“Thanks for the offer, but I try to stay on the straight and narrow.”
“Ha ha, you do have a sense of humor, Jack,” he said. “Cardinal Sin is the Archbishop of Manila. Sin is his name, though not his game, ha ha. The Church is strongly behind Corazon, and it is very well organized, as such things go in the Philippines. He might have some ideas for you. Yes, go see him. He’s at the Manila Cathedral in the old section of town, the Intramuros district. If you like, I’ll give him a call and set up a meeting.”
“Yes, I’d appreciate that,” I said. Enrile gave me some particulars, and then we went on to other topics. I couldn’t figure out his agenda. He was Minister of Defense and had other government connections besides, but I didn’t feel he’d be likely to rat me out to Marcos. Unless he saw profit in it.
The purpose of the tour wasn’t an actual tour, of course. Enrile wanted to talk with me out of view of prying eyes. The driver took us nowhere in particular and dropped me off when Enrile had what he’d come after.
*
Thus I found myself standing before Manila’s Cathedral at Cabildo corner Beaterio, and an imposing Romanesque pile it was, replete with towers, cupolas and ornate bronze portals. The guidebook said it dated back to 1571, at the onset of Spanish colonization. Over the centuries it had been destroyed by earthquakes, World War Two and sundry other disasters, and restored every time. The most recent re-no occurred in the 1950s, and they did a fine job of making it look as old as new. It reminded me of George Washington’s personal axe, now a valuable antique, and it has had only five replacement heads and seven new handles since his times.
Which is all very interesting, but my directions specified meeting him at the church vestry, not the Cathedral itself. I figured Cardinal Sin didn’t operate on Filipino time, so at the scheduled hour of two p.m. I poked the vestry doorbell button. Light footsteps approached the door, and a small, grey-haired Filipina in a plain brown dress opened it. “Yes?” she said.
“I have an appointment to see Cardinal Sin,” I said. “Jack Philco.”
“Yes, Mr. Philco, follow me. He is expecting you.”
She led me down a short hallway to a plain office. The bespectacled, stocky little man seated behind a desk rose to meet me. He wore a black shirt and trousers, not full church vestments. “Welcome to the House of Sin, Mr. Philco,” he said with a gracious smile. He rose and came around the desk, extending his hand in greeting. He had a firm grip. He motioned me toward a nearby upholstered, upright chair, and he settled into a matching one. He was nearing 60, I estimated, and had a roundish Chinese face. He asked the woman to bring coffee, and she left us. “I was very distressed upon hearing the news of the Challenger disaster,” he said. “Losing those astronauts and that school teacher, what a terrible tragedy.”
“I saw the news on TV but know nothing about it beyond that,” I said. “It’s the largest failure to date in America’s space program and a major setback for NASA.”
“I’m not a scientist, so I do not understand the scientific purposes of the space station program.”
“To tell the truth, neither do I,” I said. “I think there may have been a public relations motive behind including the school teacher, which makes the situation even more tragic, I think.”
“It is too soon after the event to indulge in cynicism,” Sin said, “but there is something to what you say. Well, your time must be valuable, Mr. Philco, so to the point. Johnny Enrile told me it would be worthwhile to talk to you, but he wasn’t specific as to why.”
“I’m not sure either, but he thought we might share an interest in the upcoming election.”
“You are an American banker, according to Johnny. Is there some financial dimension to our political situation you wish to explore?”
“How confidentially are we talking here?” I asked.
“Well, it’s not as though we’re in the confessional, which is absolutely confidential, but you can rest assured that, short of acting to prevent a crime, I won’t be blabbing anything you tell me to anyone.”
“To begin with, I’m not an American banker.”
“Johnny intimated as much. He also mentioned that you are a sharp observer of Philippine affairs.”
“My cover story is that I am here to assess the possibilities of a large loan to the government, which would give me access to people in power. But those who sent me were concerned that the upcoming election might be subverted and stolen from Marcos…”
Sin was gently laughing. “That’s a good one,” he said, “stealing an election from Ferdinand Marcos, ha ha. Continue, please.”
