We met the next morning for breakfast in the lobby café of my hotel. It was so jammed and buzzing that nobody took note of us. “This should be a piece of cake, compared to the October Revolution,” said Emil Grotesqcu. “This time we have the people, the church, the press and world opinion staunchly behind us. Didn’t lose a war, nobody starving in the streets. All Marcos has is his office, his money and his corrupt supporters, and once they realize nothing much will change with a new administration, they’ll drop him. I’m not sure how much he can rely on the Police and the Army; there’s a lot of disaffection in the ranks.”
“Isn’t Cory Aquino going to reform the government?” I said.
“She claims she’d like to, but you can revamp an entrenched system just so far. Considering how much the Marcoses steal, getting their hands out of the till will be a vast improvement for Filipinos.”
“So, what do we have to work with?” I asked.
“A couple of my people serve on the staffs of the inner circle. None has real power, but they’re good sources to tap for inside information. There are quite a number in the unions and the schools. They’re good for organizing and logistics, spreading the word, bringing out the mob. Several in the press. And even a few on Cory’s team, though she may not realize it. We’ve no one in the Church, naturally, but often our goals and theirs coincide, and if we aren’t too obvious they won’t reject our help—Liberation Theology being one example.”
“What do your useful idiots get out of this, anyhow?” I asked. “The Communists have them everywhere. What’s in it for them?”
“That warm glow of Making a Difference, of being part of something more important and bigger then themselves,” Grotesqcu said. “And for some of them, the possibility of gaining power over others, since they have so much less of their own than they’d like. Have you ever wondered why, despite our actual record on human rights and the blood on our hands, the Nazis are the universal Bad Guys and not us? The Nazis proclaimed themselves the Master Race—excluding everybody else—and set about conquering lebensraum and getting inconvenient populations out of the way. If you examine the facts, we didn’t do much very different. But here’s the key: right from the beginning we spread our arms wide in welcome. Workers of the World Unite! The Brotherhood of Man! Equality! From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs! Cast off your chains, overthrow your oppressors! What could be nobler? Was Christ’s preaching very different? If things never quite worked out accordingly, we at least went in with the best of intentions, and, if we only try harder, maybe next time … That’s good enough for people who in their hearts feel they amount to so much less than their aspirations. At Least We Meant Well.”
“At bottom,” he continued, “people who long to Make a Difference are just egoists like everybody else, but with a streak of smug knowingness. Really, what difference can they make against the flow of history? They’d make a bigger difference if they just did their jobs more diligently and tended to their families, but that’s too mundane for the romantic idealists. So as long as we frame our program to achieve power for an idealistic end—Social Justice!—we’ll always have a certain number eager to pitch in. That’s what makes this campaign so easy. They won’t be at odds with anybody except The Enemy. What a glorious thrill to be numbered among a righteous, triumphant mob! But in the end, that thrill is all they’ll get. Filipinos have no use for Communism. Meet the new government, same as the old government. And we Friends of the People will soldier on, as disappointed, earnest dissenters.”
“Cory called for this mass rally today at Luneta, following the bishops’ reading of the letter yesterday morning,” I said. “That’s drawing quite a crowd.”
“It’s a start,” he said. “My people guided her to calling for a boycott of products that Marcos controls—Coca Cola, San Miguel beer and the papers he owns. Readership of the Times Journal and the Express has dropped already. I don’t think Coke and beer will suffer much, but threat of a boycott scares corporations. We’ll have to get demonstrations out on the streets, with a good slogan. What was that one from the New Left in the 1960s?”
“Power to the People.”
“Never accomplished much in America—the public understood that as far as the people protesting were concerned, they were the enemy. Wouldn’t work here either, because the issue is installing Cory Aquino, not overthrowing the government.”
“How about ‘People Power’? Like, the people use their power to rid themselves of Marcos.”
He considered it. “That’ll work,” he said. “I’ll have the printers’ union start turning out placards and posters and flyers. You’re sure you’re not a fellow traveler? No, you’re too smart for that.”
