Of course, it wasn’t that simple or that easy, as I later found out. And I also learnt how granddad had persuaded some of his fellow policemen to do their real duty: protect the public. The sight of police standing between the army and the people inspired thousands of other policemen to do the same. When soldiers started joining them, the government had no choice but to cave in.
When the government collapsed the oil-rich states of the Middle East spotted an opportunity and hired a remnant of the US army to “liberate” the Muslims of the Philippines. They had no trouble at all gathering a seasoned force of veterans who were highly skilled in killing people.
That generated an enormous controversy. The soldiers were severely criticized for working for a government. Some pointed out it’s a free country—at least now it is, with government gone—so anyone’s free to work for anyone… including mercenaries. Others said that, right or wrong, it’s better for us that these people are somewhere on the other side of the world.
The oil sheiks started a trend: pretty soon American mercenaries were fighting other people’s wars for them all round the world. As they still are.
The Philippines—which used to be pretty much all the islands between Taiwan and Borneo—disintegrated. The Philippine Army was no match for the Americans, who threw them out of Mindanao in a couple of weeks. Once Mindanao declared its independence other islands followed suit. Local elites grabbed control, often with the help of a few hundred American mercenaries, and the country disintegrated into a patchwork of competing warlords. What’s called the Philippines today is the island of Luzon and not much more.
The ride from the airport to the hotel—a slow crawl through an almost continuous traffic jam on what was labeled an “expressway,” interrupted only by detours around numerous potholes—did nothing to convince me that much had improved in three generations. Beggars in rags cadged pennies from millionaires riding in chauffer- driven air-conditioned limousines. Here, a glitzy apartment building that wouldn’t have been out of place in San Francisco stood opposite a pile of garbage blocking the sidewalk and spilling out onto the street; there, a wall topped by razor-sharp barbed wire prevented the wealthy occupants of a village from seeing the teeming slums across the street.
My guess was that Murdock was merely waiting for the heat to die down before moving on.
Andy had set up twenty-four-hour surveillance on Murdock. Two of our operatives had moved into one of the condos as a “couple,” and had even become vaguely friendly with Murdock and Sophia Ackerman. Murdock’s story, they were told, was that he and his “wife” were retired and were taking a slow, multi-year trip around the world. His next stop? “Well, when we’ve finished here we’ll decide. Maybe flip a coin. Who can say?”
Andy introduced me to our local contact, Jose Guzman, known to everyone as “Boyet,” who I’d called on to help Andy “meet” Sophia Ackerman off the plane.
“We’ve got one of our people in the condo security force, and three or four others discreetly patrolling the streets around the building.”
“Is that enough?” I asked.
“You have to understand that in the Philippines most everything is the opposite to what you’re used to. For example, in America, you have law but no government; here we have government but no law.”
“Maybe it’s jetlag, but I don’t get it.”
“The system here works on grease. Bribery and corruption. Of course there are laws—the government makes new ones every day. But whether they’re enforced, or how, depends on who pays what to whom. Going to court here is like going to an auction.
“What that means is everything and everyone is for sale. So you’ve got to know who you can really trust.
“So what do we do? And there’s no extradition agreement we can use.”
“Andy and I have talked about that. Here’s what I suggest we do….”
It took another week of long days and sleepless nights, intense negotiations, not to mention considerable expense, before we were ready to spring the trap on Murdock. Speed, Boyet stressed, was the essence—a difficult proposition in a country where the local equivalent of the Mexican word
As every day passed, more and more people were involved. We did our best to ensure secrecy by paying officials—up to and including the President—bribes we were pretty sure Murdock couldn’t match; and one condition of the payments was that 80 percent of the money only got paid when Murdock was on a plane out of the country in handcuffs.
That didn’t mean someone who got wind of things couldn’t extract a healthy “reward” from Murdock for tipping him off. In my nightmares I was part of a gun battle between two groups of rent-a-cops on the streets of Manila.
On the appointed day, Tim—one of our two operatives who’d befriended Murdock—knocked on the door of his apartment. I, Andy, Boyet, the local chief of police and a couple of cops stood well back from the door. Other police, teamed up with Boyet’s people, stood guard on the apartment’s rear entrance, and took control of the lobby to guard the elevators as well as prevent the security guards from giving any warning.
“Hey, Tim, come in,” said Murdock as he opened the door. Tim took a step forward and then pushed Murdock hard in the chest so he fell backward, landing in a heap on the floor. We rushed in, guns drawn.
“You bastards. Andyou
Two of the cops pulled him up and handcuffed his wrists behind his back. I heard a crash as Andy put his foot through one of the bedroom doors. In a moment a chastened Sophia Ackerman was led into the living room.
“You bitch,” said Murdock, his face reddening with his fury. “
“Yes,” said Andy, smiling, “she led me a merry chase. Almost lost her a couple of times. And it looks like we got here just in time: she was packing for a trip.”
“And I never saw you, damn your eyes,” she said.
“Another hour, we’d have been outta here,” said Murdock. “You bastards.” I managed to pirouette out of the way as he spat again in my direction.
“Anyway,” he said, pulling himself up and trying to look officious and innocent at the same time, “you have no right to be here. I’ve committed no crime. What’s this all about?”
The chief of police pulled out a thick file of papers. Waving them in Murdock’s direction he explained: “I have here an order of extradition, signed by the President of the Philippines, for the apprehension of Gerald Murdock and Sophia—”
“Gerald?” said Murdock.
“You,” I said. “The goatee and the nose job are certainly a good disguise. Even if you’ve changed your fingerprints all we have to do is pull off those contact lenses and a retina scan will be conclusive.”
Murdock’s shoulders slumped.
Sophia Ackerman turned to the chief of police: “You have a warrant formy arrest? On what grounds?” “Embezzlement, false pretences, defrauding an insurance company,” he replied.
“I’ve not been convicted of any such thing,” she said adamantly.
“True and not true. At the same time,” I said.
A puzzled look crossed her face. “What bullshit!”
“This gentleman here,” I said, indicating the chief of police, “has a presidential order to extradite you from
the country. So you
“Anyway,” said Murdock, “what’s this about extradition? The Philippines has no extradition treaty with America.”