“So I came quickly to realize as I went through the motions of being a banker. It didn’t take long to figure out that despite Marcos’s efforts, Corazon Aquino is very likely to win, in which case Marcos will cheat her out of it.”
“Johnny was correct; you are an astute observer. It sounds like you have changed your orientation …?”
“It was never made clear what I was supposed to do concerning the election in the first place, but having become familiar with Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos, and Corazon Aquino, it seems that the only thing I can do in good conscience is help Mrs. Aquino in any way I can.”
“You are turning coat on your employer?”
“It’s a complicated story. The short answer is yes, but don’t worry about that. Perhaps you can tell me something of your own position here, Cardinal? I’ve seen your name around, of course, and the Marcos papers paint you as a subversive and a troublemaker, indicating that Marcos is afraid of you?”
CARDINAL SIN’S CONFESSION
“I’m certainly among the staunch opposition to the Marcos regime, but the rest of what you say is a matter of viewpoint. I consider myself a humble servant of God, reluctantly situated as the leader of his flock here in the Philippines, but giving the mission my best effort. The Catholic Church is very strong in my country. Something like 70 percent of Filipinos consider themselves Catholic, and most of them take their religion seriously. This you may find strange, coming from America. You see, Christianity is expanding throughout the world, particularly in Asia, Africa and Latin America. But in the Western, Caucasian nations not so much. The Faith is dying among the younger generation in Europe. America retains some religious fervor, but American Catholics campaign for liberalization and are indignant that Rome does not accommodate them, not grasping that they are only a minority among the world’s faithful.
“Here in the Philippines the Church constitutes the major organized opposition to Marcos, and we are strong enough that he cannot move against us at whim. So instead he tries to bribe us into friendship and co-opt our support. Imelda tries also, with piety, cajolery and especially contributions, but with little success to show for it. Ferdinand himself approached me to serve on his special commission to investigate the Aquino assassination, and I turned him down. He was after my imprimatur on their proceedings, and I wanted no part of that whitewash. His position has become increasingly unstable since that incident. People more overtly speak out against him, whereas before they were afraid to. We saw spirited demonstrations in protest; first the well-to-do women took to the streets and then their husbands joined them, and then the broader populations found their voices. When Marcos called this special election to shore up the fiction of his support, it was I who persuaded Cory Aquino to run against him. She, I thought, had the strongest moral qualifications to publicly oppose him.”
“I met her,” I said. “A very impressive woman.”
“Unlike the typical Filipina, she’s not afraid to speak her mind in public. In a debate Marcos mocked that she lacked the experience to be president. Her rejoinder was, and I quote: ‘I concede that I cannot match Mr. Marcos when it comes to experience. I admit that I have no experience in cheating, stealing, lying, or assassinating political opponents.’ That drew an ovation, I can tell you.”
“Imelda Marcos was dismis
sive of Corazon,” I said.
“Imelda, Imelda … that arrogant, greedy woman. I’m sure she bragged to you about her properties in New York City and elsewhere. She fancies herself a businesswoman, but her real expertise is mining. This is mine, she declares, and that is mine, and that is mine, ha ha.”
“I brought something up with Johnny Enrile and he ducked it. Maybe you can help me out. I did some analysis of Philippine finances, and it was unmistakable that every year government revenues exceeded expenditures by substantial amounts, with the differences not accounted for.”
“You’re sure you’re not a banker?” Sin said. “Your analysis confirms what my sources in the government tell me. According to unreleased figures, the Central Bank has been exaggerating its reserves all along, in 1984 by $1.5 billion more than they truly hold. More shocking is that our foreign debt has grown steadily and now stands at well above $30 billion. Clearly huge amounts of these moneys go astray in the maelstrom of Marcos corruption, but exact figures are impossible to get. It’s something that he cannot blame on the Communists, about the only thing. In the wake of the assassination I publicly accused him of wanton extravagance, of spending precious and borrowed dollars in an orgy of waste and ostentation here and abroad. His reply to that was that an unholy alliance, a clergy-bourgeois clique, was bent on toppling his administration. As well as the Communists, of course. He relies on a Filipino trait, as our people have a short memory for unpleasantness and are forgiving by nature. And, of course, most Filipinos are poor and resentful toward the upper classes.”