There was nothing more to do, so we walked over to Rizal Park to see how Cory’s rally was going. The government reported only a few thousand people attended. Aquino supporters claimed a crowd of three million. The true number, I can’t say, but I’d not seen that many jubilant people thronging the streets since the Ayatollah returned to Tehran.
Of all the resident foreign ambassadors, only the Russian congratulated Marcos on his victory. To avoid further embarrassment, Marcos canceled the elaborate inaugural he’d planned and instead announced a peaceful inaugural ceremony at Malacanang Palace to which, however, no diplomats were invited. Ronald Reagan made an off-the-cuff remark that there was probably cheating on both sides, provoking widespread criticism and a hasty State Department backpedal that he’d misspoke. Envoy Philip Habbib was dispatched to assess the situation. Three days after Cory’s rally the U. S. Senate passed a resolution declaring the Philippine election fraudulent.
The People Power movement gained momentum quickly, but the Marcos faction was not fading away. Aquino’s backers made an effort to reach compromises, but Imelda offered not an inch to her enemies. Figuring Luz to be my best source inside the regime, I’d asked her to keep her ears open and let me know if she heard anything important. She didn’t let me down. She came to the Manila Hotel dressed for a date and was sent straight to my room. “Jack, I was with one of the men on General Ver’s staff, and he gloated about how they are going to turn the election around. They will first set bombs and fires around the islands and blame it on the Communists. That will give them a reason to declare a state of emergency and impose martial law. Then they will arrest all the opposition leaders and call out the troops to subdue the demonstrators. My friend boasted of jailing 10,000 enemies.”
“Johnny Enrile is Minister of Defense. Can they call out the troops without his okay?”
“Ver’s group plans to seize him first thing.”
“And when will this happen?”
“In the next day or two.”
“I’d better alert Enrile right away.”
Luz looked at me with a coy little smile. “Surely you have time to reward a faithful assistant before you go rushing off to duty?” she asked.
It’s a tenet of good management: take care of your people. Of course I had time. Honey traps be damned! I slipped her a fistful of Imelda’s cash, too.
*
Enrile took my call, and 20 minutes later out front of the hotel I ducked through a light sprinkle and climbed into the back seat of his Mercedes with him. “I don’t have all the details, but here’s what I heard,” and I repeated what Luz told me.
“It’s the same stunt they pulled in 1972,” he said. “That fake assassination was my part in that, and I’ve regretted it ever since. I figured I’d be on the hit list this time, and I suspected something was up when they arrested Bobby Ongpin’s security men. Thanks to your tip, I think I can head this off. Ver doesn’t know it, but the Army’s no longer in his pocket. I command some troops, General Ramos will throw in with me, and I think my security forces are a match for Ver’s.”
“So you can pre-empt him?”
“He has the capability of wiping us out if he moves fast, but he’s
never been much of a military man. I think we can hold him off.”
Enrile talked to Ver and, certain of his ground, called a press conference at which he and Ramos announced their defection, that they were no longer part of the Marcos government. Asked if he would go to the Palace to negotiate with Marcos, Enrile said it would be like going inside a prison camp. Another reporter asked if he would support Corazon Aquino. “I am morally convinced it was Mrs. Aquino who was elected by the Filipino people,” he declared.
In answer, Marcos held a press conference shown on all TV channels. Before he could get a word in, Imelda told the newsmen that she’d had her eye on Enrile all along. “I told my husband way back in 1972 to watch out, it might be Johnny who will kill you,” she declared. Marcos, in turn, paraded Imelda’s personal chief security officer, Captain Morales, out, denounced him of being a leader of the coup, and after he “confessed” had him escorted away, leaving Imelda in tears.
From that point on, events moved quickly. Cory Aquino decamped to Cebu Island to organize civil disobedience. Enrile’s forces took over Camp Aguinaldo to the north of the city, while the government’s troops mustered around the Palace. All over Manila people overflowed the streets. Word went out that Camp Aguinaldo needed food, and Filipinos flocked there, the poor bringing rice and the well-off toting large pots of meat and fish stew. Demonstrations erupted everywhere. Cardinal Sin stationed nuns at the forefronts, knowing that this prevented the army from using force against them, Filipinos being highly respectful of the Church. Battle tanks rumbling down the street clanked to a halt when they reached the cordon of little white-clad nuns kneeling and saying rosaries. Even an attack force of 10 heavily-armed landing vehicles carrying three battalions of marines was cowed by a resolute civilian crowd on EDSA: “We could have plowed right over them,” said their commander, General Tadiar, “But I didn’t want to be known as the Butcher of Ottigas Avenue.”
