Sir
Dikomo tracked Hussien Tho Munir at the Scout League of the Philippines (SLP)
dormitory in Manila. The dormitory had been popular among transients from the
provinces, especially Visayas and Mindesaba. In that dormitory, there were also
three to four “permanent” dormitory residents. They were given special
concessions as either national executive officials or major benefactors of the
SLP. One of the permanent residents was Munir, who had been calling the SLP his
home for the past eight months.
Aside from being
relatively cheap, the dormitory was convenient for travelers from Mindesaba to
see Munir for a variety of reasons, the most common of which was deploying
contract workers to Middle East countries. Tho also brokered for
politicians—some of them at the national level—which explained why his callers
sometimes comprised of politicians and would-be politicians from Mindesaba. It
had been a long time since schemers like them had made some seasonal business
out of politics. But this time, talk was loud that the country’s president was
calling for a general election in 1972. No one profited from commerce more than
he who planned early for it, so the saying went.
It so happened
that a policeman from Lanao del Sur, an acquaintance of Munir, had called on
Sir Dikomo for an election-related operation in Mindesaba. The policeman
casually mentioned Munir in passing, and asked Sir Dikomo if the latter knew
him. Munir had extensive contacts in Mindesaba, he assured Sir Dikomo.
“He can help us
further develop our network of election operators, down to the provincial and
municipal levels,” the policeman suggested.
“Where is he?” Sir
Dikomo asked, referring to Munir.
Dormitory guests
were surprised to see four men in uniform looking for Munir. The front desk
ushered them to his room. Despite his relative popularity, Tho Monir could not
hide his surprise (perhaps more embarrassed than irritated) when he knew Sir
Dikomo was looking for him. It must have been at least two years since they
last met in downtown Quiapo. He suggested a cup of coffee at Fricky’s.
“I did not know
you were hiding here,” Sir Dikomo joked. “I got lucky somebody from my hometown
tipped me on your whereabouts.”
“Let’s find a cool
place outside,” Tho suggested.
Sir Dikomo started
talking on the way out of the dormitory. “It’s about Sylvia,” he said. “Any
news about her?”
“I can inquire
about her at the recruitment agency tomorrow.” Tho picked his words in between
steps.
Outside, along
Natividad Street, a police car was parked. Three men in uniform casually
chatted nearby. “I’ll be back in a minute,” Sir Dikomo told them.
Tho Monir and Sir
Dikomo walked toward Fricky’s—on Tho’s suggestion—which was some hundred meters
away. Tho could sense the information Sir Dikomo sought was important enough
that he was willing to walk that far for this meeting.
“That place is
tension-free,” Tho said, pointing to the SLP dormitory, and at the same time
changing the topic for a moment. “Seeing somebody in uniform could arouse
antennas, you know.”
“I know,” Sir
Dikomo replied. “Besides, it has been a while since somebody treated me to free
lunch at Fricky’s,” he said, smiling.
“I don’t think
they have lunch at eight thirty in the morning,” Tho retorted, surprised to see
Sir Dikomo had suddenly stopped walking.
“But the truth is,
this is going to be a short visit, Tho,” Sir Dikomo said, implying there was no
need to go anywhere else. “I just really want to know if you know where Sylvia
is.”
“In that case, we
really need to have a lengthy talk. Besides, it has been a long time,” Munir
insisted.
Munir had been
indirectly mentioned in one of the cases against separatist rebels in Mindesaba.
Although that case had been resolved and Munir had disentangled himself clean
from any allegations, Sir Dikomo still avoided being seen in public with him.
Thus, he could only accept the invitation with reluctance.
Munir, of course,
had his own agenda. Being seen in public with police officers in uniform—him
without handcuffs—bolstered his image as a law-abiding citizen, especially in
places like Manila, where prejudice was preponderant against goateed
Muslim-looking men.
At Fricky’s, Munir
sought some assurance that Sylvia would not be hurt in exchange for the
information Sir Dikomo was seeking. Munir knew that Sylvia had double-crossed
Sir Dikomo. Fortunately for him, Sir Dikomo knew nothing more than the fact he
and Sylvia had separated five or six years ago.
“I learned from
the recruitment agency that Sylvia is back in Hongcau. She left three weeks
ago.” Munir told Sir Dikomo the truth.