“So can anything be done to have Mrs. Aquino win, if she gets the votes?”
“I do not know. Marcos is bankrupting the country, spreading the Treasury’s money around to buy votes. That probably won’t win it for him, as Filipinos are fickle and forgetful, and don’t stay bought. But then his people will run the election and count the ballots and announce the results. There is no way to prevent that. It will evoke a strong reaction, demonstrations in the streets, denunciations, outcries and so forth, but we have had those before and they always petered out. The newspapers and TV will back him up, since he controls them. If only we could circulate some of the American papers. The New York Times just published an expose of his supposed war record, and a paper in San Jose, California, reported on the Marcos real estate holdings in America. Such stories would have an impact, but they will not appear here in any visible way.”
“Why did the previous demonstrations fail to produce results?”
“No organization, just passion. People gather and listen to speeches and shout and cheer, but then they go home. It helps that Salvador Laurel has joined Corazon as a running mate, as he has considerable organizational skills, but I fear that won’t be sufficient.”
“Can’t the Church organize them?”
“I’m reluctant to do that. From the pulpit we will preach in favor of law and honest government, and against oppression and corruption, but if we advocated political action, that would give Marcos excuses to move against us. If he succeeded in stealing this election, he would have grounds to exile me to some barren island.”
“In the U.S. we had demonstrations in the 1960s and ‘70s, Power to the People was their slogan,” I said. “They were influential enough to force Lyndon Johnson not to seek a second term. Could something like that work here?”
“Power to the People … hmmm,” he said. “That’s an idea. But we are 7,000 islands—2.000 of them inhabited—and Filipinos are very individualistic. Even if we rallied large numbers here in Manila, I’m at a loss as to how we’d organize the whole country in a way to depose Marcos.”
We concluded our meeting in agreement on Marcos and the election, but lacking any action plan. Cardinal Sin impressed me. He was a savvy man, exuding integrity, with lot of force lurking behind his genial manner. We definitely shared the same page. The crux of the matter was organization. Getting the population riled up and out in the streets was easy enough, but how would that lead to Marcos’s ouster? After leaving Cardinal Sin I thought back to America’s student demonstrators—the SDS, the Weathermen, the Chicago Seven, the campus sit-ins and teach-ins, the riots and disruptions, the folk singers, the March on Washington …How were they organized?
The solution dawned on me.
*
“I saw your product in a village in the hills above Davao,” I remarked to Emil Grotesqcu. “It was flying off the shelves in the little general store there.” We rode on the canopied veranda deck of the Corregidor cruise boat, catching the sea breeze. I’d called Evgeny Grotelov and told him I wouldn’t be available Saturday because I was taking the afternoon Corregidor tour. Coincidentally, he’d showed up for it too.
“My bosses anticipated modest sales, so they dispatched a shipment of a few hundred cases to peddle when I arrived. When I got the orders, they’d send more. But then this election was declared, and they immediately rushed a container of vodka down from Vladivostok. Much to the consternation of the local drunks, who had to endure short rations for several weeks. Marcos employed his usual tactic of flooding the country with money, and what are these people going to spend it on? I sold the lot out in no time.”
“Seems like your bosses are savvy businessmen.”
“Russians have a history of being canny traders, yes.”
“Isn’t there a contradiction, what with Russia having a Communist system?”
