“Let’s get another drink, and then you come with me, Jack,” Imelda said. We plucked flutes from a passing maid’s tray, and Imelda led me through the still-lively crowd toward a portal. We went down a corridor and through a door into an office. “This is where I do my work,” she said, shutting the door. “Please sit there,” she said, waving toward a leather chair by a mahogany coffee table. She settled her still-shapely butt down on a couch on the other side.
“Jack, I can’t tell you how important this loan your bank is considering is to the welfare of my country,” she began. “There is unrest, which only more jobs, more education, better government services, will quell. How large a loan did your consortium have in mind?”
“Still being studied. I presume your monetary board will give me some figures as to your needs?”
“I’ll make sure they do, as soon as you want.”
“I’ll be talking to your husband, the president about this also?”
“Of course. This very evening, in a little while. But I’m the one who will get this done, don’t you worry.”
“I hadn’t realized. I might have known you would have a post in the government.”
IMELDA’S STORY
She leaned forward and put on a knowing smile. “Not one post, but several. In addition to being First Lady, I currently serve as Governor of Metropolitan Manila and Minister of Human Settlements.”
“All those duties must keep you running.”
“They aren’t even the half of it. Lately I’ve been investing property in New York City—the Crown Building, the Woolworth Building, the Herald Centre, and some others. Also properties in California, here in the Philippines, Hawaii. The Cultural Center was a project of mine, also. I’ll take you on a tour. Ha ha, I’ve heard that people say I have an edifice complex—because of my fondness for buildings—edifices, you know.
“Plus, of course, my duties as the nation’s hostess. Over the years the Pope has come to visit. Your President Ford. The Beatles, too, although they were rather rude. General Qaddafi from Libya, a very nice man. Mr. Khashoggi, from Arabia, a very influential man in influential circles. Van Cliburn, the world famous pianist, oh that man has magic in his fingers! And of course we attended the Shah’s celebration in Persepolis in 1972, 2,500th anniversary of the Persian Empire—imagine that! Talk about glorious. Ever since then I’ve been more expansive in organizing spectacles here in the Philippines, though none like that, of course.
“And, of course, raising our children takes time and attention, not that I would trade them for anything. But it has not been all roses. In 1972 Ferdinand had to declare martial law, and later that year some man attacked me with a bolo knife, injuring my arm seriously. Lately more unrest has arisen, making for unpleasant days, and that is why this loan is so important. The funds will be spent to provide jobs and needed services to our citizens.”
“One of my consortium’s concerns is the security of the loan,” I said, “but it sounds as though with all your properties and the assets I’ve observed since I’ve been here, collateral will be no problem?”
“Collateral?” she said. “You mean to back the loan in case of default?”
“Of course a default would be unthinkable, but nevertheless bankers are cautious folks, and they would insist on sufficient collateral. Which could certainly include future tax revenues, I might add.”
“Of course, of course,” she said. “Ferdinand and I would have it no other way. You will find our finances in excellent shape. As for this collateral you mention … can you keep a confidence?”
“No one is more discreet than an investment banker.”
“Have you ever heard of the Yamashita Horde?”
“I’ve heard stories, but I thought they were just that, stories.”
“Oh no, not just stories, not at all! He was a Japanese general, Yamashita. He commanded the Japanese Army of Southeast Asia, as you may have heard. During the Occupation he looted Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia, the Philippines of all the gold he could lay his greedy hands on. And do you know what he did with it? He had it melted into bars and brought it by ship to the Philippines, where he hid it. Billions in pure gold, imagine the wealth—beyond belief!”
“I’ll bet,” I said, and meant it, though in a different sense than she’d intended.
“Well, during World War Two Ferdinand stumbled across it while conducting his guerilla operations. It is the basis of our personal fortune, and we have barely tapped it. Wouldn’t that be excellent collateral for these loans! Tons of pure gold bars!”
“As good as gold,” I agreed.
Someone knocked on the door. “That would be the President,” Imelda said. “He is not feeling well this evening, so he will just step in for a moment. Come in, dear,” she spoke up to the door.