“I will go and ask
my contacts to find her in Hongcau,” Sir Dikomo warned Munir with a whisper.
Munir thought this was a bluff, and justifiably so, because he did not know
that Sir Dikomo, while known as “boss chief with the ninja moves” among the
underworld, was also working for OXD, and OXD had headquarters in Hongcau, Qina.
While it was true the 100K pesos or so that Sir Dikomo would get for delivering
an undocumented Panatag Baby to OXD was insignificant, one never knew if such a
collaboration, should things turn out well, would land him a bigger role in the
organization.
Just to make
himself clear, Sir Dikomo repeated to Tho what it was that he needed from
Sylvia: anything that would lead him to the Panatag Baby. “So you better be
square with me, Tho, or you can pack your things up at the SLP.”
With an almost
imperceptible nod, Munir said he understood. “Give me your contact number so I
can call you when something comes up.”
Five years ago,
Sylvia asked him to keep her personal belongings for her. She felt at the time
that her security in the Philippines somehow depended on it, and it was Munir,
more than anyone else, who could offer to her the best guarantee that those
belongings would remain in her possession when the time came up for her to need
them again.
The items included
a hastily done directory that showed the names of people and their telephone
numbers. Three of those names, including that of Sir Dikomo, transacted with
her in her effort to bid out the Panatag Baby, a.k.a. Leandro Deo Renato
“Anding” Moscavida, a.k.a. Francisco “Franco” De Gracia.
Two days after Sir
Dikomo met Tho Munir, the policeman was in his office when he heard his
assistant talking on the phone, asking who the caller was.
Sir Dikomo rose
from behind his desk when the assistant, cupping the speaker of the telephone,
told him someone named Munir wanted to talk to him. Sir Dikomo found Munir
worth an ounce of trust when he checked with the Bureau of Immigration to see
if somebody named Sylvia Munir departed for Hongcau on the date Tho said she
left. Tho’s information was accurate.
“Yes,” Sir Dikomo
hollered in his baritone voice.
“I have something
here which you might find useful to follow through,” Tho Munir said, an air of
triumph perceptible in his voice.
“What is that?”
Sir Dikomo asked.
“Names and
telephone numbers—they may lead you to where Sylvia has consigned the baby,”
Tho said.
“Dictate them to
me.”
Sir Dikomo listed
five names. He scanned the yellow pages for the next two hours but could not
see entries that matched his list. He instructed three of his men to do the
same. After three hours, they still could not find them in the telephone directory.
He knew the last recourse was to try to contact them through the telephone
numbers given to him. He did the dialing himself.
“Good afternoon,
can I speak to Ms. Vida Corazon De Gracia, please?”
“Yes, sir! Sorry,
she is not around,” a man at the other end of the line replied.
“Thank you! This
is from DHL Express. We have a parcel mail for her. Can you confirm the
delivery address, please?”
“Please call again
when she comes back, in about two hours.”
Sir Dikomo tried
another number.
“Hi, good
afternoon. This is Eugene from the Social Welfare Office Manila. I understand
you are interested in adopting a child?”
“Yes, but that was
a long time ago. We already have our own child. Bye.”
Sir Dikomo thought
the Social Welfare Office line was working. He dialed another number.
“Hi, good
afternoon. This is Mr. Cabangon from the Social Welfare Office Manila. I
understand you are interested in adopting a child?”
“We do not know of
a Mr. Cabangon from the Social Welfare Office, sorry,” a lady replied.
“Wait…” Sir Dikomo
pressed, and the line went dead.
After two hours,
Sir Dikomo dialed Vida’s number again.
“Hello, this is
from DHL Express…”
“Hello,” Vida
answered. “Yes, what about?”
“We have a parcel
for you, but it seems there has been a mishandling in transit. The delivery
address was defaced; we cannot read it. Can you provide that to us, please?”
“Yes, but how come
you have our telephone number? You should find our address in the same place
you found our number. Besides, I am not expecting any registered mail or parcel
from anyone. Sorry, but I need to be excused. Bye.”
Sir Dikomo was
about to give up on the Sylvia Munir caper when he thought about confirming how
much was in it for him. He was resigned to moving on to another case—possibly
even outside of the OXD, like the upcoming national and local elections—if the
trouble was not worth it.