General Ramos was headquartered at Camp Crame, adjacently to the west of Aguinaldo. He reached his field commanders with a simple message: join us here if you can. If not, stay neutral. Civilians flocked to join him, many bringing food and mattresses so they could camp on the grounds. Word spread that General Ver had ordered a full-scale attack on the Camp, with artillery and armored columns massing in position. Then a civilian spotted black-clad Rangers creeping toward the perimeter and honked his car horn. Exposed, the Rangers scampered back to their lines. Just before dawn trucks of soldiers drew up to the protesters surrounding the camp and fired tear gas. At sunrise a flight of Sikorsky gunships swooped over the horizon and converged over Camp Crame. They carried enough armament to wipe out the crowd, but to everyone’s surprise and relief they hovered in over the camp airfield and lowered to the ground. Pilots, crews and soldiers jumped out waving white flags. Their leader, Colonel Sotelo, had opted to defect, and in addition to the five gunships he brought along two rescue ships, a utility ship and 15 combat pilots. Upon hearing that General Ver was going to launch an air attack, three of the gunships were dispatched to destroy Ver’s force on the ground. Interviewed by reporters as a cheering crowd pressed in, Colonel Sotelo explained, “I have not really done much in my life, and for once I wanted to make a decision for my country.”
On February 25, instead of Marcos’s announced peaceful inauguration, an army helicopter gunship flew in over Malacanang Palace, hovered there, then fired six rockets. Five landed harmlessly in the garden, and one shattered the windows in Imelda’s bedroom. The rumor circulated that Marcos had fled the Palace, so Manila was deeply disappointed to see him appear on Channel 6. At that point General Ramos ordered his troops out to seize the Marcos TV and radio stations. In retaliation, Marcos ordered the air force to bomb Camp Crame. Several fighter jets overflew it, but dropped no bombs. The pilots blamed poor visibility.
The rocket attack on the Palace tipped the scales, for it brought home to Ferdinand Marcos that he could be killed. He held another TV news conference where he maintained that the situation was under control, and that he would be issuing an ultimatum to the rebels. However, in truth there was nothing he could do without slaughtering his own people. Imelda, too demurred. “If we wipe them out,” she was heard to remark, “what will happen to our assets in the U.S.?”
President Reagan had a cable sent to Manila stating that it was time for Marcos to prepare for a government transition and offering him safe haven and medical care in the U.S. Later Reagan went on radio and TV to say: “Any attempt to resolve the military crisis by force would surely result in bloodshed and casualties, further polarizing Philippine society and doing untold damage to the relationship between our governments.” He went on to caution against government factions attacking one another, as President Marcos had pledged to refrain from initiating violence. And he all but ordered Marcos to abdicate in favor of Corazon Aquino. Marcos called Senator Laxalt to negotiate an exit strategy and discovered that the only strategy open to him was to exit.
The next day, little yellow-clad Corazon Aquino was inaugurated as President of the Philippines, to the huzzahs of throngs in the streets. Ferdinand Marcos remained hunkered in the Palace, searching for straws to grasp but finding none left. That evening three U.S. Air Force H-3 choppers ferried Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos and their party of 87 to Clark Air Force base. He did his reluctant best to exit with dignity and a “they never laid a glove on me” mien, all but declaring “I Shall Return.”
Despite the amount of military hardware deployed, battle casualties were slight. The People Power Revolution was (mostly) peaceful because at heart Filipinos are a (mostly) peaceful people.
*
When Cory’s inauguration ceremony was over the task I’d set for myself was finished—I’d helped keep Marcos from stealing the election. With luck I wouldn’t be clapped in irons for dereliction of duty, or whatever the CIA did to punish operatives who went rogue. Then it was party time, everyone unwinding from what had been a fraught couple of weeks. I bumped into Beth Romulo one last time, who told me friends had, because of her government connections, advised her to return to the States until things quieted down. “Not on your life,” she declared. “It was my first revolution, and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” We toasted the good fortune of the Philippines. “You weren’t really here to make loans, were you, Jack?” she asked.
