by Jack Ambraw
“Great,” Decker said, looking up at the sky the precise moment the big drops turned into a downpour. “Let’s run for it!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
1352, Saturday, February 8
Soaked and out of breath, Decker and Hack spotted Baby in a back booth, his back to the door. Decker put his index finger to his lips to quiet Hack while they tiptoed towards their new friend without being noticed. As they approached within a couple feet, Hack slid in the opposite bench seat and Decker jumped into the seat next to Baby, putting an arm around his shoulder.
“People of the Philippines. We have returned,” Decker announced.
A wide smile formed on Baby’s face. “I am so glad to see you guys. There are stories of people going in that house and not coming back out again. I was afraid for you two. I did not want to tell Rusty I lost you.”
“That would’ve been very careless of you,” Decker said. “Now, let’s get something to eat.” He flagged down a harried waitress and ordered three helpings of pancit, an ample serving of rice, and three cokes. “We can ride out the bad weather in here.”
“Good plan,” Hack said. “For once I’m glad it’s raining. I’m starving.”
Decker and Hack recounted their conversation with Mr. Fortuno and answered Baby’s questions about the layout of the house and who they met inside. Fifteen minutes later the waitress brought their order. They ate their meal at a leisurely pace, enjoying the cuisine and the company of Baby. Thirty minutes later the waitress handed Decker the bill.
“Salamat po,” Decker said, glancing at the ticket to ensure it was the correct amount. He quickly scanned the food and drink items listed on the receipt and started to set it aside, but something caught his eye. A note was attached to the receipt by a paperclip. Someone had scribbled two handwritten sentences across the bottom of the note. He turned to look at the door, and then at the waitress. “Who gave you this note?”
“Some man,” said the waitress. “He came in and handed it to me. Gave me one hundred pesos to deliver it.”
“Salamat,” Decker said, handing the small piece of paper to Baby. “Hey, can you read this?”
“O o, it says pancit and rice. Three orders. You can’t read that? Where are your glasses?”
“I don’t need glasses,” Decker said. “I was talking about the note.”
Baby studied the writing for a few seconds. “Sorry, pare. I cannot read it. It is probably nothing.”
Decker handed the note to Hack who held it at various distances from his face. “I think it’s a message, but I have no idea what it says.”
“Must be from Mr. Fortuno,” Decker whispered, lowering his voice to remind Hack they needed to be discreet.
Hack nodded and silently mouthed, “We’ll talk later at Cal Jam.”
The rain continued for another thirty minutes when a break in the weather gave them the opportunity to head back to base.
The trip downhill back to the heart of Olongapo took half the time it had taken to reach Mr. Fortuno’s house. Baby dropped them at the corner of Gordon and Magsaysay and the two sailors walked into Cal Jam still pondering their trip to Mr. Fortuno’s house. They sat at their usual table by the window, studying the handwritten note lying on the table in front of them.
“I still can’t read it,” said Hack.
“Me either,” said Decker. He took out his pencil and pointed to the first sentence. “It looks like a name here, but I can’t make out the other words.”
“I think it’s a name, too,” Hack agreed. “Three words. The first letters are capitalized. But a name of what?”
“Could be a person.”
“Or a town,” Decker countered.
“But more likely a person.”
“Or a town.”
Decker turned the note towards Hack. “What about the second sentence? A word then a colon followed by two more words. And the last two words are underlined.”
Hack picked up the note and held it at different angles. “Whoever wrote this has terrible handwriting.”
“I assume it’s Mr. Fortuno,” said Decker.
“It could be from his daughter?” Hack offered.
Decker shook his head. “I doubt it.”
“Why not?”
“Because beautiful women have exquisite handwriting. Always perfectly legible.”
Hack looked dubious. “Is that right?”
“It’s a fact of nature. I read about a research study once. They proved it scientifically.”
Hack rolled his eyes. “I’m sure there’s one beautiful woman out there who has sloppy handwriting.”
“It’s possible, but it would be an evolutionary anomaly.”
“A what?”
“Never mind,” Decker said. “I’m certain this is from her father. Olivia would’ve told us something at the door. All she did was warn you not to come back. Advice, I might add, that you should follow.”
“Warned me? What about you? She was talking to both of us.”
“She was clearly talking to you. She said not to come back to see her father, and she was looking at you when she said it. If I go back there, it won’t be to see the old man. It’ll be other business.”
Hack ignored Decker’s rambling. “Maybe the note’s from Jimmy, Fortuno’s butler guy. Did you see him at the café?”
“I didn’t see anyone I recognized. But I was sitting with Baby with my back to the door. You see anyone?”
“I wasn’t paying attention,” Hack said. “The place was too crowded. Someone easily could’ve walked in, passed the note to the waitress, and left before anyone noticed.”
They sat staring at the note for five minutes, neither one saying a word as they studied the piece of paper from every angle trying in vain to decipher the handwriting.
“I think I’ve got it,” Hack said. “The first word is ‘the.’ I’m pretty sure of that.”
“Me too,” said Decker. “But that doesn’t help.”
