Malacañang Palace, Manila
The chandeliers on the ceiling gave off a dark, gold-tinted light in the huge room. The smell of cigarettes, luxurious fragrance, and aged varnish wafting from the wooden walls filled the air. In the middle of the room sat a polished table where sat some of the most influential men in the land. The curtains had been pulled tightly closed, even though the street outside was quiet, the tension in the atmosphere was palpable.
A storm was brewing.
There was an unlit cigar placed in an ashtray by the head of the table. The man sitting at that chair, the president could not be distinguished due to the dim light, his features shrouded in shadow and power. Not a single word had left his mouth yet, but his very presence controlled the pace of events.
Standing next to the entrance of the room, General Ramos fixed his military uniform. His actions were practiced, measured, reflecting the years he spent being acutely aware that politics was just another form of war. Opening his briefcase, he glanced through its contents for the last time before proceeding.
Monzon sat across the table. He lounged in his chair and smiled. He was wearing a neat navy blue suit. He seemed to think this was some kind of fun game, which he was taking rather seriously.
Paulo, however, was built like a bodybuilder. He hardly fit into his chair at all, while he impatiently tapped his fingers on the table. He didn't have time for witty remarks and cleverness.
The President drummed his fingers on the table.
Ramos moved forward and placed three black-and-white pictures on the table. First Detective Torres, then Elizabeth Holiday, and finally Santiago Cruz.
"This," Ramos said with calm tone, "is a problem that grows."
Monzon grabbed one of the photographs and looked at it indolently.
"Those people have survived Rojas, heh, that in itself is already impressive." He chuckled. "It's a shame. I liked him."
Ramos was unimpressed. "Underground. But we know for sure they're still in Luzon. The issue is: where are they and what do they know?"
Paulo cracked his knuckles. "That's beside the point. Find them, eliminate them."
"If it was as easy as that, it'd be done by now," Ramos replied.
"Monzon took a drag from his cigarette, then cocked his head. "They've been making enquiries."
The mood in the room got heavy.
Ramos nodded. "But that's not the real issue." He paused. "Velasco."
The mood became darker.
"The president's right-hand man; the Commanding Officer of the AFP leaned back in his chair. "You are suggesting that..."
"We're not sure whether he's alive or not," replied Ramos. "But if the Torres group is active, they must have discovered something. And if they have discovered something, they will want to share it."
"This," Ramos said calmly, "is getting serious."
Monzon looked over at the pictures on the table and idly fingered through one. "To have evaded Rojas, that is impressive. Shame, though. I quite liked Rojas."
"Then be sure that they don't, because if you cannot handle the situation, then I will take things into my own hands."
Ramos nodded.
Monzon gave an amused grin. "We can go the old fashioned route. Arrest the people involved, put them on television, and then accuse them of anything you feel like. Hell, we could even call them spies for the communists." He flicked ashes from his cigarette. "Clean."
"It's too late now. Torres used to be a policeman, Holiday has ties, and Cruz knows how the system works. They'll resist us."
Paulo grinned. "I like resistance."
"And you will get your resistance when I allow it," Ramos snapped.
Paulo made a dismissive sound.
The President continued tapping his fingers again, showing that they had shifted focus onto another topic.
"Other Issues."
The son of the President, dressed in a barong shirt, cleared his throat. "We have… other issues."
"Communists," said the man quietly.
The older politician sighed heavily. "They are growing bold now. They want their say."
Monzon smiled. "Then break their jaws."
There was some laughter among the people present. Some of them kept quiet.
"The rallies are gaining momentum. There is talk of an underground force – some working with the New People's Army, others not."
"They feel as though they are untouchable, We need to make them understand that they are not."
The nameless leader nodded ever so slightly. "A new Plaza Miranda, then."
Silence followed.
The President rapped his fingers against the desk. "Make sure it is clean. Remember, the entire world is watching, I need to appear good before the eyes of the states so that they would continue to support us."
Ramos nodded. "Understood, Mr. President"
But then, a change came.
The atmosphere turned dark.
"Young man," the President addressed Ramos. "What about Velasco?"
Silence filled the room once more.
"If he is alive, we will locate him. And if he is not, then we will ensure that his legacy perishes along with him."
A slight nod. "I will take care of it."
The Watcher
Outside, beyond the closed door of the meeting room, stood a young army officer, leaning against the cold marble walls of the hall. He could hear the conversation inside.
Months had passed since he was posted here. He had heard rumors. Stories about disappearances, covert orders, crossed out names. But this?
This was something else entirely.