I hadn’t gotten a good look at Ferdinand Marcos earlier in the evening, only saw him in bad light from across the reception room and from down the dinner table. He wore a spit-and-polish-spiffy military uniform sporting a chest full of medals so densely packed and colorful as to pass for a table of costume jewelry in a flea market. Despite that, he looked very sick. His face was bloated, his eyes were sunken above discolored bags, and he seemed to be bearing some degree of pain. It did not entirely eclipse his personal force—leadership and faded charisma showed through his distress. He reminded me of the Shah, another sick old despot. I rose to meet him. He shuffled in and offered me a hand, “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Philco. Welcome to my country.” He didn’t have much grip, and he added, “You must excuse me, but I seem to have come down with a severe allergy this evening and am not my usual self.” He eased himself down beside Imelda on the couch.
“I was telling Mr. Philco about your wartime exploits,” she said, giving him an opening to a story he’d told many times, to many people.
FERDINAND’S STORY
“Imelda is shameless in the way she talks up my modest adventures to visitors,” he said, anticipating the concept of “humblebrag” by a quarter century. “But yes, I think of myself primarily as a soldier who in his youth served the defense of his country, rather than a lawyer or a politician. It is true that I was top-notcher on the bar examination, scoring higher than everyone else who took it in 1939. And of course I have presided over the Philippines since being elected twenty years ago. But the Japanese invasion in World War Two provided my opportunity to make the contributions which give me the most pride…”
“Ferdinand is the most highly decorated soldier in Philippines history,” Imelda interjected. I didn’t doubt it. The number of medals fronting his chest left few available for anyone else.
“My future was still uncertain at that time,” he continued. “My father in 1935 ran for re-election as assemblyman in our district at the northeastern tip of Luzon, this island. A rival won the vote, then chose to taunt my father’s defeat, trying to humiliate him. The rival one night was shot and killed through his window. I was tried for that crime and convicted, the same year as my bar examination triumph. This coincidence of events gained press attention and made me something of a minor celebrity. Then a year later a judge overturned my conviction, again putting me on the front page of all the newspapers.
“In December of the next year the Japanese attacked the Philippines, simultaneously with their attacks on Pearl Harbor and Indochina. I had already enlisted in the Army as a third lieutenant, having heard the distant rumblings of impending war. I served with General MacArthur and saw him off when he evacuated by PT boat. Of course he was needed elsewhere, because America had to fight a war all across the Pacific region. But I repaired to Bataan to fight our last stand against the Japs—for which I received 12 Philippine medals for bravery and four American ones, including the Silver Star and the Distinguished Service Cross. My recommendation for the Congressional Medal of Honor was not honored, but what does one do?
“When Bataan surrendered I was ta
ken prisoner, along with many others, and wound up in Fort Santiago, where my captors pronounced a death sentence on me. I managed to escape and fled to the hills, where I formed a guerilla group, Ang Manga Maharilka, with four other officers. We sailed to Mindanao in two boats. We conducted hit-and-run raids and smuggled radio equipment to Luzon for other guerilla units, and I for a time reported on Japanese troop strength of Bohol. Working with Colonel Fertig, I came to be in charge of two other guerilla units, the Nakar and Enriques groups, and operating in Luzon we harassed enemy supply lines and blew up three ships in the harbor, an action for which I received the Silver Star. I served as an advance scout with the famed Ghost Soldiers, whose raid rescued more than 500 prisoners, survivors of the infamous Bataan Death March, from a Japanese POW camp near the city of Cabanatuan, saving them from certain execution as the war drew to an end. When General MacArthur returned with his troops in the Philippines he promoted me by telephone to the rank of Major, lauding me as ‘an Army of one man.’
