writing?”

“Good, actually, weirdly convincing. I had to keep reminding myself that I was a staunch believer in democracy.”

“People who really believe in democracy should keep questioning the various practiced forms of democracy,” said Inchoy. “But there’s nothing about Marawi or why he would go there?”

“Not so far. I know that the interesting stuff must be in the emails, but it feels weird to read them. And there’s an account I can’t get into. I don’t know. The whole thing creeps me out. I’m not sure how to handle it. I haven’t even checked his search history.”

“You’ll get through it eventually,” said Inchoy. “You have to. It’s all that’s left of him.”

We reached the outer limits of Baguio at five. The atmosphere thinned as we ascended the switchbacks of Kennon Road and the landscape began to bristle with pine trees. The sharp cliffs rose rough and jagged, scattering rubble onto the roadway. Boulders were occasionally dislodged and, when they fell, would crush cars with the accuracy and complete devastation of a Road Runner cartoon.