“Okay, how about this?” Hack offered. “The beginning is Angular August Kayaking. Warming: his december.”
Decker gave Hack a doubtful look. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Maybe it’s code.”
“Maybe it’s not even close to what it says. I think you’re way off.”
Hack slid the note back to Decker. “I don’t see you coming up with anything better.”
“Yeah? Well, I think I’ve got it. It says ‘The bussing is Angiology Again Kampuchea. Warring: it’s dampening.’”
“That’s the best you’ve got?” Hack laughed.
“I think it’s close. Maybe a word or two off.”
“A word or two? That makes less sense than my translation. Maybe it’s written in Tagalog. That’s why we can’t read it.”
“A good point,” Decker said, glancing behind him. “Here comes Pong. Let’s see if he can read it.”
Pong approached the table and spread several peso notes in front of the sailors. “Gentlemen, the newest additions to my collection,” he said, proudly.
“Pesos?” Decker said. “If I knew you were collecting those, I have a few I could’ve sold you. I’d even do it at the rate of eighteen pesos to a dollar.”
Pong laughed and pointed to the bills. “No way, pare. Everyone knows the rate is twenty and half pesos. But these are no ordinary pesos. Look closely.”
Decker and Hack leaned in to study the bills. There were several denominations ranging from a fifty centavos note to a one hundred peso bill. Printed across the top of each one was the wording “The Japanese Government.”
“Occupation currency?” Decker asked.
“O o,” said Pong. “The Japanese started printing the money in 1942. I have a few already in my collection, but this is the first time I have been able to buy notes in such good shape.”
“V
ery interesting,” Decker said. “And I’ve got a note to show you, too.” He handed Pong the piece of paper. “Take a look at this. We can’t make it out.”
Pong studied the writing for a few minutes, then: “It’s easy. It says: ‘The bellman is August Agent Keypunch. Waving: has depression.’”
“Thanks, Pong,” Decker said, exchanging an exasperated look with Hack. “I thought it might be written in Tagalog. Apparently it’s not.”
“If it is Tagalog, I do not know those words,” Pong said, gathering his peso notes. “Sorry I could not be of more help.”
“No problem. We’ll keep looking at it.”
“Can I try,” a woman’s voice said. Standing behind Decker, he hadn’t realized one of Pong’s assistants had followed him to the table.
“Sure, go ahead,” Decker said. “We’re getting nowhere with it.”
The girl studied the note with enthusiasm and a smile came across her face. “Okay. I know what it says. My father used to write like this. I was always good at reading his handwriting. It says: ‘The busboy is Angelica Against Kangaroo. Warplane: has dungeon.’”
“Thank you, my dear,” said Decker, taking the note from the woman. “That is very helpful.”
“Walang anuman,” she said, turning to walk away, looking satisfied that she had broken the code.
“We’re wasting our time,” said Decker. “Let’s go see Rusty. We need to let him know we’re back in town. I’m sure he’s worried about us and maybe he can make sense out of this.”
Ten minutes later, the two sailors were sitting on Rusty’s porch. Rusty studied the note for only a few seconds.
“I was worried about this,” Rusty said, laying the note on a coffee table in front of him.
“What are you talking about?” Decker asked. “You have any idea what it says? We’ve been looking at it for an hour and haven’t been able to come up with anything.”
“I know what it says,” Rusty said. “This is interesting.”
“What is?” asked Decker, still trying to decipher the handwriting.
“Angelito Agana,” said Rusty.
Decker and Hack exchanged glances. “A.A.,” they said in unison.
“Chief Fray had those initials written on a piece of paper,” Decker explained. “Who is he?”
“Angelito Agana used to work for Mr. Fortuno. I knew him. It has been a long time since I have talked to him. My friend Ducky knows him better. Wish he was here to tell you about Agana. Ducky is in Manila now. He works security for Marcos.”
“Agana doesn’t work for Fortuno anymore?” Decker asked.
“No, he had disagreement with Mr. Fortuno several years ago. Fortuno accused Agana of stealing money. There is bad blood between them.”
“What’s Agana do now?” Decker asked.
“I have asked around about him. I learned he started his own business when Mr. Fortuno kicked him out.”
“Black market?”
“O o. And gambling. Agana got friendly with Marcos. The president let him run the casinos on Luzon.”
“The president has that power?”
“The government owns the casinos, pare. Marcos established the Philippine Amusements and Gaming Corporation in 1977. It is controlled in the Office of the President. Still that way. Ducky told me that Agana once did a favor for the Rolex 12. He got the casinos as part of the deal. Plus Agana’s father knew Marcos during WWII. They were part of Ang Mahárlika. Now Agana calls his business by that name.”
“The what?” asked Decker.
“Noble warrior,” smiled Hack.
Decker and Rusty stared at Hack.
“Lee said the word once,” Hack said. “She told me what it meant.”
Rusy nodded. “He is right. The Mahárlika. The Noble Warriors. Marcos’ guerilla unit. Or that is the story Marcos likes to tell. He claimed it was the best fighting force. Beat the Japanese every time. Marcos says he was the most decorated soldier in the war. But American’s never believed it. Said they never heard of the unit. They said it was a black market operation selling stuff to Japanese.”