“It was a harrowing four years, but I am proud to say that I served my people in their hour of need and was honored with 39 medals and decorations. After the war I actively entered politics, serving terms in our Congress and our Senate. The Philippine people hungered for effective, honest government, and so they elected me their President in 1965. One year later we signed the United Nations-sponsored International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, another accomplishment of which I am proud. The people have seen fit to retain me as President ever since. Recently, as you may have heard, there has been unrest. That is a major reason that we were pleased to hear of the loan your bank is considering. An infusion of capital will enable us to install crucial infrastructure needed for economic development, as well as to improve services for our less fortunate citizens. Ummm … how large a loan does your bank have in mind, if I may ask?”
“We’ve fixed some rough boundaries on the amount, but the final figure we propose will depend on my report. What size loan would enable your government to undertake those efforts?”
“It is a point of pride that we maintain our debt-service ratio at 20 percent on the amount we can borrow from abroad. But that pertains to long-term debt only; short-term debt is not included. So if we could create a debt structure comprising both long- and short-term debt, oh, perhaps a loan of, say two billion dollars…?”
I steeled myself not to blink. “Two billion, you say? I’m not sure our present consortium could come up with that amount, but if Philippine finances are sound and collateral is adequate, perhaps additional banks would join us. We had been thinking more in terms of around $500 million, but…”
Imelda looked pained. “We were hoping … so much to be done…”
Ferdinand brightened up. “Mr. Philco, I can see that your investigations are far from completed. You have been here only a few days. After you have attained a more comprehensive view of our country, you will realize how much can be accomplished with a loan of the size we envisage. And how enriching for your consortium and all parties concerned that will be! Tomorrow I will make a speech over American television that will shock the world. And the day after that I will make arrangements for you to see the Philippines in the proper light. Now you will please excuse me, as my health is not at its best this evening, an old allergy came upon me, you know. Tomorrow will be a busy day, so I must get my rest. It was such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Philco.”
He shuffled to the door, opened it and said something to an aide, who left. Ferdinand Marcos then faded off in the opposite direction. Imelda and I exchanged pleasantries for a minute or two, and Beth Romulo appeared at the doorway. “Are we ready to go, Jack?” she asked. “Ferdinand sent word to meet you here. I should be getting back to my husband.”
I rose and took Imelda’s hand. “Imelda, I am so glad to have met you tonight,” I said, giving her manicured paw a tender squeeze. “I hope it will not be the last time.”
“We will have many more meetings, Jack, I can assure you,” she said with a cat-at-the-canary smile. I backed out to the door, and Beth and I fled the scene.
*
“So, he told you all about his military exploits?”
“It sounded like a prepared speech. An Army of one man, for sure.”
“All fanciful tales. My husband was there; in fact, he was General MacArthur’s aide de camp. I’ve heard the real story, and it’s not the one Ferdinand Marcos promulgates.”
“So how does Marcos get away with the stories he tells?”
“Some who know the truth, such as my husband, are loyal to the Philippine government, and therefore to President Marcos, as long as he is in office. Others who know the truth also know what will happen to them if they mention it to anyone.”
“Imelda seems fond of him.”
“That’s also for show. In fact she hardly pays attention to him at all, but goes her merry and profligate way. It’s been like that for 20 years, ever since Dovie Beams. She was a third-rate American actress who came to Manila for a film shoot. Filipino men are notorious tomcats, and Ferdinand being no exception, the two of them soon fell into a torrid affair. Unlike Filipina girls, however, Dovie brought along a tape recorder, and when Ferdinand tired of her and made moves to cast her off, she went public with some very steamy sound effects. Filipina women are resigned to putting up with their husband’s dalliances, but only if it is possible to ignore them. Imelda, publicly confronted with Dovie Beams, was humiliated and outraged, and she laid down the law—her way or the highway. In the ensuing years she has only extended her power and her influence. I think it’s fair to say that at present she runs the country, not Ferdinand.”
“I’d not dispute that, from what I saw. He remarked that he was going to make a speech on television tomorrow that will shock the world. Do you know anything about that?”
“I doubt the world will be shaken, but knowing Ferdinand, it’s bound to be something astonishing,” she said. “Stay tuned.”
*
Two billion dollars? Five hundred million dollars? What was I even talking about?
