by Jack Ambraw
But it was too late. The door opened and two men entered the room. One, average height but noticeably chubby, searched the room with squinted eyes. Dressed in a tank top, gym shorts, and flip flops, he walked slowly down one of the aisles. A short, squat man followed close behind. He wore jeans and a red t-shirt, torn at the sleeves and along the collar. A pile of brown, bushy hair was his prominent feature. They stopped midway down the aisle and listened. Vega and Hack stood frozen, holding their breaths.
Satisfied that no one was in the room, the two men turned to leave. They were almost to the door when a small valve, no more than an inch in diameter and three inches in length, fell from an uncovered pallet next to Hack. He flinched.
“Sino ang may?” Chubby yelled, slowly walking back down the aisle.
No answer.
“Who’s there?” Bushy Hair said, sure that he had seen movement.
Vega nudged Hack. “Follow me,” she mouthed, emerging from her hiding place with Hack in tow.
The Filipinos ambled down the aisle. Vega stepped forward three paces until they were standing face to face with Agana’s henchmen. “We’re looking for a travel agency. We must’ve gotten the wrong address.”
They didn’t buy it.
“Ikaw ay namamalagi,” asked Bushy Hair.
“I’m not lying. It’s the truth,” Vega replied.
Chubby seized Vega, spun her around, and put his other arm around her throat. She squirmed in pain as one hand crimped her arms behind her back, the other hand squeezed her neck. Bushy Hair grabbed Hack and twisted his arms behind his back.
Chubby tightened his hold on Vega. “You speak Tagalog. Okay, you are looking for a travel agency? Saan ka pupunta?”
Vega thought of the first thing that came to mind. The island resort she’s always dreamed of visiting. “Boracay,” she said, confidently.
The man swiftly covered her mouth with his right hand. “Where you going?” he said to Hack.
“I’m not going anywhere. Your friend has a hold of me.”
The grip tightened, Bushy Hair nudging Hack’s arms slightly upwards. He let out a cry in pain.
Vega squirmed but Chubby increased the pressure on her jaw. He stared at Hack. “I mean your trip. You are looking for travel agency.”
Hack glanced at Vega for help. She pleaded with her eyes for him to say ‘Boracay’ but he hadn’t understood the previous conversation.
Another twist of his arms. “Australia,” he muttered.
Chubby laughed and dropped his hand from Vega’s mouth, feeling for her back pocket. “Where you from? You have ID on you?”
She struggled against his grip, raising her right leg as high as she could. With all her strength, she lowered the heel of her shoe against his bare toes. Chubby’s yell reverberated throughout the room. In a flash, she freed herself from his clutch and spun his body to her left. A karate chop to his throat stunned him. A swift kick to his groin sent him reeling backwards.
Bushy Hair flinched when he saw his friend go down. Hack broke free of his captor, elbowed him in the chest, and rushed towards Vega. Hand in hand they sprinted down the hall, slammed through the stairwell door, and slid down the brass stair rail, each sticking a perfect landing in the foyer.
Hack paused to look behind him. “No time,” Vega yelled, leading him out the exit door where the late morning sunlight hit their faces. The sound of footfalls on the stairs behind them gave no time to savor the fresh air.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
1115, Tuesday, February 25
Hack and Vega hit the sidewalk running. They were in full stride as they passed the bank on the corner. No words needed to be spoken. Decker and Rusty fell in behind their friends and it was only as the group approached a throng of people two blocks away that they slowed their pace to a brisk walk.
“Why the rush?” Decker asked, breathing heavily.
“We went inside,” Vega said. “We found a room where they’ve stored military parts.”
“Navy stuff?”
“I think so, but I couldn’t tell,” said Hack.
“And then we ran into a little problem,” added Vega.
“What was that?” asked Rusty.
“Two men.” She glanced behind her. “I don’t see them now, but they could be around here somewhere. Let’s get lost in the crowd. We can be Cory supporters for a few minutes.”
“I knew we should’ve worn yellow,” Decker said.