His brother disappeared a year ago. Allegedly engaged in subversive activities. That was the official line, but now he knew the truth.
A sharp breath. His fingers brushed the rosary in his pocket.
He had two choices: pretend he heard nothing or act.
And he wasn't sure which one would kill him faster.
Malacañang Palace – 11:32 PM
Lieutenant Andrés "Andy" Delos Santos stood frozen outside the grand double doors of the conference room. His heart pounded against his ribs, his uniform suddenly feeling stifling against his skin. He had been stationed outside the room the entire time, a silent sentinel during the high-level meeting. He wasn't supposed to hear anything.
But he did.
It took him some time before the discussion began sinking into his mind—discussions of authority, repression, elimination of threats; matters that were not to be taken lightly. This meeting had exposed to him what had been kept secret for many years.
And yet, one term caught his ear.
Locker 047.
Initially, the idea seemed irrelevant to him as it was merely one among others in countless cases of classified documents. But now, as he looked down at the shining marble floors of Malacañang Palace, something nagged at the back of his mind—Locker 047. Why was it familiar?
And then it dawned on him.
His brother.
The idea made him feel dizzy as he was unsure if it was really true. He needed to find out.
Heart pounding, he spun on his feet and left the palace, knowing all too well that Malacañang was filled with eyes of the government's ever-vigilant spies.
The night air was thick with humidity as he stepped outside the palace gates. The streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. He had been trained to spot a tail, but tonight, every shadow felt like a pair of eyes.
He needed answers.
Camp Crame, Quezon City – 12:17 AM
The sound of buzzing fluorescent lamps reverberated above him as Andy quietly navigated the deserted corridors of the record department. Only a couple of junior officers and a night watchman remained in the building by now.
Sergeant Hidalgo, a fat, sluggish-looking man with dark bags under his eyes, sat at the very end of the archive hall, half-heartedly shuffling through a pile of documents on his desk.
"I'd like to check some detainee's record."
He made no effort to conceal his boredom, glancing at him from beneath lowered eyelids.
"What detainee?"
Andy paused for a split second before replying. One slip of the tongue would arouse suspicion. But if he played his cards right, he could have his way.
"Locker number 047."
That sparked his interest at once. He pursed his lips, putting aside the pen he was holding.
"That's top secret information."
"The direct order from Internal Affairs. You know the drill. I mean if you wish, I'll just go upstairs and wake up Colonel Reyes to sign this off, but don't be surprised if he isn't very pleased."
Hidalgo's face drained of color when Andy mentioned Colonel Reyes. Andy felt the change in the atmosphere and nonchalantly dropped a partially empty box of Marlboros on the desk.
An offer he could not refuse.
"Well, alright then. However, if anyone finds out that you're here, do not tell them."
He walked over to one of the filing cabinets and opened a bottom drawer. Inside was a big manila folder. Andy tried his best to remain calm as he was handed the file.
Unmarked except for a few numbers scribbled on its tab.
CASE 79-216.
Andy swallowed hard. As he cracked open the folder, his heart began to race. The typing on the page was faded but Andy could still read the name.
Julián Delos Santos.
His brother's name.
His fingers hovered over the document, tracing the cold bureaucratic language that dictated his brother's fate.
Case Status: Processed under Standard Protocol.
Date of Detainment: March 2, 1978.
Final Disposition: Redacted.
He turned the page.
More names. Dozens of them.
And then one that stood out.
Ramón Escudero
Status: Released – March 1979.
Condition: Intelligence Asset – Subject flagged for potential cooperation.
Andy frowned. Released? That was rare. Most who went into this system never came out. If Escudero had been freed, he might know what happened to Julián.
Andy snapped the file shut. He needed to move. Now.
As he turned to leave, a plainclothes agent loitering near the entrance took note of his departure, writing down his name.
Cubao, Quezon City – 1:04 AM
Back in his apartment, Andy locked the door behind him, drawing the blinds shut. The city outside was silent except for the occasional rumble of a jeepney passing on Aurora Boulevard.
He set the file on his desk, flipping through it once more. His brother's name stared back at him like an accusation.
All this time, he had believed the official story that Julián had abandoned his family, joined the rebels, and disappeared into the mountains.
But now he saw the truth.
Julián hadn't disappeared. He had been taken.
Andy exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair.
If the government had done this to his own brother, how many others had they erased?
He glanced at the clock. 1:12 AM
There wasn't much time. If Escudero was alive, he needed to find him before someone else did.
For the first time in his career, Andy Delos Santos was no longer sure who the enemy was.
And he was about to find out.
TO BE CONTINUED.