Decker's Dilemma (21 page)

“What if someone sees me?” asked Decker, suddenly apprehensive.

“That's what I'm worried about,” said Vega.

“I'm not talking about Agana or protestors. I'm talking about these clothes. How am I going to make it back to the ship wearing this outfit?”

Vega couldn't stop giggling. “I'm sure you won't run into anyone you know. And if you do, just tell them it's a new look for you. Maybe it'll catch on.”

Decker ignored the comment and focused on Hack's attire. “How did you get those?” I should be wearing them. I have my reputation to uphold.”

“You showered first.”

“That doesn't make any sense.”

Hack smiled and put his arm around his friend. “It makes perfect sense, my boy,” he said in his best Decker voice.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

0825, Tuesday, February 25

Rusty downshifted and gripped the wheel of the red Camaro as they sped up the hills along Jose Abad Santos Road north of Olongapo. Hack sat white-knuckled in the front seat as they zoomed past slow-moving cars, jeepneys, and buses, sometimes passing on the right. The trio finally relaxed when Rusty merged onto the North Luzon Expressway in San Fernando, paid the toll, and headed south to Manila. Forty-five minutes later they passed through the Balintawak toll gate and entered the suburb of Caloocan on the northern edge of Manila.

“Don't get on EDSA,” Vega warned. “Epifanio de los Santos Avenue,” she explained to Decker and Hack. “That's where most of the anti-Marcos demonstrations are taking place. Take Bonifacio into the city.”

Rusty nodded and followed Bonifacio and then an array of sidestreets to the corner of Palanca and Plaza Santa Cruz streets. He pulled the car to the side of the street 100 yards north of the intersection. The MacArthur Bridge over the Pasig River loomed in front of them.

Vega studied her map. “We're close. Let's take a left on Palanca and find a parking place.”

Rusty spent the next half hour circling the block, finally locating a spot in an empty dirt lot between two low-rise apartment complexes across the street from the riverfront buildings.

“Let's walk to our left towards the Ayala Bridge,” Vega said. “We'll stay on this side of the street and mix in with the pedestrian traffic.”

The four friends walked among a growing number of Filipinos filing towards Malacañang Palace, most were wearing yellow, obvious supporters of Cory Aquino. A half block later Vega took Decker by the arm and pushed him into a furniture store. Rusty and Hack followed silently. Vega chatted briefly with a clerk and then pointed with her lips out the window. “Across the street. The blue building. It's the right address.”

“I don't see a company name,” Hack said.

“I don't either,” Vega agreed. “And I don't see any open windows facing the street. They're all covered with blinds. And just the one door to the sidewalk. I'm going to watch the place for a while.”

“I am going to Malacañang to find Ducky,” Rusty said. “How long you going to be here?”

Vega shrugged. “I'll give it an hour.”

“I'll tag along with you,” Decker said to Rusty. “I've always wanted to see the presidential palace.”

“There is a bank on the corner a block north,” Rusty said. “We will meet you in an hour.”

Decker glanced at Hack. “You coming with us?”

Hack noticed the determined look on Vega's face. He thought of her brother. “No, go ahead. I'll hang out here and keep Vega company.”

“Suit yourself,” Decker said, as he and Rusty exited the store. A half block later they drifted out of sight, lost amidst the people and traffic.

For forty-five minutes, Vega's eyes stayed glued on the blue building. Finally, impatiently, she said, “Let's go in there.”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Hack said, nervously.

Vega took him by the arm. “There's a travel agency next door to the left. If we run into anyone, we'll tell them we're taking a vacation and must have walked into the wrong building by accident.”

“You think they'd buy that?” Hack asked, skeptically.

“Sure they will. I can sell it.”

“I don't know about this. Last time it was the clap.”

“What?”

“Decker. That's what he told those goons at Agana's. That we were looking for a medical office because I had the clap.”

Vega groaned and took Hack's arm. “No clap. I promise. Fifteen minutes max,” she added, nudging Hack towards the door. “I want to check what's in there and get out.”

Vega and Hack left the furniture store and jaywalked across the busy street, narrowly avoiding honking vehicles. Safely on the opposite sidewalk, Vega motioned with her head towards the door in the middle of the blue building. Hack tried the knob. Bingo.

They stood in a drab vestibule with faded white plaster on the walls. A single naked bulb dangled from the ceiling, providing the only light for a well-worn wooden stairs leading to the second floor. The shiny brass handrail looked like it belonged in a more elegant setting.

Sweat dripped from Hack's forehead. Vega exhaled loudly and headed up the stairs, motioning for Hack to follow. When he caught up with her on the fifth step, she took hold of his hand, their fingers interlocking. “It's our cover,” she whispered. “We're a couple looking for the travel agency.”

At the top of the stairs they faced another door. Hack turned the knob. “It's locked.”

Vega sized up the obstacle. “The transom window is open. Give me a boost.”

Hack hoisted her up with his hands. She opened the window as wide as possible and wedged half her body through the portal. “I'm stuck.”

“Suck in your gut,” Hack suggested.

“It's not my tummy,” Vega laughed. “My rear end is caught.”

Hack didn't have a suggestion for that, but could only watch as Vega eventually wiggled herself through the opening, tumbling with a thud on the other side of the door.”

“I hope no one heard me,” she whispered, opening the door for Hack.

They entered a long hallway with two doors along the left side. They crept along the passageway, cringing each time the wood floors creaked under their weight. They pasued at the first door, listened intently for a few seconds, and tried the knob. Locked. At the second door, Vega got on her knees and listened at the threshold. No sound coming from within. She stood and tried the knob. A sly smile formed on her face as it slowly turned in her hand. They were in.

Six rows of material covered with tarps filled the interior space. The six windows along the far wall were small, letting in only a small amount of light. Hack reached for switch. Vega stopped him with a gentle slap of his hand. “Someone could see the light under the door,” she warned. “Let's look under the tarps.”

Hack nodded and tiptoed with Vega to the far end of one of the aisles near a window partially blocked by a large filing cabinet. One drawer hung open. “Check out the parts,” Vega said. “I'm going to examine the cabinet.”

Hack nodded and lifted one of the tarps. “Look at this,” he said, pointing to the military parts stacked to the ceiling. “It looks like one of the storerooms on the
Harvey
.

“Aha,” Vega replied, pocketing a slip of paper. She closed the drawer and tiptoed over to Hack. “Any of these navy parts?”

“I think so. But there's not enough light in here.”

Vega started to pull more of the tarp from the pallets but a noise in the hallway froze her in place. “Someone's out there,” she whispered. “I hope they didn't hear us.”

Hack glanced around the room. “Let's hide.”

“Where?”

“Under one of the tarps.”

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.

“S
ino 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, watching 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.”