Vega didn’t reply. Another roll of her eyes spoke for her. She led her friends into the hundreds of singing anti-Marcos demonstrators gathering around Malacañang.
“What are they singing?” asked Hack.
“Bayan Ko,” said Vega. “My Country. It’s a patriotic song that Cory supporters have adopted for the revolution.”
Vega started to quietly sing. “Bayan ko, binihag ka, Nasadlak sa dusa.” The guys smiled in amusement. “Stop it,” she said, noticing their smirks. “I’m just trying to fit in.” She glanced around her at the protesters. Chubby and Bushy Hair stood six feet from them, separated by several bystanders. Chubby opened the palm of his hand revealing a small switchblade. “Uh oh, let’s keep moving.”
“Your singing’s not that bad,” Decker said. “No one’s going to kick us out.”
“They found us,” she yelled, pushing the guys forward until they were inching their way through the crowd along the outer perimeter of the Malacañang Palace grounds.
Decker scanned the crowd behind them. “How many?”
“Two.”
“Let’s take ’em.”
“One’s got a knife.”
“Keep moving,” yelled Decker. “But we’re going to run into the river if we keep going this direction.”
“Follow me,” Rusty yelled, shoving people aside as the group made its way south along the fence line. “Maybe Ducky is still around.”
Forty feet from the river, a hand from a Filipino army sergeant reached through a slightly opened gate and pulled Rusty into the palace grounds. The same hand plucked Decker and Hack from the crowd and into the safety of Malacañang property.
The sergeant grabbed Vega’s left arm but, half-way in, she suddenly fell backwards, an equally strong hand gripping her right arm.
“You hurt my foot,” Chubby bellowed, reaching for her throat with his free hand. “You see how it feels when I…”
Decker sidestepped the sergeant and delivered a right jab to Chubby’s eye.
“I guess it’s just not your day,” Decker quipped as Chubby let go of Vega, reeled backwards, and fell into Bushy Hair, knocking them both to the ground.
The sergeant yanked Vega inside, pushed back a group of protestors, and locked the gate. He led the party across the lawn into a pocket of banyan trees out of sight from both the main house and the protestors.
“Vega and Hack, meet my friend, Ducky,” Rusty said. “Thank you, pare. That was a close one.”
“Walang anuman,” Ducky replied. “Who were those guys?”
“They work for your old boss,” Rusty said. He pointed with his lips to his comrades. “My friends are on the trail of Angelito.”
Ducky fixed his eyes on the Filipino cop with obvious skepticism as Rusty filled him in on their snooping in Olongapo and Manila.
A Filipino army major in green camouflage fatigues approached the group at a trot. Ducky sprang to attention and saluted. “It’s starting,” the major barked to Ducky. He eyed the four people with Ducky, his eyes settling on the Americans. “Are you the ones from the embassy?”
Decker didn’t skip a beat. “Yes, sir. We’re here waiting.” Waiting for what, he had no idea.
“Get to the courtyard,” the major said. “It is going to start soon. I do not know what time the other event will happen. If it happens.”
“No problem, we’ve got all day,” said Decker, watchin
g the major turn and walk briskly towards the main building.
Vega punched Decker in the arm. “What’d you say that for? It’s only 1115 and now we have no way out.”
“It sounded like the right thing to say at the time,” said Decker. “And I had to protect Ducky.”
“Thank you for that,” Ducky said. “Tayo na to the courtyard. The inauguration is going to start any time now.”
“Hey, we’re going to witness history,” Hack said.
“Maybe more history than you think,” Ducky said. “We have received word that Cory had her inauguration a half hour ago at the Filipino Club. The rumor is spreading that the U.S. military is going to come in and take Marcos out of the country sometime soon. That is why the major thought you were from the embassy. We are expecting Americans to help with the process.” He looked at the four stunned faces. “Stick with me. At least you’re not wearing yellow.”