“There would be, if anybody took that ideology seriously any more. Our leaders don’t give a fig about Communism, Lenin and all that Marxist rubbish our schools teach. It’s about power and their jobs. Our people at the top live luxuriously, and they’ll say and do whatever is necessary to keep it that way. Orwell was spot on with his Animal Farm fable. It’s interesting how our two countries use consumption to control their populations. In my country they keep the masses from fomenting trouble by making them spend their time searching the shops and standing in long, slow lines for inferior versions of the necessities of life. In your country, they keep the population docile by assuring them they’re the freest people in the world and showering them with baubles and vulgar distractions. And in both places life at the top floats along. So, how’s investment banking going these days?”
“With all this election turmoil, that’s temporarily on hold pending the outcome,” I said. “From what I hear, Aquino will probably win the vote, but Marcos will steal the election and stay in office.”
“So it appears.”
“There will be demonstrations and protests, a lot of sound and fury, but because of lack of an organized opposition, it won’t go anywhere.”
“That’s an astute summary,” Grotesque said.
“So, I wonder,” I said, “what your useful idiots are up to these days?”
The Story’s Conclusion
A passing rain squall chased the tourists back inside the cabin, so we had the canopied upper deck of the tour boat to ourselves. Even so we spoke in lowered voices. “I’m having trouble getting my head around this,” said Emil Grotesqcu. His usual air of cynical self-assurance had been temporarily disabled. “You’re seriously telling me that you never were a CIA superagent, ever?”
“The Nam-Cambodia thing was a charade,” I said. “Todd Sonarr created and managed my legend solely for the purpose of coaxing a rise out of the KGB.”
“He did a hell of a job, I’ll give him that. When I finally puzzled out your identity after months of analysis, I really thought I was on to something.”
“You were, and you weren’t. From Sonarr’s point of view it was a bust. He was working with James Angleton, hoping to use a leak to smoke out a mole in the CIA. But the legend he created for me got leaked to the KGB by some other means entirely. That mole hunt of Angleton’s finally went up in smoke.”
“So when you denied that you were in Iran, and Belfast, and the Caribbean, and India, on CIA business …?”
“I really wasn�
�t. I work free-lance, and other people hired me.”
“But you say this time you’re here in the Philippines on behalf of the CIA?”
“Now you’ve got it!”
“Got it? I don’t even know what I’m talking about! Why the CIA this time, but not the others?”
“Todd Sonarr showed up at my door with a sob story. And a big paycheck. The job seemed harmless enough, so I thought I’d help him out.”
“A sob story? Todd Sonarr?”
“He said his career was a wreck from a series of screw-ups he’d been involved in, and that keeping the opposition from stealing the election away from Marcos was his only hope of saving his ass.”
“What screw-ups?” Grotesqcu asked. I recited the ones I could remember. Then it was his turn to spring a surprise: “Our counter-intelligence people maintain a dossier on Mr. Sonarr,” he said, “and I can assure you that he did not screw up any of the missions you mentioned. On the contrary, he’s one of the slickest operators in the CIA. I wouldn’t be surprised if he winds up director someday.”
“Then I’m as baffled as you are,” I said. “I don’t understand why he wanted me on this mission; I’ve never even understood the mission. He never gave me marching orders. Where did he ever get the idea that someone might steal an election from Marcos? He tells me to keep up the good work and stay the course … but what’s the work? What’s the course?”
“I have some sorting out to do here,” said Grotesqcu. “Over the last 10 years I’ve built a cushy sinecure in the KGB on the premise of countering Jake Fonko, CIA superspy. And now you tell me you aren’t one. But you did all the things you did. And through the hallowed halls of Langley your reputation echoes sub rosa. So you really could be a superspy, and maybe what you’re telling me now is subterfuge. But if you really aren’t, and my service finds out, being relieved of my job is the very best I could hope for.” He thought about it. “Jake, you might even be telling me the truth. But for the sake of my sanity and my job security, I’m going to pretend that I never heard a word of this and let this hall of mirrors we inhabit take care of the rest. Okay?”
The Jake Fonko Series: Books 4, 5 & 6 Page 39