He arranged for a
meeting with his OXD agent. Sir Dikomo negotiated for 2 million pesos for the
baby, now a little more than 5 years old, saying OXD saved more than five
years’ worth of babysitting him. When the new deal was closed, he offered 125K
for each of the same three operatives that attempted to kidnap Deo Renato,
a.k.a. Anding, in March of 1966.
The three OXD
operatives were known by their aliases: Punzi, 35, a former track and field
Olympian and a college physical education instructress; Benjo, the burly-built
man who introduced himself as Metrocom; and Ivanho, the hulk. All three used to
be members of the police force but had been dismissed for a variety of
offenses.
While in the
service, both Punzi and Benjo reported to the logistics command of the
Integrated National Police (INP) somewhere in Central Luzon. They issued trip
tickets for the use of a chopper that ended up being used to drop a corpse
stuffed with a concrete mixture inside a cylindrical steel drum from 500 feet
above the sea. Nobody knew Sir Dikomo, in cahoots with a former classmate at
the military school who had the authority to sign papers, was behind the
request to commission the chopper for such a dubious mission.
Personal motives
and professional rivalries within the command later led to a string of
investigations of alleged irregularities, such as the unofficial use of police
assets, including choppers, being committed by uniformed and administrative
staff of INP. The investigations eventually led to the dismissal of several
personnel that included Punzi and Benjo.
Through his
network, Sir Dikomo recruited both Punzi and Benjo to OXD. Both recruits, of
course, had no idea that Sir Dikomo was the root cause of their downfall. In
his desire to help them recoup lost income, he asked an ally of Makatigbas to
introduce them to the underworld.
With cunning,
Punzi was able to extract the addresses of two of the five names given to them
by Sir Dikomo. But after a week of surveillance, they found no one resembling a
five-year-old-something boy. They were also on the lookout for the Toyota
Corolla whose owner they had encountered in Sta. Cruz, Manila, some five years
ago. There was none.
At the telephone
company, they found the address of Vida Corazon De Gracia—the fourth entry in
Sylvia’s list. Her house was located in between the boundary of Lanciano City
to the north and Manila to the south. From Paquito’s Chicken—located a block
away from the gate—they could see what came in and out of Vida’s gate.
For three weeks,
they took turns looking at Vida’s gate from Paquito’s Chicken. They were able
to establish some kind of a routine. On eight occasions they tailed the Toyota
Corolla and found that the three of them—Vida, David, Franco—were always
together. They went to Santo Domingo church on a Sunday. On Fridays, they
either went to Senhora das Neves, Sau Paulo, or to Cubao for shopping; when in
Cubao, they also dropped by at Fiesta Carnival for Franco’s fun rides and
frolicking. David went out of the house for several hours on Mondays, Tuesdays,
and Thursdays. He commuted whenever he went out alone. Most days of the week
Vida and Franco were at home.
Given the routine,
they figured that the best day on which to execute their plan was either a
Sunday or a Friday. For some reason, either influenced by superstition or
anything no one had an ample explanation for, they ruled out “working” on a
Sunday.
The following
Friday, 13 April 1990, the plan to snatch Franco was set. Sir Dikomo’s
directive was to bring the boy to his apartment in Quiapo. The OXD guys thought
it was odd. But there was no place more secure than an apartment one hundred
fifty meters away from his office at the police station. When Punzi asked him
if Quiapo could be a problem on a Friday due to traffic, Sir Dikomo assured
them that he would deploy enough men to ensure traffic would flow smoothly
along Lanciano Boulevard on the designated day.
But three days
before Friday, the OXD operatives, convinced with their assumption that the
would-be victim was good for at least a 3-million-peso ransom, had decided to
double-cross Sir Dikomo in the event something went wrong with the extraction
procedure. They knew what double-crossing OXD meant to their overall health and
security, but they also believed that they had the kind of talent and daring
that otherwise would get paid several times over than what they were getting
from Sir Dikomo. Their OXD training and experience had brought them to places
around the world. They thrived in high-risk and high-reward contracts. And this
was just one of them.
FRANCO, DAVID, AND VIDA were out strolling in Senhora das Neves Shopping Center
in Sau Paulo to buy something for the boy. Vida had no way of knowing Franco’s
exact birthdate, but by conjecture she thought he was close to a month old when
she took him in March of 1985. She picked March 14 from his adoption papers.
The last two weeks she had been thinking of buying a birthday present for
Franco.