Vega grinned at Decker as they began walking to the courtyard where a few thousand Filipinos had been bussed in to witness Ferdinand Marcos’ fourth inauguration as President. For a half hour they ate sandwiches and drank coffee and waited with the rest of the crowd. At 1150 the Marcoses appeared at the balcony, the 68-year-old president looking frail in his white barong tagalog. His wife, Imelda, wearing a snow white terno, nervously paced to his immediate right. On the president’s left, wearing green military fatigues stood his defiant son Ferdinand, Jr., known to the country by his nickname, Bongbong.
The crowd hushed into a murmur as Chief Justice Ramon Aquino administered the oath of office. The president followed with a twenty-minute speech, mostly inaudible to the crowd below. At its conclusion, the Marcoses waved to their cheering supporters and then retreated into the palace. It was all over in less than thirty minutes. The Philippines had two presidents.
The crowd dispersed as fast as it had assembled. Ducky emerged from the palace and led the group into an interior hall. They found a quiet space in the presidential library, a spacious room with parquet floors and elegant bookcases along the walls. “Wait here,” Ducky said. “I check the perimeter.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
1240, Tuesday, February 25
Ducky returned with bad news. “No way out now,” he said. “Plenty of protestors at the gates. Looks like things are going to explode any minute.”
They all took a seat at a table along the north wall. Decker took out his Book of Dates and began writing. Vega put her head on the table. Rusty leaned back in his chair, while Hack folded his arms and sighed. Ducky broke the silence. “Rusty told me about your adventures with Agana,” he said softly. “Take his advice and stay away.”
“Too late for that,” Decker countered. “We’re in this too deep.”
“He owns the town,” Ducky warned. “He’s not someone to be messed with.”
Vega popped her head up. “What do you mean, he ‘owns the town?’”
“He has taken over the entire province from Fortuno. There was a brief power struggle, but with Marcos’ protection gone, Agana gained the upper hand. That is why Fortuno retired. It was a forced retirement.”
“We know Agana’s running the black market,” Hack added. “I saw proof of that today.”
“It is more than the black market,” said Ducky. “He is the new jueteng lord of the territory.”
“Jeuteng?” the American sailors said in unison.
“It’s a numbers game,” Vega said. “Popular with everyone, rich and poor.”
“Can there really be that much money in it?” Decker asked.
“A lot of money,” Ducky said. “Billions of pesos a year across the country. Most of it goes into the jueteng lords’ pockets, but a lot also goes into the pockets of politicians, police chiefs, and district attorneys. Enough money to keep everyone quiet.”
“What do you know about Agana’s jueteng operation?” asked Vega. She handed him the paper she nabbed from Agana’s filing cabinet. “I’ve known for a long time he was involved with gambling, but I thought it was just with casinos.”
Ducky studied the document. “This is a jueteng worksheet,” he said. “No names listed to protect people. Just numbers. The two numbers in columns are the draws. The one circled was probably the one they wanted to win. It is rigged. Everyone knows it. They always pay out to the numbers with the lowest amount of bets. That is how they make so much money.”
“Why do people bet on it if it’s rigged?” asked Hack.
“Hope,” said Rusty. “Especially for poor people. If they bet a peso and win 400, that is a big payday for them. It is part of society.”
“He is right,” Ducky agreed. “Each territory has a capitalista, the one who finances the operation. That is Agana in Olongapo. Or, I should say, it is his son, Angelito Agana Jr., although he goes by his nickname, Lito.”
“I didn’t know he had a son,” Vega said. “How old is he?”
Ducky shrugged. “Lito is probably mid-twenties by now. His father is grooming him to take over someday. Step one is to run the jueteng operation.”
“What are these numbers?” asked Decker, pointing to a row of letters with numbers written beside each one.
“Those are the cobradores. They go out each day and collect bets. They are usually women.”
Decker jabbed Hack in the ribs with his elbow. “Those are the women we saw going into Agana’s building.”
“Probably so,” Ducky said. “They report to cabos who collect the money and act as salesmen for the operation. The cabos report to a table manager. He runs the day-to-day- operation. He reports to the capitalista. In Olongapo it is Lito Junior.
“Sounds like a lot of work,” Hack sighed. “I can’t believe they don’t get caught.”