“Why the nickname for his business?” asked Decker.
Rusty shrugged. “Do not know. Maybe he is trying to impress Marcos. Or to scare people. Make himself sound tough.”
“How big is he?” Decker asked.
“Agana? He is real big. The main player in town. He is so powerful that he has broken ties with Marcos.”
“It’s hard to keep track of who’s on whose side,” Decker said. “So Agana controls all of the black market in Olongapo now?”
“Most of it. Gambling operation, too. There are a few small time operators, but my friends say they are too small for Agana to worry about.”
“What kind of things does he deal in?” asked Hack.
“Big stuff. Cigarettes and soap no good anymore. Too many trade agreements between countries have opened up the market. It is different now.”
“What kind of big stuff?” Decker asked.
“Material for ships. Aircraft parts. Whoever controls Subic also controls Angeles City.”
Hack looked inquiringly at Decker. “Clark Air Base,” Decker said.
“Exactly,” said Rusty. “It is one area. Mr. Fortuno used to control 80 percent of the black market trade going in and out of Subic and Clark. Now Agana has control. Probably controls more like 90 percent now.”
“Where does he send the supplies?” asked Decker. “I don’t see any of that stuff around the stores in town.”
“You would not see it,” said Rusty. “From what I hear, most of the parts goes overseas to other countries.”
“What do they do with it?” asked Hack.
“Not sure. They probably use it for their ships and planes,” Rusty said.
“We should go talk to Agana,” Rusty said, looking at Decker.
“I would advise against that,” said Rusty.
“Why? We talked to Mr. Fortuno. That went well. He even helped us in his own way.”
Rusty shook his head. “It’s a completely different situation.”
“How so?”
“Mr. Fortuno is a nice man if you are on his good side.”
“What’s Agana like?” asked Hack.
“He is different. Agana was always angry about something when I knew him. Like he was pissed off at the world. Never satisfied with his position in life.”
Decker stood and paced. “I still think we ought to try to talk with him. See if he knows anything about Chief or Allen Sumner. We can at least stop by his business. Snoop around a little.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” asked Hack.
“We can walk in like we’re lost,” Decker said. “Or we can say we’re just curious about the business. Play dumb.”
“I don’t think we’ll have to play if we do that,” said Hack.
“He is right,” Rusty said, pointing to Hack. “Agana is not a stupid man. Neither are his men. If two American sailors walk in there, they will know you are up to no good.”
“Maybe we can go in and ask for Allen Sumner. Or maybe ask for Chief Fray,” Decker said. “We can say they’re friends of ours and we’re looking for them.”
“Still not a good idea,” Rusty said. “Trust me. I knew Mr. Fortuno would be agreeable. He is retired. But Agana is different.”
Decker put his hand on Rusty’s shoulder. “I wholeheartedly agree with you, pare.” Decker pointed to Hack. “But I’m afraid my friend is determined to pay a visit to the esteemed Mr. Agana.”
“The hell I am!” said Hack.
“You can’t fool me,” said Decker. “I know that look in your eyes. But don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you when you go in.”
Hack shook his head. “I knew you were going to get him involved in another trip I’d rather not take.” A moment later, he
gave in to his friend, but with a caveat. “Alright, I’ll go, but we’re just going to walk by and take a look around from the sidewalk. I don’t even want to pause in front of the business.”
“It’s a go then,” Decker agreed. He turned to Rusty. “Where’s Agana’s business located?”
Rust drew a crude map and scribbled directions to Agana’s on the back of the note from Fortuno.
“Thank you, pare,” said Decker, motioning with his head to Hack that it was time to go. They stepped off the porch and thanked Rusty for his help.
“By the way,” asked Decker, pausing on the sidewalk. “What did Fortuno’s note say?”
“That is easy,” Rusty said. “It says, ‘The business is Angelito Agana Kompanya. Warning: He’s dangerous’.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
1735, Wednesday, February 12
The Marine guard checked their IDs and waved the sailors through the checkpoint at the main gate without saying a word. Decker exhaled loudly as he exited the base. “Another day on the Harvey that we survived.”
“I was beginning to wonder about you this afternoon,” Hack said. “You seemed tense all day.”
“I’m dreading talking with Vega tonight,” Decker sighed. “She called me on the ship this morning. She invited me over to her place after work.”
Hack punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Ah, it’s probably nothing. Just wait and see, she’ll surprise you.”
Decker forced a smile. “Maybe so.”
They were half way across the Shit River Bridge when Decker spotted a green Range Rover pull alongside them. He ignored the vehicle, but when the car continued to follow them, Decker turned and realized who it was. “Damn.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Hack.
“We have company. Let’s keep walking.”
Hack glanced over Decker’s shoulder at the vehicle. “Who is it?”
“It’s no one,” Decker said. “Don’t look at him.”
As the two sailors neared the end of the bridge, Inspector Navarro rolled down the passenger side window. “Well, Mr. Decker, how are you this evening? You remember me, right? Inspector Franco Navarro.”