The Third Part of the Story
Next morning after the party at Malacanang Palace I went down to the lobby cafe for breakfast. I took my time, reading the morning paper over coffee following my Spanish omelet and rolls. As I passed the registration desk en route to the elevators the clerk called softly to me, beckoning me over, “Mr. Philco? A parcel arrived for you while you were in the café.” He handed me a small, expensively wrapped package with an envelope affixed. In the elevator I opened the envelope and flicked out a folded piece of notepaper with an embossed gold logo. The message said: “Jack—such a pleasure meeting you last night. You will be seeing more of me, count on that. Imelda.” My goodness, love letters so soon?
I shut the door to my room and prized off the giftwrap. Surprise, surprise, a brick of U.S. $100 bills—one hundred of them, by my reckoning. Love had nothing to do with it. The old Fonko charm never rated that much. It was a down payment on kickbacks to come. Little did Imelda Marcos suspect that I was bribery-proof, with no mega-loans or anything else of value to bestow in consideration. I hoped she wouldn’t take it too hard when she found out. An ethical dilemma: should I turn the ten grand over to the CIA? I decided to use it for pin money, figuring it would save me trips to the bank when I needed pocket cash, which amounted to turning it over, for the time being anyway.
Marcos made his announcement live on American TV, on This Week With David Brinkeley. I’d no interest in hearing its bombastic entirety, but did want to collect the gist of it. A scan of the local TV channels found a news broadcast. They showed a clip of Ferdinand Marcos proclaiming that, to dispel unfounded notions circulating that the government was inept, he was calling for a snap election on January 17th to let all Filipinos express their confidence. His current term in office didn’t expire for two more years, but subversive agitators were raising doubts that the people supported him, and he w
anted to show the world how wrong they were. The newscaster proclaimed the speech, and the idea of the election, as a benevolent gesture and an endorsement of democracy, altogether a great thing for the proud nation, the Philippines. No surprise, since Marcos owned the station.
So Todd Sonarr was right, an election was in the offing, and my mission was on to help ensure that the opposition didn’t steal it. From what I’d seen of the Philippines and the Marcos government so far, that didn’t seem a major threat, but now I had something solid to focus my attention on. We’d soon see what turned up. No doubt I’d pick up useful information on the tour Marcos promised me. In the meantime, the conversation I’d had with Ferdinand and Imelda about the size of the loan had piqued my curiosity. It being Sunday morning and much of the population in church and the town pretty dead, I faced a quiet day. I planned to spend the afternoon in the pool and the fitness center, but there was time to dig through the financial data people had been showering me with at my interviews. It would provide some perspective, and in any event boning up would help me sound like I knew what I was doing, should anyone ask during the tour.
I’d had some basic financial training in the Army and some practical experience investing since then. I was passable with lower math, and I’d picked up a smattering of financial concepts from Rumford Rightway’s briefing. This was before laptops with spreadsheet apps became common, so I drew out a grid on a sheet of paper. I listed a series of recent years across the columns, and down the rows I blocked out space for accounting categories—income, expenditures, debt, foreign aid, profits and losses and so forth. As I leafed through reports and sheets of data I’d collected from banks and businesses and government officials, I plugged numbers into their appropriate slots.
When I reached the bottom of my pile of paper I inspected my grid to see if any patterns emerged from the figures I’d jotted down. The picture was chaotic, but one pattern jumped out. Every year a gap showed between government revenues plus new debt, versus government expenditures. The government took in more than it spent, yet kept borrowing more money and receiving foreign aid. My jottings were a patchwork, far from official or rigorous, but the gaps were too large just to reflect missing data. I figured my exercise as a rough starting point, but that shortfall was curious. Governments usually spend more than they take in, not less. My grid showed surpluses, not deficits. Yet debt was building up. Where were the surpluses going? The CIA would have financial and economic reports on the Philippines, so I decided to call Todd tomorrow, which was to say late that night by Philippines time. I’d check in with him now that the election had been announced and also ask him to send me some recent economic data.
The Jake Fonko Series: Books 4, 5 & 6 Page 31