Ducky laughed. “Like I said, the jueteng lord makes sure everyone is paid off. “See these notes,” he said, pointing to the bottom of the paper. “It looks like they paid ‘N’ 10,000 pesos this particular week. Another 10,000 went to ‘G’ and 5,000 each to ‘L’ and ‘L2.”
“Who are those people?” asked Vega.
“I have no idea,” said Ducky. “Maybe names or titles. Who is your police chief?”
“Inspector Navarro,” Decker said.
“There you go,” Ducky smiled. “Maybe ‘N’ is Navarro. It makes sense.”
“And the district attorney is Antonio Gonzales,” Vega whispered.
“The ‘L’s’ could be someone with the same name, maybe a senior and junior,” Ducky added. “Or people with the same job title.”
Vega thought for a moment. “I don’t know who that could be. I’ll have to think about it.”
Ducky tapped the note. “This is interesting. Angelito Junior has someone helping to finance the operation. The letter ‘P’ shows up two times with dollar amounts. It is being paid into the operation rather than outgoing payoffs. Here is one payment for 18,450 pesos on December 27.”
Vega snatched the paper from Ducky. “I don’t know anyone with the name ‘P,’” she said, folding the paperwork into her pocket.
“Could be anybody,” Ducky shrugged. He stood and put his hands on Rusty’s shoulders. “I will go check things.”
The hours crept by as the group huddled in the corner of the library. Decker and Hack drifted off to sleep. Vega and Rusty quietly chatted as Ducky came by to check on them from time to time. “Not yet,” was all he ever said. “Crowd outside is too big. No one coming or going.”
At 2030 all that changed. A hurried group of military personnel passed through the library, oblivious to the strangers lounging in the southeast corner of the spacious hall. Ducky came running by a minute later. “Marcos is leaving,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “Helicopters are landing across the river in the presidential park. We need to—”
Ducky stopped talking and snapped to attention. A lean middle-aged Filipino general in full-dress military attire emerged throu
gh a door on their left. The rest of the group slowly stood, not sure what was going to happen.
The general turned to Ducky and spoke softly but firmly. “Load the boats. Bilisan mo.”
“Yes, sir,” Ducky said. “We are on our way.”
The man nodded and walked away, heading up a set of stairs and disappearing into one of the many rooms of the palace.
“That was General Ver,” Ducky whispered. “Marcos’ right hand man. He wants us to take some luggage to the boats waiting to cross the Pasig River. We need to hurry.”
Decker saluted. “We’ve got our orders. And it’s our ticket home.”
Ducky led the group out of the library and into a passageway lined with paintings of famous Filipinos and historical events. Decker recognized depictions of Lapu-Lapu, Magellan, the Filipino-American War, the great patriot Emilio Aguinaldo, and the Japanese occupation during WWII. He was familiar with some of the former presidents: Osmeña, Quezon, Magsaysay, and, of course, Marcos. He made a mental note to someday find out who else was depicted in the murals.
Heroes Hall buzzed with activity, the mirrored ceilings making it seem even more crowded. Ducky led his new friends to a group of Filipino military men.
Soon the elevator door opened. The president and first lady emerged from the elevator and walked by their luggage.
General Ver followed a step behind. “Get this luggage across the river and into the helicopters coming from the U.S. Embassy grounds,” he barked.
The military personnel gave a “yes, sir” in unison but none of the soldiers was quick to pick up the bags. President Marcos greeted each soldier, quietly mumbling a ‘thank you’ to each one. Imelda, openly weeping, shook hands with each person she passed, dabbing her eyes dry with a white handkerchief with her free hand. When she approached Decker and Hack, she paused and said “bless you” quietly to the sailors.
Hack stood speechless.
“It is an unfortunate hour,” Decker said, solemnly. “My bosses at the embassy regret that it’s come to this.”
Vega nudged Decker to quiet him, but it went unnoticed. “Bless you,” Imelda said once again and continued her final walk through Malacañang. When the first family left the hall, Ducky pulled Decker and Hack aside. “There’s more luggage in the basement,” he said. “I need some help.”