The bond between
Franco and Vida had grown stronger as the days went by. The boy was
good-natured and cheerful; not once had Vida seen him scowling or doing
anything to suggest that he was complaining. To her amusement, she also saw
signs of him being an odd man out, sort of, or one that just did not go with
the flow. For example, the two of them, by chance, passed by a sparse crowd
watching a sidewalk magician. While almost everyone had their eyes focused on
the magician, Vida saw that Franco was intently watching the faces of
spectators instead.
Despite Franco’s
autistic nature (a physician friend convinced her that he showed signs of a
kind of autism that disappears on its own as the person advances in age), Vida
thought the toddler could be a good priest someday, which was the sole
motivation that inspired her to keep him at all costs.
The OXD operatives
scanned the parking lot. They saw the red Corolla, and they parked their car
along the walkway that led to it. They waited for less than an hour before they
spotted the three approaching their location. Benjo and Ivanho alighted and left
open the passenger door of the Lancer (the same car they used in 1976, but this
time thoroughly repainted in black) to the side of the walkway. Then they stood
a few meters away from the open door of the car, looking at a nearby newsstand
and acting as if they were attracted to a picture in a tabloid. Punzi was at
the wheel.
Just as Franco,
David, and Vida came close to the Lancer, Benjo shoved Franco toward the open
door of the Lancer while Ivanho pushed David away. With their .45-caliber
pistols drawn, Benjo and Ivanho aimed their firearms at both David and Vida.
With hardly any
resistance from the toddler, Benjo tossed Franco—who must have weighed less
than fifteen kilos—to the back seat of the Lancer, after which he also hopped
in. His back to the Lancer, Ivanho again pointed his gun at the still-shocked
David and Vida. Ivanho then turned and scurried back toward the other side of
the Lancer, climbing to the front seat beside Punzi, who pumped the gas pedal
in a manner that caused the Lancer to furiously dart forward, its doors
dangling from the side.
In less than
twelve seconds, David and Vida lost Franco to kidnappers. Vida motioned to
David to look for a public telephone booth. They found one at the far end of
the shopping mall. Vida dialed the number of a high-ranking police officer
whose mother was a family friend. She also dialed the number of another
high-ranking military officer whose father was in the same combat unit that was
led by her late husband. For good measure, she also called yet another active
police officer whose father was a fellow judge in the appellate courts.
She told them the
plate number, color, and make of the kidnappers’ vehicle. She also told the
would-be pursuers that the kidnappers were heading toward Sta. Mesa, Manila.
As soon as Vida
and David were inside their home, she dialed retired Army General Rosendo Dimas
Uy, one of her late husband’s closest friends and “mistahs”. He owed his life
to her husband when they were young, fighting communist rebels in Bolibar
Occidental. The help she asked from everyone else might not materialize, but
Gen. Uy was one she could rely on all the time. Also, among Vida’s
acquaintances in the military, both active and retired, Ros Uy was the go-to
guy on matters that involved kidnap-for-ransom cases.
“Ros,” Vida
blurted out, trying to control her voice, “something happened to Franco.
Kidnapped about thirty minutes ago.”
After providing
him the details—plate number, car make and color, features of kidnappers (they
were in bonnet), etc.—Ros Uy assured her of his help. “Let’s see what I can
do,” he said. “I will set something up in my network to track new movements. In
the meantime, call me as soon as somebody contacts you for ransom.”
As the kidnappers approached the
intersection of Magsaysay Boulevard and Victorino Mapa Streets, they saw parked
police cars with overhead blinking lights some five hundred meters away. It
looked as if a hastily improvised checkpoint had been set up. As vehicular
traffic started to slow down in bunches, Punzi spun the Lancer around until it
did a 360. To their surprise, another patrol car came into sight, some six
hundred meters away, directly opposite their path. There was an intersection
between them, and a decision needed to be made in seconds.
“Let’s go… to the
right,” Ivanho suggested.
Punzi was about to
turn the wheel to her right when she saw a jam just ahead of them.
“Back up a little
and turn left instead,” Benjo ordered.
Turning right
would have led them to Aparicida in Ocaranza, then Sta. Ana toward Quiapo.
Turning left meant reaching Manila through Iztapalapa, onward to España
Boulevard, then finally Quiapo.