“Well, I sure won’t be making any now,” was my reply.
One bothersome issue cropped up. With Imelda out of power my line of credit at the Manila Hotel was gone with the trade winds. The management presented me with a bill for three months of their hospitality, and an eye-opener it was. It was too formidable to put on a credit card, but fortunately my CIA bank account had enough balance to cover it, with some left over. I called Dana Wehrli—no need for tradecraft now—to tell her I’d be arriving home in a couple days and was delighted to hear that she was delighted. I was treating myself to a San Miguel (boycott ended!) after some laps in the pool, when a waiter told me I had a phone call. It was Todd Sonarr …er, Stokes Gladstone. Shit! My Day of Reckoning was now at hand.
“Jack,” he said, “good to hear your voice.”
“Thanks, Stokes,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
“I just want to congratulate you on a job well done. Mission accomplished. Time to return to home base, no need to linger in Manila any longer. Settle up your affairs. Keep the change.”
But Stories Never Conclude
Todd Sonarr’s last words:
“Just wanted to congratulate you on a job well done. Mission accomplished. Time to return to home base, no need to linger in Manila any longer. Settle up your affairs. Keep the change.”
My reply:
“Uh, right,” I said. “Umm… thanks. Anything else?”
“Details later. Take care.” And he hung up.
Did I hear him right? Mission accomplished? What mission? Job well done? What job? Keep the change? What change?
Mine not to reason why. I deduced that the residue in the bank account after I covered expenses was mine to pocket. Plus I still had some of Imelda’s bribe. A bonus on top of my fee. But the rest I couldn’t fathom at all. Unless the call was a feint to lull me into a false sense of confidence, which I wouldn’t put past him, at least I might not be arrested when I deplaned in LAX.
As I puzzled over it, the waiter brought me another phone call. This one was Luz. “Jack,” she said, “Auntie would like very much to talk with you. It is most urgent. Can you come see her this afternoon?”
I could, and shortly thereafter my driver pulled up in front of her Forbes Park mini-mansion. I told him to wait. The maid escorted me into a bedroom this time, and there was Auntie, buried in a heap of lacy pillows that propped her up, surrounded by medical paraphernalia, looking like she was at death’s door. Which, it turned out, she was. Luz sat on a chair beside the bed in solace mode.
THE REST OF AUNTIE’S STORY
“So good of you to come see an old dying whore, Mr. Philco,” she said, still able to muster a mischievous little smile. “Luz has kept me advised of your goings-on. You are the only man I have met that I think I can trust—certainly my Filipino male friends do not qualify—so there is something I must tell you. I have been dying for a while now, but I feel the end will come soon. Therefore I wish to entrust you with an important secret. But you must first promise to honor a dying woman’s last wish.”
“I promise, if it is in my power to do so.”
“That’s all anyone can promise,” she said. She had a hard time breathing, and speaking took most of the energy she had left. “I told you something of my past, but not all. You see, my Jap protector was second in command to General Yamashita. You perhaps have heard stories and rumors about Yamashita’s fabulous gold hoard?”
“From Ferdinand Marcos himself,” I said.
“Oh, that filthy liar,” she spat, coming back to life just a little. “That is how he explains his great wealth—he didn’t steal it, he found Yamashita’s gold. I know for a fact that story isn’t true. Because I know its location. Let me explain. My protector was given the task of hiding the gold, because Yamashita wanted it for his own, perhaps to buy his way into a position of power after Japan won the war. He searched the Philippines for a suitable hiding place, finally settling on a deserted island, an extinct volcano. He loaded the gold on a barge and carefully selected several aides, who conscripted some natives from a distant island to do the work. They stored the gold in a cavern in a lava field, leaving no traces of their activity. On the way back they killed all the native workers and threw them into the sea for the sharks to dispose of.
The Jake Fonko Series: Books 4, 5 & 6 Page 41