In Iztapalapa, the
streets were clear. They headed for Trabaho Street where, upon reaching the
España intersection, they saw a police officer reaching for his handheld radio,
frantically yelling to it. They knew Sir Dikomo was within four kilometers and
felt they could dash for home base unscathed. Within minutes they heard sirens
blaring and patrol lights blinking some three hundred meters behind them. Punzi
pushed the gas pedal harder.
A couple of
minutes later, while turning left from España to Lanciano Boulevard, heading
toward Quiapo, they heard more sirens from atop the Tepeyac Overpass. They
reckoned that unless they traversed Quiapo fast enough, at least three groups
of police patrols could intercept them—one from Legnica Street and two who were
closing in from behind them.
On reaching the
corner of Legnica Street, the OXD operatives were blocked by vehicular traffic.
In front of them were hordes of devotees of the Black Nazarene, who were
blocking one-fourth of Lanciano Boulevard. Even astute logistics planners like
the OXD operatives did not expect this swell of human and vehicular traffic in
the area on such a crucial day.
As traffic crawled
to a halt, Punzi saw from the rear mirror the doors of a police car opened.
Three men in uniform rushed out, armed with short weapons. Ivanho turned to his
right just as more patrol cars positioned themselves, from which he also saw policemen
leaping out, fully armed as well.
There was no time
to lose. They left the Lancer in the middle of the road, Franco in tow. They
hurriedly moved inside Mamiluk, a popular mami house in that part of Quiapo. At
the sidewalk, Ivanho hurriedly bought an assortment of clothing items.
Inside Mamiluk,
Benjo took Invanho’s props and brought Franco to the comfort station, where he
changed the boy’s outfit to make it look like he was a girl. He also put on a
cap and jacket on top of his T-shirt. Then he and Franco slid out of the
comfort station.
A waiter was about
to take their order when Punzi and Ivanho saw Benjo coming out of the comfort
station. They politely apologized to the waiter, saying they forgot something
outside and needed to leave. In seconds they left Mamiluk, one after the other.
Ivanho was the
last to leave. He lingered for a while among the throngs of passersby at the
sidewalk fronting Mamiluk. He saw several traffic cops, probably the ones
assigned by Sir Dikomo, but instead of facilitating the flow of traffic, they
kibbitzed on the sudden appearance of fellow cops. This was understandable: Sir
Dikomo, working on his own private and secret agenda, had not informed them
beforehand that something like this could happen. The black Lancer, now
deserted, was surrounded by cops and onlookers. Ivanho saw and heard policemen
asking witnesses as to which direction the Lancer’s passengers went.
He casually walked
away when he saw the uniformed men making moves to disperse themselves, some of
them heading directly to Mamiluk. Around fifty meters away, toward Quiapo
Church, he met Punzi and Benjo, who were waiting for him.
The eleven thirty
a.m. mass had just ended. They crept inside the church as devotees milled out,
whose hands reached up to the heavens to bathe in the sprinkling of holy water.
The sea of churchgoers was perfect for them to blend in and to conceal themselves
away with the crowd.
The team needed
some quick huddle time. They felt the place was right for it.
In whispers,
Ivanho proposed that they could go and tell Sir Dikomo that they lost the child
while trying to escape from pursuers.
“Where… at which
point of the chase?” Punzi asked. “We need to have a matching alibi.”
“At Mamiluk, of
course,” Benjo said, also in whispers but with evident conviction.
“And that?” Punzi
motioned to Franco, hand clamped by Ivanho, with her kisser.
Looking around,
Benjo spotted a closet at the back of the church fronting the altar. He walked
toward the area and tried to open it. Pleasantly surprised, he found it
unlocked. From what he saw, he could tell that it was a storage room. He could
also see what he thought were dried and withering sampaguita flowers that had
been collected from the foot of images inside the church.
He signaled Ivanho
to tie Franco up with packing tapes and to deposit him in the dark part of that
storeroom or service area box, whatever it was. Punzi and Benjo stood close to
each other, trying to cover Ivanho and Franco from the sight of churchgoers,
whose focus, deep in prayer, was fixed at statues of saints. Ivanho then locked
Franco, whose mouth was also sealed with an adhesive tape, inside the
storeroom.
“Watch over it,”
Benjo directed Punzi. “We will go find Dikomo and tell him we lost the child.
We shall be back in a few minutes.”